FEMINISM IS... DRIVING A BIG RED TRUCK.

       I know a woman. She drives a big red truck. Whenever she takes the truck out for a drive, no matter where she goes, people tend to look at her. Some stare out of awe from the beauty and sheer size of the machine. Some stare out of jealousy as they wish to be in the driver's seat of this vehicle. Some stare out of some preconceived notion that a woman should not be driving such a magnificent car. Each reason comes with its own distinct stare and I laugh anytime I see these things because they don't know the struggles that came before the acquisition of such a splendid ride so they only judge by what they see on the surface - A woman driving a big red truck.

     There's nothing special in women driving. Honestly. They still have to obey traffic laws, they still need to pay tolling bills, they still check all their mirrors before backing out of the driveway and they still need to update their license every now and then. So what's the big deal about women driving? Do we judge the car based on the driver or judge the driver based on the car? A man could drive this truck and we'd just see him as another average hustling Joe making his mark somewhere in the world but in a woman's case, questions pop up; "Who is she?", "Is she married?", "How did she acquire such a big car?", "This car doesn't fit her at all",  "Maybe she's doing rituals or some other money-making vices" and it goes on and on. Why? This is the goddamn 21st century and we really need to change our perspectives about a lot of things. What do I think about this woman? She is one who goes against all odds, gets up in the morning, talks to her God, and goes out into the world that wishes her to succumb to the antics that play in a man's world and makes a name for herself. It is in this red truck that she drives - unperturbed by the careless whispers of street vendors, oblivious to the envious eyes of commuters- to her place of business. I see her, with her boldness and tenacious character, as she coordinates herself in the midst of men. I look at her and I'm filled with awe. The struggles she's gone through, the mountains she's had to climb-whilst carrying her family on her back- and the obstacles and wolves she's had to face and I can't help but wonder, is she really human?

      I'm sure we've met women. Women who drive big red trucks. Women who are out there striving in a world that tries to make them submit to its whims and tricks. A world telling them: "You can succeed, but not this much", "You can live, but not this well without a man". It doesn't have to be a truck. It could be a big blue house, or a big yellow boat or anything that distinguishes them from the rest. Something that gets the masses talking, the children gawking and the village people busy. 

     I know a woman. She drives a big red truck. She is my mother.