A Shattered Patriarchal Soul And The Search For An Answer

It was the smoky atmosphere of an unknown café. A thick black blanket of clouds covered the moon. The chilling blows of the wind and the emptied streets. Suddenly, she entered the café with fast respiration. The signs of fatigue and exhaustion were visible on her pale cheeks.

Hurriedly, she dragged a chair and sat opposite me. In short sentences, she poured words without greetings and an introduction. The short sentences from her red lips connoted multiple meanings. I do not remember those short sentences. However, they were so profoundly deep that they rendered me dumb for the next twenty-five minutes.

She lit cigarette after cigarette, and in a yellowish flame, I took a glimpse of her tiny eyes that blurred my vision. Her quivering, fragile fingers with stained nails left scratches on her complexion. The enfeeblement of collarbone and body manifested the enduring pain she carried. The curly hair on her naked shoulders was like a cascading stream from a mountain reservoir.

While pouring coffee, my inner inertia compelled me to inquire about her pessimistic approach to the anointings of life. Her face unexpectedly turned reddish from a tint coloration. She endeavored to retain her sanity, but the nascent echoes were unbridled and transcended into screams. Unexpectedly, she managed to regain the strength to speak again, but this time, the words entangled with tears. Amidst this condition, she continued her rebellion and debunked the religious, societal, and historical confinements that curb her freedom to breathe oxygen, not the dolor. Her constant struggle against these impediments made her weak to carry this pursuit for freedom.

She asked me a simple question: Why are you people (men) so cruel? I attempted to answer her question but failed to open my mouth. She shattered my chauvinistic foundations and patriarchal soul, which understand the logic of power and coercion that muted me. Without uttering a single word, the night vanished, and we departed with the big cwtch. The caged bird, with the rising sun and new hope, resumed her struggle.

Up to this day, I’m still searching for the words to answer her question.