Sometimes, I feel like wanting very obvious things. I made a list so I wouldn’t forget.
I want to cry without it being a “gender standard”. I don’t want to cry because I’m a girl, I want to cry because I’m a human. I want Men to know they can cry too, for the same reason. I want them to know that it won’t make them look like a girl, and even if it did, a girl is not a bad thing to be. Why is it so shameful to be a girl?
I want to scream. I want to yell in concerts without it being a decisive marker in my femininity. I want to drink beer right out of the bottle. I want to make bad jokes. I want to stay up late playing Wii. I want to say disgusting things and mean them.
I want my friends to be clear.
I want my girl friends questioning me professionally. I want them to acknowledge the layers we share in common. I want to see them grow. I want to see them be loved.
I want to be a rapper.
I want to wear backward caps while running recklessly in a mud field, messy, happy.
I want to build things. I want my childhood toys to be things I can create with. I want to be taught no one is coming for me… that no one is obligated to. I want to be taught I can’t be bought like cattle.
I want boys to know they can break too.
I want to sit on the Important Humans table, now vastly dominated by men. I want to take a chunky bite off that juicy ham of power they’re staring at; to be there when the decisions are made. I want to speak with men. Not at them, not about them. I want them to fight me back, because they know I can take it.
I want them to know my openness of mind is not a sexual invitation.
I want men to think twice before hurting us. To think about how dramatically it could affect their physical, social and economical well-being to do so, just like women have to do under the same circumstances.
I want them not to be surprised if I say something smart. I want to be a strong human. I’m done accepting the [woman] prefix as a form of prefab martyr etymology.
I want to be pretty. I don’t want to -have- to be pretty. I want to wear the highest heels without my capabilities put at stake, my motives questioned. I want to wear the flattest flats and still be found sexy, just because of the cadential manner of my speaking.
I want my husband to know he didn’t buy me, If I ever do get married.
I want him to know I chose his company out of his kindness and connoisseurship, rather than his pocket or his jeep. I want him to know it will be hard to keep me. I want him to know I expect respect, naughty calls and hysterical wit.
I want him to know “I can take care of it” too.
I want him to know he can make his hobby his career if he wants to, ‘cause I’ll take care of myself and our little sprouts too. I want men to be happy. I want them to become a man sooner, and to remain a child longer. Contrary to popular belief, the two of those will not collide, but mold together a better creature, the most endearing creature known to women: the sage-child. That breed of manhood already attained by a few who dare to be respectful brats, beaming with humor and dripping in filth, just smiling at us.
I want to win without anyone questioning my methods. I want to cast a big shadow. I want my girl-friends to come with me.
I want men to feel fathers. They’re a victim too of this patriarchy stained so-called “lifestyles” we’re living in. They don’t get to see their children grow. Before they know it, their sons have become taller than them, off to their spouses, with their own offspring to be in charge of. I want men to hold their daughters and call them princess… and president, and prime minister every once in a while. I want fathers to have kids who are their “fellas”, to listen to their voice. I want mothers who can share their role too.
I want children to know mom and daddy are afraid too.
I want children to hold their parents in a solidary fashion, because even when they’ve been sheltered from illiteracy, famine, isolation, sickness and wickedness, they too have been taught about the actual world we live in, I want them to be compassionate.
I want them to make the naughtiest pranks with the purest of souls. I want them to be mean, but in a good way.
To choose company wisely, and to know the difference between wisely and racistly, or socially.
I want all of them to smile.
I want them to riot.
I want them to dance.
I want them to take action.
I want them to rise.