What is that strap??

Like I’ve exorcised a part of me that always wanted to scream at a world that cut, edited, and framed me but never saw me.

More editing came after, but the bones and muscles were strong. The gaze–fixed and steady.

I hope the manuscript find its readers one day. And when you do,

Parts of the second draft made me question my own sanity. But then I remembered the anger and pain.
I pressed further. I didn’t care if I crashed into walls, egos, or institutions.

In the end, I had a 63,000 word novel that felt too real to be fiction. It burned, a cathartic fire.

I even wrote a faux academic paper into the book and designed a LARP game to make the revenge complete because the women in these pages would not be believed unless she came armed with credentials. It wouldn’t do for her to be mildly menacing–she had to be terrifying!

And then a new question appeared: Why was a woman always punished for transgressing?

Justice was howling for the falsely accused.

I revived the first draft. Deleted chapters, rewrote entire segments.

I wrote an initial version of the novel. 27,000 trembling words. I was clumsy with the plotting. I thought that would be it. But it still felt sideways.

In that version, the woman got punished for staring back.

That was my novel’s main preoccupation.
But I didn’t want to replicate the gaze just to critique it. I want to turn it around, and in that turning–something looked back. The abyss, the female gaze–the female rage!

but no one will know the flicker behind the eyes. About your dreams or fears.

The man is powerful, steeped in tradition, respected by institutions, and could also be someone close enough to touch.

But no woman was exempt from it. If you’re female–worse, a girl–you will most definitely be perceived and framed by the gaze of the man. The camera lens would lust at your figure, pose your body in vulnerable positions, your face will always be begging for help,

It’s true not just because someone said it, but because I felt it through the way media perceived my form. It made me feel uncomfortable. When I was a teenager, I decided I would disappear so I would be exempted from that gaze.