Sexual Harassment & Girlfriends

If Bruno was not here with me, I think I would simply go, mad.

Last night at 9pm, on his last walk, and as the sky was still bright, we took a longer walk around another block.  There is a beautiful street here, Pembridge- the houses are stately, the road is wide, the trees are lush.  I felt the wariness of the day lift as we strolled along, Bruno happily sniffing, while I admired the architecture.

Waiting to cross a junction, there were two cars that seemed to be engaged in some dialogue.  One sped off.  Bruno and I waited, patiently.  The other car pulled up, the driver stuck his head out the window and shouted all kinds of obscene things at us, and with his free hand made obscene gestures repeatedly.

I did a very Chinese Singaporean thing.  I simply averted my eyes and crossed the street.  If I am going to be run down on Pembridge by an asshole, so be it.

Come to think of it, some traits, like harassment, are universal.

Like, the ability to avert one's gaze.  A lot of people do this here.  In America, people look at you for the most part, directly.  Service greets you with a smile, looks you straight in the face, and say- Hi, how are you?  My name is _____  Please let me know how I may help you.  These days, as I am trying to decipher inertia, I really really miss that kind of energy.  Of course, in some cultures, forwardness, or casual-ness is rude.  Here, like in the more traditional Asian cultures,  it is about manners, stiff upper lip, and being polite.  So most people don't smile much here, and many people look away.

I can look away but I cannot get rid of the thumping in my chest, or the feeling of being violated.  It is not a nice feeling to carry with you at the end of the day.  When I tuck Bruno in, I shut not only the windows, but the shutters up front as well.  Never mind that it is an unusually hot summer, and there is no AC, no fan, in the flat.  I think to myself, better I go to bed sweltering, than have some crazy man climb in and rape me in my sleep.

There were four of us that came in 1987 to dance at the RAD Summer School.  We were all so excited to come.  For me the reality and pleasure of daily dancing was the most exciting part of the trip.

11pm in London is 6am in Singapore.  My husband is still asleep.  But the uber multi-tasking moms in Singapore, Adelaide, and Los Angeles are wide awake.  On Facebook, they rally around me.  My young, sweet London friend J is also awake still, and shares her own story of racial slurs and harassment.

Remember when we were in Covent Gardens and that car pulled up and what all the boys in the car shouted at us?  (Paraphrasing Trace).

Yes.  I remember.

Life is like that sometimes.  Sometimes people say incomprehensible things that sting.  In the aftermath of being harassed, the wise woman surrounds herself with the love of Girlfriends.  Never underestimate the power of Girlfriends.

The boys shouted- You fucking Chinks, go home, go fucking home, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.

But that's all they did. Shout.  In 1987, we were seventeen, there were four of us.  We did not pay them any attention.  We walked on briskly, our heads held high.  We watched our backs.  We watched each other.