I should hate men. I’m still a little afraid of them. 

I should hate men for what they did to me. But I don’t. 

For

• Breaking my nose.
• Holding me at gunpoint.
• Lifting me off the ground by my jaw and damaging my spine.

These are outliers. I hope. 

Living in the city means a higher concentration of these weirdos. 

But I am not spiteful. Anymore. 

Smiling feels too good! 

It looks too pretty. And people notice. It is simply too powerful. Life is too beautiful.

You have a genuine smile

I often hear from strangers who make themselves known. My secret: It’s the only one I got.

Let’s break it down.

There is still some part of me that flinches when I am approached. 

I had to take the week off work partly because of this. Because of men? Or my reaction to them? My nervous system is screaming. 

A few doctor visits on the same day helped a bit when I told them I could not sleep. This past week was almost four days straight of pulling all nighters. HELP!

My dear friend is sick with the flu but we FaceTime and are sick together. Her of the body, me of the mind. We are together facing adversity. 

Healing is lovely when I am at home able to write you beautiful inspiration. Healing is helpful when I can create something that supports you. It is beneficial all around. 

After getting the sh*t kicked out of me on my birthday, my jaw and back still hurt 2.5 weeks later. 

My face was sore and swollen. Covered in bruises I masked with concealer, the cuts still showed. Scabs generated after blood slid down my face. 

I was horrified when I ran into the bathroom locking myself for safety until the police came. I cried harder seeing myself.  

I kept the dried blood on my face for the next three days* to remind myself to never go back when I looked in the mirror. It helped. Head on a swivel. Watch your 6. When it comes to men. 

*I did not shower for three days, because of my depression. The pain demonstrated in my work, so I took a necessary break.

He said he was trying to stop us from fighting. I half-believe it. 

We should not be together in the same room. Now he is fighting a felony in court. Potentially deportation.

He is ashamed and vows to never meet my friends. Because of his own actions. The ones who called the police for me.  My other friend who was supposed to come in between us replied too late. 

But ‘It is what it is’, he said with a broken heart. ‘We are dangerous for each other.’

I have no shame, because I did not do anything wrong. His friends only ask about him – not how I’m doing. They have no idea of the permanent damage. 

I am proud showing my face everywhere I go, because I give my all with everything I do. Even proud to acknowledge my mistakes with humility. 

They do not have to know every detail. These are only highlights. All I know is the man who was supposed to protect me failed. 

He learnt his lesson. I think. 

We both paid tuition for this masterclass. Him–to never put hands on anyone. Me–to run the first time it happens. 

I jokingly call my face my moneymaker. I could not show my visage to anyone. I could not work or socialise. I still cannot sleep through the night.

He speaks to me softer than ever. 

There are moments I break my ceramic exterior and rage quietly through periods of not responding or bringing up the pain in my heart. 

Using everything in him to be patient, he sends love(?) with a defeated voice from the other side of town. 

I need space. Plenty of it. 

I blamed the scratches on my face on Cashmere–my cat. 

Moving a cat is never easy. Right? 

It actually was. He is so sweet and patient. I raised a good little boy-boy. Guests recognise. Pets are fuzzy family who are a reflection of your soul. 

Thank goodness for the reinforcements. I have animal support and emotional support humans all around me. 

The man in the parking lot 

One day, I stepped out for errands feeling fine. Sitting in my car to find some music to play whilst driving (I hate driving and being on my phone), a man tapped on my window.

In Los Angeles, you can never tell who is a hipster and who is homeless. I am not kidding. Various individuals in my life pointed this out. Even if someone is showered and well-dressed, you can never be so certain. 

I was frozen. 

Trying not to show my shaking, I did not roll down the window. 

Miming, ‘What?’ He gave up and walked away.  

I could not tell if he was going to rob me, attack me through the window, or ask for something simple from a stranger. Taking the chance was not a choice for me that day. Or any day. 

I shook on the drive home fighting tears. Thinking, ‘He did this to me [again].’

Not yet 100% healed, I look back at how I could have handled it. 

Was it a possibility to type out that I was beat up a couple weeks ago on the Notes app on my phone?

He does not need to know my business. But his guard would probably come down. If he was a stranger asking for a lighter or something simple. 

If he had bad intentions on the other hand, it could have accelerated his advantage over me. 

When he visits my irises are big and ears fold down like a cat.

Ready with my guard up, I feel unprepared yet alert. 

Is he going to raise his voice? He makes fun of me when I shake and cry. 

A real man does not let a lady feel stress. 

A real man does not put fear in her heart. 

A real man softens around the woman he loves most. 

He doesn’t love you. At least he has not shown it consistently. He dropped the ball. You do not pick it up for him. You go on your merry way and smile again with a dazzling life. 

Promises were made that we are to start fresh as if nothing ever happened. 

He calls me habibty (my love) and marty (wife) more. Almost the way he did in the beginning, but not quite. 

Something still feels off. He is trying to fix things and putting his back into it. I am not ready. I don’t know when I will be. 

Because of him, I will not feel safe for a while.

I surround myself with the biggest, strongest men I know even with my girlfriends.

I say hello to these gentlemen a little too often. Asking how their day was and how I can make it better. How their daughters are and when we can meet next. 

Men shake their heads when they see me smile with my soul after telling them I’m okay. They are furious and their DNA makes them want to fight. 

Calming them down is not easy even after an assuring smile and switching the subject to getting food at a fabulous new place to eat. 

They double down on the things they hoped they could have done. Wishing they could turn back time and never let this happen. 

People see me as delicate for some reason. 

Being called feminine or elegant is something that cultivated amongst my circle even though they do not see my onine content. Perhaps it is because I am small and dress like a teapot on the King’s table. 

Though things are not perfect how I want them, I never let these scratches dull my shine. They are mended with kintsugi and scar cream. 

Broken is beautiful. 

With a little golden joinery, you are one again with a new, luxurious design. 

She is to be useful as a productive part of your everyday life. But sometimes she is the gilded crockery sitting still to be admired on your shelf for a while. When you need her, she is valuable and you are glad she’s around.