Last night I held a pencil, thinking how I could use it as a weapon

I felt threatened by a man who walked into my house. Us hippies don’t really like locked doors. No one should have to think that way.

I had forgotten how it felt to think like this. NZ spoils you in this sense.

I remember walking down the road, determined to look straight ahead to avoid the catcalls, in case they put me in more trouble.

I remember walking towards the underground walkway and checking if anyone was coming from the other direction, before breaking off to a sprint anyway, until I was out on the other side.

I remember walking home and holding my keys, in my fist, just in case.

I remember walking up on the outer side of the steps so that I could see if anyone was coming towards me.

I remember walking in the middle of the road at night with my friend because she told me that on the pavement it’s easier for someone to shove you against the wall.

I remember hiding my money on different parts of my body, but not in my bra because “that’s where they look first”.

I remember running from my room to the bathroom and counting until 5 because I was home alone and the corridor between the two rooms was too dark. I grew older and that passed. It didn’t make sense.

I remember waiting at the bus-stop at a five lane highway, realising how close I am to all these cars that just may turn the wheel a little too much any time. It doesn’t make sense.

No one should have to feel like that.

I hate waking up to a world of fear we are so accustomed to live in.

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