“Fessura” is the Italian word for flaw,I could think of a thousand flaws
that plague the human existence like cancer for example or a destructive
influx like the Ebola virus that had the most part of the African continent
worried for a minute. Everyone,knows what flaws are and no one wants to be
identified with one. I for example happen to suffer from an extreme case of
malignant inertia,I just cant seem to ever get things done on time. Well, at
least I admit to mine.
One flaw we never want admit if we even consider it a defeito
(portuguese for flaw) is the pressure we put on the girl to have a little gold
band on her finger. If,that isn’t a fehler(German for flaw) then you my friend
are as anachronistic as they come. Irrespective of your dreams,who you are
and who you want to be. It is assumed that the woman is not a complete
being simply because she lacks the little gold band on her finger. We may
think that the trend of wearing tight laced up corsets went with the Victorian
era, what we do not know is that the average African girl is still very much
enslaved by the corsets of finding a good husband that society has her so
tightly laced up in.
The girl must marry or she is considered persona non grata and so to
snag herself “a good catch” she has to go through the arduous task of going
to the virtual market with other girls of her kind where she is expected to
compete with them to sell her self by using the best feminine tricks and
charms so that she gets the best buyer(a good husband) the man is the
demand and she is the supply. And if she doesn’t succeed at selling herself
right and gets no buyer she becomes a thing of mild popular contempt and in
extreme cases labelled a failure.
There is more to being a woman than the little gold band,a woman’s
happiness,wealth,social distinction,reputation,ease and self actualization
should not always come to her by being “Mrs somebody”. What if? I didn’t
want to be a female gypsy moth who lives a dependent life,whose whole
essence of living is centered around the male moth who lives a dependent
life, whose essence of living is centered around the male moth, who seldom
moves more than a few feet from the male pupa,who has aborted wings and
so cannot fly, who waits patiently and obsequiously subserviently for the
winged male lays her eggs and then dies. What if I wanted my life as a
woman to count for something without being “Mrs somebody”.
