I was watching this comedy and there was this episode about words the characters just could not stand. My favorite was this guy who will flip and go nuts when he hears the word “spider.” I am told everyone has those words. For me it was these two words, “shut up.” I am yet to find anything that made me feel as horrible, unappreciated, belittled and disrespected as these two words. A slap would come close, not quite enough. Vushya will attest to how angry I got when she used those words on me. I would rather you use any synonymous phrase no matter how rude or offensive; just not “shut up.” I say was because I just realized I do not mind this phrase as much. I just told my roommate to shut the hell up because she has been speaking a lot of nonsense, and while I said it jokingly, I think I intended to say it with a more ferocious tone. And this got me spiraling down memory lane; down to those words I thought I would never utter; to words that I use with such ease these days, I am sure my dead grandmother, who adored me for my innocent air, looks and more so diction, turns in her grave and if possible chokes upon them as she is forced to listen to her corrupted granddaughter.
Top of that list is the vilest of curse words,”fuck.”(Some people would call it swearing. And while I would want to explain why I find this annoyingly dumb, I do not have a way of doing it without coming off as a racist, arrogant bitch, so I will just keep my opinions to myself.) I do not think a day goes by that I do not use this word. But in my defense, there are some reactions that can only be adequately captioned by this word. And I keep saying I will stop cursing, or at least stop using this word, but something always happens and I just end up throwing in the towel. Like the other day, I am in a bus, minding my own business when I overhear (did I say I was minding my own business?) a conversation between these two boys. So this guy is telling his friend that he cannot ask this girl out because she belongs to this specific tribe. And according to him, girls from this tribe are prostitutes as they will perform “wifely duties” to whoever promises the most amount of cash. In his words, they auction sex to the highest bidder. I don’t know the girl they were talking about, and even if this were true, this narrow-minded stereotyping rendered me motionless for a while, I could not conceal my steeling stare. So when my tongue finally regained its functions, I could only spit two words, “the fuck??”

The other word would be “bitch.” I hated this word. I still kind of do; it depends on the context. I certainly do not like it when a disgruntled ex- boyfriend calls his ex-girlfriend a bitch for whatever reason. I hate the way independent, opinionated women are called bitches. I hate the way any woman who is strong enough to voice her opinion and not conform to some subjugating standards is called a bitch. I hate the way so many boys have called me a bitch because I could not date them just a few weeks after we met. See, I take my time to feel anything for anyone and my favorite kind of boyfriends are the ones in my friend list. But I certainly did not hate this word one morning in a coffee shop some years back when I overheard these two women talking about this neighbour’s daughter who had been raped. So according to them she was obviously asking for it because she walks around in white school shirts and short games’ skirts. Let me explain how insanely callous this is. See, white school shirts are obviously see-throughs and if your bra collection is not entirely made up of black bras, one day, someone is going to see your bra through this school shirt. The other option would be to wear a black bra daily, and as far as I know, that is not a very healthy choice (something about breast cancer). And as far the short skirt goes, I can only say, the length is what makes it a games skirt. So as I left the coffee shop, I couldn’t help but think, “These women are stupid bitches.” Only, I said it out loud and so one of them called me disrespectful which made me go like,” you think!?”

I will admit though, this is one of those posts that I just wrote, no moral lessons intended, not very appealing to emotion. I just had the words to do it. So I think I should go the extra mile and help you see my point. Which is; our innocence is precious. Only life has a way of ensuring we lose it along this growing up highway. But take it from someone who has spent a very long time mourning my lost innocence, wishing I could go back to those days when I did not recognize sexual innuendo in a sentence even when it was in plain sight, losing it is not necessarily a bad thing. Or I could be justifying why I curse so much. Oh, well, whatever.