Sometimes I feel like a robot. All I do is work, study, run errands, watch TV. I hang out with my girlfriends, that’s fun! But I don’t feel like a woman often. It feels nice to be looked at by men, to be admired, complimented. I like to feel precious, treasured, special, like a woman.
That’s stupid, right? That’s a stereotype. Maybe I fall into it. I love it when a cute guy hesitates to talk to me. I love it when he mutters “Hey” and I feel like I didn’t hear it and he doesn’t try again because he’s too scared to make a fool of himself. I like it when guys smile back when I direct them to check-in. I like it when they tilt their head forward like men back in the day used to do with their hats. I love feeling like a woman.
I love it when a guy I met in high school 4 years ago likes my story for no reason, maybe bcz he remembered that conversation we had a long time ago about movies and life. I love it when guys move out of the way for me to pass, or when they hold the door. I love it when the construction guys catch a glimpse of me through my apartment window, or when I’m walking down the street and they take a look.
How dirty. I’m so dirty. I’m saying things I shouldn’t even be thinking. Anyways, who do I think I am? I have no reason to believe I’m so beautiful, effervescent, irresistible. I love myself a lot, that will never change. But who’s to say society does? Yeah I’ve been complimented once or twice. Maybe once by a man, indirectly (remember that day?). But man, I’ve never been asked out. Never been complimented directly by a man. Never had anyone slide into my dms (except for Bhuvaneshwar haha). But maybe I don’t deserve it. I sit up in my little ivory tower of sacred femininity and robust robotic efficiency. I keep all men at arms length like a good girl, both in the eyes of tradition and professionalism. I don’t go to places where I would be exposed to situations like that. Wouldn’t any man be AFRAID of me? Scrawny male legs shaking and all…
WHO CARES!!!
I like it when I join the Zoom meeting and a guy I admire for his intelligence tells me he likes what I wrote down for my part of the group project, and asks me how my semester is going. I like it whennnn…I just like it a lot.
I’m so dirty. But iiii … just like it. Can’t a girl want to feel like a woman sometimes? Can’t she take pleasure in her innate desires when this cold world marches on ruthlessly everyday? I am both a robot and a woman, one by necessity and one through fantasy. Whatever.