If i were a Man
The morning, the sunlight is streaming through the window and directly shining on my face. I am annoyed, nervous, and frustrated by the disturbing light waking me up. I don't embrace the beauty and warmth of the sunlight as it reflects on my face like before. I feel differently. I call my name; It is deeper. I touch my shoulder; It is bigger. I run my fingers through my hair; It is shorter. I clench my fist; I feel stronger. What happened to me? What happened to my body? What happened to my voice? Suddenly, I stare at the mirror hanging on the wall whispering, " Who am I? Why do I feel different?" I get up and see a masculine, tall, and unfamiliar person. I sit and start slapping my face, saying "Wake up, wake up, wake up..." I splash cold water on my face but there is no waking up. Mankind is silent and my heartbeat starts singing as a background voice and the world warmly says" welcome to MANHOOD, MANHOOD..." I am scared, but suddenly I am thinking about what I can do as a man. I smile and say, "I AM A Man!" "THE POWERFUL MAN!" I am no longer unseen, I am no longer questioned. I am a Man!
I am a man; I don't wake up early in the morning to tidy up the rooms. I am a man; I don't wash the dishes. I am a man; I don't prepare breakfast. I am a man; I don't sweep the rooms. I am a man; my clothes are ironed and my shoes are polished. I am a man; my home is cleaned and my breakfast is ready. What is better than this? I am a man; I drive to work and no one asks why I drive a car. I am a man; I drive to work and no one stares at me strangely. I walk through the street, inhaling the fresh air without the fear of being followed and being teased. Once, my voice trembled, and my heart beat as I walked through the street. Once, I was followed as a woman. Once, I was forced to marry a man the same age as my father. Once, I was scared of walking alone on the street. But now, I am the one who scares the vagrants. Now, I am the one who shouts out loud but no one asks why? Now, I am the one who speaks first- no interruptions! I am the one who wears whatever is in my closet- no judgments! I am the one who stays late outdoors - mom has got nothing to say! I am the one who decides on my marriage- All approved! Now, I am the one who does whatever he wants to - but no rumors!
The time passes by and the strength and power penetrate my body and soul. I am branching like a newly grown tree in the middle of nowhere or growing like a new born child learning new things and behaving childishly. It feels liberating but why does it feel like theft? Why does it feel like bitter candy which looks sweet but bitter aftertaste. Why I feel alone however I am surrounded by people. Why do they say "Man up!" when I talk about my fears?
Now I am a man; I mustn't talk about my fears. I am a man; I mustn't falter. I am a man; I must suppress my emotions. I am a man; I am expected to sacrifice my dreams to support my family. I am a man; my worth is measured by money and success, not my character. I am a man; I am expected to have a high-paying job rather than better behavior. Truthfully, life is getting harder and harder as a man. I am overwhelmed by the amount of expectations from family to society. I am not expected to tidy up the rooms but expected to prepare the furniture. I am not expected to wash the dishes but expected to pay for dishes. I am not expected to prepare the breakfast but expected to pay for groceries. I am not being followed but being forced to follow the rules. I am not being teased but forced to hear "Man up!" I am not scared of walking alone but scared of being doubted. I am not being raised for forced marriage but raised for forced power. My clothes are ironed and my shoes are polished, but no one sees the grief under the ironed suit. my home is cleaned and my breakfast is ready, but no one knows how I paid for the groceries. My home is warm and the dinner is cooked, but my heart needs to be warmed by chatting fearlessly. My body looks masculine and steady, but I really need a shoulder to cry on. I can shout for fight but can't shout to express my boredom. Suddenly, I shouted "Enough! " my eyes opens after a long nightmare. The sun reflection is pleasant and I am back to my own body.
Watching the reflection of the sun, I think of some possibilities that could never happen but I wish they could! I lean back on my pillow and stare at the picture of an Afghan girl flying as a bird, saying, "If I were truly a man, what would I do?"
If I were a man, I would be a Storyteller or a Poet. If I were a man, I would narrate the legendary stories of women from east to west, from south to north. I would write beautiful poems about the Afghan girls' resistance and power. I would talk about my mother's beautiful and tired eyes. I would write about the sparkle of boredom in women's eyes. I would write about their teardrop which is a flood of sorrow or a spark of hope in a waterless desert. I would talk about the wisdom of their smile, a spectacular artwork that should be showcased in the display case. If I were a man, I would resist discrimination by my words and my actions. If I were a man, I would talk about your strength and steadiness, Ms- not your body. If I were a man, I would liken you to a piece of poetry which seems lifeless but vibrantly alive in reality.
If I were a man, I would be a painter. I would paint a girl having wings, flying away. I would paint a girl going to school happily. I would paint a girl being a doctor, treating a patient. I would paint a girl being a writer, publishing her epics. I would paint a girl being a lawyer, defending a case. I would paint a girl being an engineer, constructing a building. I would paint girls having the same rights as men. I would paint my sister being an artist. I would paint you, my reader, in a world filled with love and brotherhood, far from discrimination and inequality. If I were a man, I would paint myself watching a world as colorful as my canvas. On my canvas, I would let you see you, her, him, them, and me in a world that values equality, kindness, truth, and peace.
If I were a man, I would be a writer. I would write about allowing men to embrace vulnerability. I would tell them to show their emotions when needed. I would challenge the myth: "Don't cry, man!". I would write a book named " Soft Strength" to tell men not to believe in toxic masculinity because strength doesn't mean to be harsh. If I were a man, I wouldn't suppress my emotions. I wouldn't keep my grief within. I would believe that men's feelings are natural. If I were a man, I would put my head on my mother's shoulder to cry. I would talk to my sister about my fears when I am overwhelmed. I would chat with my brother about my life challenges. I would share my doubts to my father to help me find a way out. If I were a man, I would be a writer, a male writer who believes in men vulnerability and soft strength.
As I think, the knock on the door breaks the silence and takes me out of my thoughts. I open the door and there is my brother. A smile stretches across my lips as I warmly welcome him and invite him for a talk. I tell him what I experienced in my dream and encourage him to be open about his emotions. Experiencing a man's emotions and experiences looks impossible, but the scenario I was filming in my dream last night makes it possible to see the world with a different sight, to touch it with a different sense, and to sniff it with a different smell. Now, I know that both men and women have their strength, weaknesses, and hardships. Now, I believe that real power is not determined by gender but our choice.
Shahurzad, Afghanistan
