Tonight I walked home with a scowl on my face. I was tired and congested, still feeling in my chest and sinuses the pressure of a reluctantly-retreating cold. Work had been frenetic lately but it had slowed down during the day; still I was stressed.

It was chilly outside—the temperature had dropped a good twenty degrees fahrenheit since yesterday. Dodging past people on the sidewalk and blinking a bit in the city lights, I retreated into myself, stony-faced, wrapped deep inside my fluffy baby blue coat.

“Look at you walkin’ like a bouncer, girl.” A man sneered then cackled at his own remark. Another guy snickered in appreciation.

It wasn’t til I’d strode about five paces past them that I groggily registered that the remark had been directed at me. I was glad that I had been too oblivious to give them the satisfaction of a response. A part of me shrugged, “Pfff, silly people!” Another, smaller part, flinched, “I walk confidently, yes, but was I walking too much like a man? Did that look ridiculous?”

My inner core hardened as I continued on my way. Yes, I DID walk like a bouncer. And it was intentional. Not because I cursed, got into fights or called women bitches and hoes. Just simply because I was comfortable in my own skin and felt entitled to acting like I owned my space. If that threatened some dude’s sense of masculinity, he should grow some real balls that didn’t shrink the moment a woman acted like she wasn’t trespassing on his territory.

Calling me a bouncer wasn’t going to make me feel less womanly either. After all, I could probably kick him in the face if I had to. Martial arts just happened to be one of my hobbies.

This piece is part of the Dear Diary series.

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By Jia Jia
Photograph from We Hate to Waste.com