Playing Games

It's been a while since I've posted on this blog. In lieu, I've been posting on a recently approved blog for Times of Israel. And while the experiences of both time off from blogging and then re-immersing myself into a completely different world of blogging has been great, I've realized there are some things I need to tackle on my own turf.

Like feminism.

There, I said it. Feminism. Well, I guess in this instance we can call it what it really is: sexism; a double standard. Allow me to explain.

A friend of mine has been doing a study abroad here in America, roughly about an hour and a half away from me. We met at conferences and delegation meetings, the normal boring monstrosities that bring people together with so little as a "so if I pulled the fire alarm, how much you wanna bet he'll keep lecturing". Needless to say, the two of us quickly became pals. The community that was hosting him apparently had other ideas.

'Twas the eve of our goodbye (just a clue into the aforementioned community) and he held a pool party. Sweet. I dragged a friend, and we made the most of the 3 hour round trip car-ride for the three hour party. When I asked him if I could speak to him alone for a moment, I was shot looks by the adults, more or less daring me to take one step. When we were playing frisbee on the field with friends and he playfully tackled me as he publicly grabbed my backside, they laughed. It didn't matter that I was bright red or that he proceeded to say "oops, definitely did not grab the frisbee". It mattered that he was the guy, and I was just the girl in the string bikini.

When he asked if he could speak to me for a moment, the adult community went "aww" and said he could take as much time as he needed. His former host father actually winked at him as he motioned to the trees nearby with limited visibility.

And the icing on the sexist cake is the response and backlash I got for posting the pictures. He was wearing a shirt and his swim trunks, I was in my bikini. The adults had been standing there, one even took the pictures for us. Yet at midnight, when he usually would call or text with an inappropriate joke, comment or pickup line, he told me the pictures were inappropriate. I was questioned--by the boy who'd been lude in public--why I would ever post such a thing. Hm. . .I'm pretty sure I wasn't the only one in those pictures.

In fact, I'm confident that I wasn't. Because if you look at those pictures, there are hands that aren't mine on body parts that are. There's a wink on a face that doesn't belong to me, and an older man in the background staring.

They've questioned why I didn't cover up. I question why they didn't cover their eyes if it bothered them so much. If the female figure bothered them so much, then why own a mirror. Why marry a woman? And why throw a pool party for a college boy, whom you told to invite his friends.

I can understand where they're coming from, for they seek to display what's moral and just. I see no problem with that. I do see a problem in judging other people. I see a problem with them assuming I was the promiscuous one, simply because I'm more well endowed than other girls. They know nothing about me, yet insinuate everything.

So I've taken the pictures down, and apologized as much as my low tolerance for lying would allow me. But I'll remember exactly what they taught me: my body is a playground, it's open to everyone but me.