So many stories

My head hurts.

I've been reading the entries for the Blank Noise Project's blog-a-thon and I'm shaking. So many stories, so much anger, fear, rage. There's a chill up my spine and it's not due to the steady rain falling outside. I feel like screaming right now. So many stories...

My mum emails to comment on my post. She says it's a relief to be a woman in your fifties. You can walk more freely, she says wryly. I don't want to be fifty before I can walk without holding a bag in front of my chest protectively or ramming my elbow into someone who's intruded too far into my space. I don't want to spend a walk down the street dodging outstretched palms and twisting my torso to protect myself. I want to be able to climb into a bus or train and not feel violated. Someday?

Annie's post brought tears. I found myself nodding vigorously, agreeing with every word; every sentence rang true. Everybody has a story to tell and they are all different versions of the same tale. Most of my female co-bloggers have a post. Mumbaigirl, Shoefie, Mridu, Keya...

Will this ever end?