I was wearing a hoodie, jeans and no make up. After a long day of traveling, I had gotten two hours of sleep and was sluggishly on my way to get lunch with a friend. We chatted, walking the city streets. Suddenly I felt someone touch my shoulder, and then a tug, jerking me backwards.
In complete shock, I angrily shook his hand off me and walked quickly in the opposite direction. I turned back to see a ragged, middle-aged man staring at me, a grin wiped across his smug face. This encounter bothered me to my core and I felt my mood deepen. It was a feeling I haven't been able to shake to this day. The physical jolt was also a metaphorical jolt into a reality I had desperately been trying to avoid; I am not safe. I now realize why my graduation gift was two cans of pepper spray. While I was taught that my body is a temple, I am shown that my body is more similar to a canvas for the handprints of whoever wants to touch it.
What if he had pulled me just a little harder, for a little longer, into the alleyway a few feet behind us? What would have happened then?
What did this man want from me? I'll never know the answer, but some may argue that he wanted me to feel beautiful and desirable; to compliment me.
The next day, a different man on the same street had uttered to me, "Excuse me, you are so beautiful."
The two encounters evoked nearly polar opposite emotions from me. A compliment and harassment are mutually exclusive.
When he touched me, the man that had grabbed me burned his handprint onto my skin. A fiery sting of anger and violation was left, as well as a need to reclaim my body, all bodies, as temples.
