Another day ends, the engine’s put off and I climb into my sanctuary. To myself and only to myself. I look at my reflection. Tired, dusty, tanned but firm and resolute. Hair ruffled in between deadlines, parlour and day care, make-up’s gone in the rush of the day. I undress – to me and only to me. To see a full-bodied woman, specks of growth in my arm pits; I loosen up to touch the elastic mark on my waist. My fitted bra comes off and I am glad to be a woman and a good one at that!
I remember the journey it took me to be a woman. The long haul of timid adolescence, nervousness of body and mistaken sensuality. But here I am through all the angst and the grind at home, with boys as cousins, work and relationships. And it gives me a spark. A spark I am proud of. A spark of mischief in my eyes, a spark of knowing how to bend the rule, how to make heads turn. A spark that brightens in the male competitive world and shimmers in cozy, comfort corners.
A spark that says, I am comfortable, being a woman.
I put my weary toes in the tub, I close my eyes. Remember my gym, I loved the feeling of that. The sweat that made me happy. Remember the Lo real ad for hair colour, the Aspiration liposuction banner; oh the obsession with body. Body in its true sense? Beauty in its true sense? Sensuality in its true sense? Ability to withstand the glare and toss ones’ head confidently. Confidence?
Knowledge, girl power!
The night passes by.
Welcome mornings! The gym rush. Baby porridge, potty and powder routine. Shower, blush, perfume, power watch and strappy dress. I pack my lunch, boiled water, tampon; my education, my first show down at work, the recent professional snub I gave my colleague, first byline – another day of head turnings, balancing egos and polite assertions.
I am a woman and a good one at that!
