To serve man

When I was a little girl, I was told once that I must serve the head of the family.

Why? I asked 一 innocent, frowning, brimming with endless doubt.

"Because that's what your mother did, and so did your grandmother, young lady".

They told me to fix my dress, to keep my legs closed, to speak less, to behave like a lady 一 on the street, on the table, by day and by night 一 quiet, silent, feminine.

As a teenager, housework was no longer for everyone, but for two.

Mother carried the baskets, and I washed the dishes.

Mother cooked and I scrubbed 一  until my hands hardened, 

until my knees dented the floor,

until the head of the family returned,

and with a sweet, graceful tug at his tie, praised my effort:

"Next time, clean better".

And I nodded, eager to serve,

to be like my mother and grandmother.

Later, I stopped serving the head of the family, only to serve at work.

Always present, well dressed, never too revealing,

painted face, lashes covered in mascara, cheeks softened in pink 一 sweet, childlike.

The new head 一 older, tie and briefcase in hand 一 admired my figure and silence, 

but despused my words and will to also be served.

"You are a woman, and as such, you'll never do business like us".

Us? What does that mean?

Pergaps it was the power granted by long legs,

Flat chests and tailored pants.

Perhaps it was the Adam's apple,

the mark that condemned woman

while raising men to a fierce and untouchable superiority.

Then I understood.

Our only purpose 一 the one they tried to carve into us,

to dissolve every trace of independent thought 一

was to serve man, to kneel at their feet.

And so, I realized:

he who cannot stand on his own intelligence

is the very one who seeks to subjugate,

lest he face the cowardice within himself.

- LUN4.