Revised Definition Text: I can feel the eyes

In case anyone was interested, here is my new text for the definition 3D project. I revised it to better address every issue I introduce, but still maintain the central theme of being judged unfairly:

I can feel the eyes. They can be furtive glances, darting nervously in my direction. Or they can be two spears of solid ice, piercing into my core. But I feel them. Do they really have to stare so much… it’s not as if I have some kind of physical aberration. I’m five foot eight, with a wiry frame, and light skin. My eyes are brown, my nose is pointy, and my lips are pink. I wear clothes bought from the local department store, sometimes with a gold necklace my mother gave me. But my hair is covered by a scarf. So that’s what it is. Is this piece of fabric really the cause of so much scrutiny? Does it conjure images of oppression and violence? Does it provoke pity? Does it hurt to look at? It hurts when a mother pulls her children closer to her when I walk by. It hurts when fingers point in my direction. It hurts when insults are muttered under peoples’ breath, as if I can’t understand, or worse… as if I can. It hurts that I am judged by stereotypes over which I have no control. It hurts that I can accept others for who they are and what they believe, but that I myself am not accepted. It hurts that a woman’s value is in her nudity, and not in the beauty of her mind. I can still feel the eyes.

Repeated statements:

• “I can feel the eyes.”
• “Look at her… she’s one of them.”
• “You don’t have to wear that- you’re in America now.”
• “Go back to your country.”
• “You’re so backwards.”

Look beyond the piece of cloth, look into my soul. Leave your politics at the door, the politics that categorize people into the worthy and the worthless. Forget the movies and the media, the constant images of veiled women scurrying in bundles of subordination. See what makes me who I am. It’s not to please a man or some far off culture across the oceans. It’s not because I’m ashamed of my hair or my body. These things do not dictate my waking moments. Look into my soul. My soul that makes me a distinct individual, that nobody can claim but me. This is what guides me, this is my faith. A belief in the eternity of the soul, even after bodies decompose into nonexistence. Conforming to the monopoly over women’s sexuality is what I reject. I reject that happiness can be found in a plastic surgeon’s office, a weight-loss pill, or a bottle of tanning oil. I reject that my body parts are public property, to be assessed like produce at the market. I embrace modesty and self respect, integrity, and introspection. I embrace that my mind and my body belong to me and only me. I embrace the sacred beauty of life itself. Look at my actions, look at my words. Look at me as a fellow member of the human race, deserving of the same rights and respect. Look beyond the piece of cloth; look at me.

Repeated statements:

• “Look into my soul.”
• “My body is my own property.”
• “This is who I am.”
• “It brings me peace.”
• “This is my country… this is my lifestyle.”