What is gender?

To me, gender is a struggle to be gender-free.
I see myself as a woman of today living in a world stuck in yesterday. When will we see tomorrow? Gender to me is a wall. It separates me, not from men, but from the person I want to be – independent and gender-free.
When I started taking kickboxing classes, my aunt panicked: “But your hands will become rough. Girls are supposed to have soft hands”. I laughed. I told her, I learn boxing for strength, for protection. Protection from what? Who is harassing you, she asked, almost shouting.
I want to tell her – 90 per cent of all Bangladeshi women aged 10-18 have faced sexual harassment in public. Public is still easier. It’s private that scares me more. The unreported cases of abuse from those we trust the most. Almost 87 per cent of all women in Bangladesh have been victims of domestic violence. She may be one of them. But I don’t tell her that. Who is not harassing us, I ask. And I change the subject.
I’m cycling home after buying vegetables from the local grocery store. A young man, quite handsome to my delight, stops to give me a thumbs-up, “You’re awesome”. Hah! That’s rare. I smile. As I take the turn to my street, a man says “Nauzubillah” and wishes that I get hit by lightning.
Perhaps, if I had an old, thin rickshawallah carry my weight across town, it would be more acceptable, more normal. Women cannot carry their own weight. They are often a burden. Gender to me has become a burden.
But to me, gender is also love -- the love of a mother. Nine months in the womb would be dark and lonely if it wasn’t for her warmth, her light, her love. But gender to me is also my father who cries every time I move away from home. He loves me like a mother, like a father. And I
wonder if there is a difference at all.
Gender to me is just a six-letter word. But not like other six-letter words. Or seven. Or five. It is a word so heavy it weighs us down, a word so wide it divides us, a word so accessible, it offers excuses for discrimination, for violence. And love is often lost in all the calculations.
You are a woman so you get half while I get full, while I get double. You are a woman, so you stay inside while I go out. You wear this, I wear that. You stay quiet, I shout. And if you shout, you’re too loud, too masculine, too rough, too much. Woman, you are just too much.
I am too much sometimes. I don’t see the wall. The wall that society built to divide love into two pieces. They do not know that love cannot be divided. My father and mother are not two genders. They are simply, my parents. To me, they are love. And I hope one day, when I find my
other half, we will become a circle. Not husband and wife, but partners. Equal. Gender-free.
Times are changing. We are the society now and the men and women – the people of today will carry our country to tomorrow. And I will be one of them, crossing the line. You are too much, they say. Just too much. Too much is okay, I think. Too much is just fine.

 The writer is communications specialist, PHR programme, Plan International Bangladesh.

What is gender?

To me, gender is a struggle to be gender-free. I see myself as a woman of today living in a world stuck in yesterday. When will we see tomorrow? Gender to me is a wall. It separates me, not from men, but from the person I want to be independent and gender-free. When I started taking kickboxing classes, my aunt panicked: But your hands will become rough. Girls are supposed to have soft hands. I laughed. I told her, I learn boxing for strength, for protection. Protection from what? Who is harassing you, she asked, almost shouting. I want to tell her 90 per cent of all Bangladeshi women aged 10-18 have faced sexual harassment in public. Public is still easier. Its private that scares me more. The unreported cases of abuse from those we trust the most. Almost 87 per cent of all women in Bangladesh have been victims of domestic violence. She may be one of them. But I dont tell her that. Who is not harassing us, I ask. And I change the subject. Im cycling home after buying vegetables from the local grocery store. A young man, quite handsome to my delight, stops to give me a thumbs-up, Youre awesome. Hah! Thats rare. I smile. As I take the turn to my street, a man says Nauzubillah and wishes that I get hit by lightning. Perhaps, if I had an old, thin rickshawallah carry my weight across town, it would be more acceptable, more normal. Women cannot carry their own weight. They are often a burden. Gender to me has become a burden. But to me, gender is also love -- the love of a mother. Nine months in the womb would be dark and lonely if it wasnt for her warmth, her light, her love. But gender to me is also my father who cries every time I move away from home. He loves me like a mother, like a father. And I wonder if there is a difference at all. Gender to me is just a six-letter word. But not like other six-letter words. Or seven. Or five. It is a word so heavy it weighs us down, a word so wide it divides us, a word so accessible, it offers excuses for discrimination, for violence. And love is often lost in all the calculations. You are a woman so you get half while I get full, while I get double. You are a woman, so you stay inside while I go out. You wear this, I wear that. You stay quiet, I shout. And if you shout, youre too loud, too masculine, too rough, too much. Woman, you are just too much. I am too much sometimes. I dont see the wall. The wall that society built to divide love into two pieces. They do not know that love cannot be divided. My father and mother are not two genders. They are simply, my parents. To me, they are love. And I hope one day, when I find my other half, we will become a circle. Not husband and wife, but partners. Equal. Gender-free. Times are changing. We are the society now and the men and women the people of today will carry our country to tomorrow. And I will be one of them, crossing the line. You are too much, they say. Just too much. Too much is okay, I think. Too much is just fine. The writer is communications specialist, PHR programme, Plan International Bangladesh.