Women rising
I am a woman. I was born in the simple life three provinces away from the metro, but that does not make me ignorant of the truths of life.
I was born, not in a high-end hospital, but with blades cutting my mother’s skin, careful not to touch the baby girl inside, and too close the baby was probably crying.
I was put in a bassinet too simple and maybe too old for a restless kid, the wood hindering me from seeing what I have to see.
Chances are I always tried to escape such containments; maybe I was successful a couple of times. Little did I know that that little cage was nothing compared to what I would later face.
I am a woman. I was raised by my mother who is so creative she fixed my straight black hair in a ponytail with multicolored bobby pins — blue, orange, yellow — as embellishments. Different colors for different occasions.
And a violet gown for the month of May, Hello Kitty dresses for relatives’ birthdays, a pink skirt for a trip to town, cutesy, rainbow-colored earrings for a casual stroll.
Years later, I discovered that I do not have to always be full-blast, sequined, or braided just to be adorable.
I am a woman. I joined a beauty pageant when I was in Grade 3 and tried so hard to befriend girls way cooler and older than me. I asked a girl if she was living near a car repair shop and she slapped me in response. Nonchalantly, the 8-year-old that was me just shrugged it off.
Years later, I discovered that despite the global call for equality, not all girls will be kind to you.
I am a woman. I joined another beauty pageant and was laughed at by other people and told that I could not defeat girls more beautiful than me.
Fortunately, my father practiced me well in answering questions every afternoon, and unfortunately for them, I won. I answered a question pretty well and ended up first runner-up on that little stage of Grades 5 and 6 girls.
Upon receiving the trophy, I realized that intelligence is my own definition of beauty. I discovered that we have something much more than meets their eyes.
I am a woman made out of many strong women. I have Madam Normi, who taught me that in a world of men and hypocrisy, a woman’s intelligent mind is incomparable.
I have Ma’am Gina, who taught me that there are many opportunities for women like us, and that we just have to be persistent.
I have my three friends from college — Maika, Judy, and Rochel — who all taught me that a girl’s force is a force to reckon with.
I have my friends from work — Ma’am Gille, Ma’am Gay, and Ma’am Carmela — who taught me that we should all be supportive of each other if we want to succeed.
I have Ate Angelina, who once told me that someday, despite all our limits, we will be happy.
And I have my mother, Ma. Teresa, who taught me that mothers are the bravest women you could ever know, that strength is
innate in us, and that no other person or problem can break us. And as long as I have her, no slap can defeat me.
I am a woman and a writer. I was writing in college when I got a true glimpse of this world: People will pull you down and stick negative things on you to keep you on the ground.
I realized that life is not Disneyland: Not everything is funny, colorful, or Instagrammable. There will come challenging moments like working with people who will not see your worth, hearing words to demean you and break your self-esteem, and people who downsize your abilities because you have a vagina.
They will come in all faces and forms — your boss, your friends and colleagues, even your lovers and your relatives. Of course, you will get hurt, because you are human. But remember, the more pain you experience, the more you become strong.
I am a woman. I walk the streets and get catcalled. I walk the streets and get yelled at: “Uy, Miss!” One drunk tricycle driver even sidled up to me and said suggestively, “Miss, sakay ka.”
They call us pabebe, maarte, pakipot. I call them pathetic. Sexual harassment is wrong. There is no justifying it. We do not live for men’s praise. We do not live for their approval. We do not live for their hunger.
I am a woman and I am tired. I am tired of this system that demeans women who try to explore and develop their abilities. I am tired of this system that shames our smart minds.
I am tired of this system that puts the blame on victims of abuse, and not on abusers. I am tired of this system that condones rape, harassment, and abuse by putting the blame on the clothes women wear.
I am tired of this system that views young mothers as sluts when our justice system cannot even put rapists and harassers in jail.
I am tired of this system that breeds a president who says women rebels should be shot in the vagina to render them useless. I think these women rebels are braver than he.
I am tired of this system that reproduces misogynists, sexists, liars, and slut-shamers faster than we could ever produce good leaders.
I am a woman and a Filipino. I say no to a system that judges us based on our reproductive organs rather than our ideals.
I say no to a system that makes laws and policies that do not help us in our self-actualization.
I say no to a system that gives us leaders who are insensitive and takes pride in dehumanizing their constituents.
I say no to a system that does not listen to the voices of the marginalized, the LGBTQIA+ community, and the impoverished.
I say no to a system that produces television shows portraying women’s lives revolving around a single man. We are better than that.
I say no to institutions that do not uphold women’s rights.
And I say no to a type of leadership that glorifies self-serving, unethical, and sexist leaders in the government while brave and wise women are put in jail.
I am a woman — resilient and unstoppable. And to the other women who have come before me and fought the good fight, I promise to make you proud.
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Margioleh Gervacio Alonzo, 22, a resident of Bataan, is “a teacher by profession and a writer by heart who believes that one day, everything will be fine.”
