My Dreamflower Tale
I was not born in the time when the girl child was buried alive or in the medieval age when women were burnt for being witches, and not in the time when burning a wife with her dead husband was legal and practiced rampantly for the sake of religion and culture. I was born in the age when the feminine mystique movement developed, and when most of the educated women worldwide are concerned about their rights and are fighting against gender-based violence and discrimination. I am representing the generation that is going to ensure equal rights between genders and the generation of women who ensured much more freedom than past generations. I myself felt so fortunate when I compared my situation to that of past generations, but I was also envious to see others who got more freedom than me. Here the word ‘freedom’ for me till my teenage years it only meant whatever I wanted to do, wherever I wanted to go and getting the same chance to do what my brother and male friends did.
However, as I grew up I have learnt that life is not as rosy as I thought. There is always sharp thorns hidden under the green leaf, and it will cut your finger when you try to get that beautiful red flower. So, at first I decided not to get the flower, but the flower never stopped spreading its alluring smell. It used to come not only when I was dreaming, but also when I was awake. I wept, and it made my pillow wet, and though I am the only unfortunate not to get that flower and everyone else has already got there dreamflower.
Time went by and surprisingly I discoverd that I am can control my emotions, but also can change the color of my dreamflower. Then for the first time I came to know that I was not a dreamy-eyed teen anymore, I have passed all my birthday candle number all the number that number with prefix teen. I changed my flower into different colors although I knew that it has only one color which is red. The people around me, my culture and my social norms taught me to see the flower through the smell whole of the window rather than opening it. I was banned from opening the window. I was scared and never dared to open the window. But that smell, that alluring hypnotizing smell made me so addicted that I could not remove myself from the window.
My mom noticed my obsession and she helped me open the window, though she was scared too. She also had a dreamflower in her mind but I saw that, though it was pale and discolored, the smell of the flower was as strong as before. She did not have enough courage to open the window for me, as in her whole life she was not able to open it by herself. It was not that she did not have courage to open the window herself. It was because her generation had chained the window with stereotypes and taboos, and she was powerless against them to break the black chain which was splled with the social stigmas and stereotypes. I felt my situation was not as bad as my mother’s because she was beside me and I could see her trusty eye to touch that flower which made me more courageous to get the flower .
I become rebellious to get the flower. My friends, relatives and neighbors told me that I am going to be a feminist, but I even do not know what feminism means: cultural connotations and different ideological definitions make me confused all the time. I only talk about the things I see, I hear, I learn and have experienced. Finally, a day came when I saw one of my friends post on her Facebook status, “the most unfortunate thing on earth is to be born a woman” Then my anger rose up and I felt the smell of the flower become so strong that it made me break the window and get the flower, no matter how painful it was.
I thrive with joy and indescribable alien pleasures grasp me. I looked at my blood-shaded hand, holding the red dreamflower. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and I felt that that is what I wanted, that this is what all women want.