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2 years ago, when I was 12 years old, I was walking to meet my friend. It was summer, and so I put on a pair of tight jean short-shorts. I felt sexy and beautiful and like I could conquer the world. I felt so good.
I was walking past a florist’s shop when an old man outside gave me a catcall. I spun around, staring at him. I couldn’t believe what he had just done. It was the first acknowledgement of being “sexy” or “hot” before. And it was from an old man who was wearing a wedding ring.
I didn’t know what else to do but continue walking. I felt myself to start to tear up and feel brought down. I couldn’t help but feel violated. Ashamed. I knew my shorts were short, but were they really that short? I kept thinking that it was my fault. That I was asking for it, that I was the reason I was being catcalled. And that if I wanted to dress like how I was dressing, I couldn’t dress like that.
When I got to the place I was meeting my friend, I changed in the bathroom into something more conservative. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to feel that way again.
Now, I realize that my shorts or my legs or my ass shouldn’t mean that someone should look at me, violate me, and make me feel ashamed.
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