Signs of my beloved Autumn and the beautiful Tennessee season.
The best apples to use when making candied treats for Halloween.
Slightly provocative and absolutely carefree—how I always feel when wearing red.
My favorite color to wear on my lips—MAC Russian Red, to be exact.
The cloak that conceals my favorite fairy tale character’s brave little face.
Dreams of the perfect crimson shoes that I have yet to find.
Strands of my mother’s fiery hair while she works on her garden and the rays of the country sun setting after.
The current blush of my face, I just stumbled out of bed after tossing and turning all night—bewildered and exasperated.
A sign of the building resentment in my tired green eyes.
RED—my blood is boiling.
RED—the only color that I can see.
It means STOP.
Not go, damn it.
Why is it than when a woman says, ”STOP” some men have a tendency to GO?
Is this necessary, to have to throw oneself out of moving vehicle to feel safe and secure? My initial thought would be no. I’m not trying to generalize. Not every taxi driver in Egypt is like this and a majority of men in the world would not behave this way, although occurrences like this happen all over the globe at every moment of every day.
I can’t help but think of the several instances when I was back in Knoxville working at FIZZ in Market Square. A slightly deluded and deranged man would often come into the boutique to browse around drunkenly, possibly buy a few things, and stare at me with immense interest. He began to frequent the store more often and I would have to dash to the back of the store and the manager would have to appear so he would leave without bothering any customers or me. It got to the point where we had to buy a bell to keep at the front of the store to ring in case the man came in (often times my co-workers and I would forget about the symbolic importance of the bell and would sometimes make up little tunes to play if no one was in the store, then whoever was in the back would race to the front to make sure that the creeper wasn’t doing something outrageous…which he did on a few occasions). He even decided to give me the nickname “Little Red Riding Hood”.
I’ve heard so many stories of small assaults such as this and know that my own loved ones (my beautiful and strong sorority sisters, amazing church and family members, and unforgettable mentors) have experienced such injustices. One should note that women are not the only ones who receive this type of treatment! My best gay friend has also been the subject of harassment and unwanted contact.
Cairo has reminded me on a daily basis of why I have come here. Fortunately, it’s not to the point where I’ve had to get one of these bad boys but they are a rather interesting invention. Who's afraid of the big bad wolf now!? Rape Axe: Take Back the Power http://www.antirape.co.za/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=6&Itemid=18
I’ve had to behave a bit differently and have had to wrap myself in a sort of meekness that I am definitely not used to but you can bet your bottom dollar that my cloak is not a boring and dull, old thing. It’s effervescent, full of life, and most importantly…RED.