Behind the mask

Why do I feel uncomfortable hearing men talk (about tits, boobs, and other lady parts)? Perhaps, it’s because I’m a woman. But I know of some women who don’t seem to feel the least bit awkward over these guy talks. Perhaps, it’s a matter of tolerance since I know of some women who don’t just listen but participate in guy-talks-over-boob-topics. I also know of some women who start out to enjoy these banters. Yet, at the end of the conversation, they exhibit manifestations that show how they’re offended by the topic, word-choice, or the guys. Either the guys will brand these women as “too sensitive” or feel baffled (“if it’s really offensive, why did she join in our convo?”).

In my quest to find the reason why I feel what I feel, I tried to find myself in these types of women. To say that I’m uncomfortable about this type of guy-talks just because I am a woman is… too vague. To say I can tolerate it is out of the question; yet, I’m not the type to tell guys or any person to stop what they’re doing because it’s making me uncomfy. Call me stoic (because really, I am). Now, we can scratch the type of women who joins this kind of guy talk because I don’t (and I won’t, even if sometimes I think I could learn something if I do more than just listen).

Because it makes me feel uneasy, attempts of taking out my opinions over boobs or tits or lady parts usually fail. I will either smile that false, polite (or politician-like) smile or exude disinterest or act as if I didn’t hear anything.

This is not helping, is it?

I don’t see a clear picture because I like to act in between — I am uncomfortable but I won’t confront the guys (perhaps, I might make it worse). I prefer to be stoic, yet my mind wants to decipher the cryptic reason why I feel what I feel, or who am I behind the mask that I wore. I could just submit myself to the wisdom of infamous phrases, like “boys will be boys” but what is the point in exploring my hidden persona if I couldn’t look at it in the face, in the eye?

So, let’s do it again, shall we?

Why do I feel uncomfortable hearing men, guys, boys talk about boobs, tits, or the whole woman anatomy? Because the “boobs,” “tits,” and lady parts are tangible to me. Yes, a guy may have the tit-equivalent but we all know they’re referring to the lady’s, right? Besides, the lady parts are not quite like the guy’s parts to the guys’ perspective, right? They freely talk about lady parts that aren’t tangible to them — but could be “accessed” through ways that I don’t need to enumerate. Their curiosity — though fascinating at times — could not substitute over their lack of connection to these lady parts that seemingly make a woman whole.

Through bro-talks over who has the best boobs, the smoothest skin, blah-blah-blah, perhaps, I have always detected that lack of connection, which arouses suspicion over another layer of lack: empathy.

Is this only about them?

Certainly, not. I am not yet sure why I plaster a fake smile or nonchalant pose over convos that bother me. But going over the woman types in the context of guy-talks-over-boobs has certainly helped me see that hidden part of me. Behind the mask, I am more of a girl than a woman. I have boobs and all the lady-parts that those guys have been talking about. But these parts are not the only ones that I have.

I also have a soul — kept intact by billions of cells, stories, and sea-salty tears.


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