I was five years old when I first watched Disney's Cinderella (1950), and it was one of the most magical moments of my life. The way that she was dressed for the ball, the dances, the love story -- all of it seemed perfect to me.
I truly believed I could be her one day. I was blonde, I had green eyes, and I was pretty enough for my age. I made my parents buy me her dress and wouldn’t take it off for a long time. To the soundtracks of the movie, I would grab a pillow and dance until my feet couldn't bear it anymore. The pillow was my beloved future prince, the man who would always want the best for me. I didn't wish for him because I believed the only way to happiness was to find a man; I was too innocent for that. I saw love, joy, and most importantly, a beautiful dress, and I wanted them.
Unfortunately, there was a huge problem. I wasn’t suffering enough. I wasn’t an orphan, never had a stepmother, and didn’t even have a mean sister. What a nightmare! The only satisfaction I could find was when I played Cinderella with my friends. I always chose the role of Cinderella, of course. I made them bully me because if I could suffer enough, even if it was just a game, maybe I could have her life eventually. All this drama was just because I wanted pretty shoes and a long dress, nothing more.
My fulfilling relationship with the Cinderella delusion was shattered one day by my thirteen-year-old self. The teenage me thought she had everything figured out. Cinderella was a stupid trad-wife who needed a man’s approval and protection. If I could be Cinderella one day, I would stand up to the stepmother, cause problems, and run away from that house without a second thought. The worst part wasn’t even the stepfamily. The prince was unbearable. Imagine a man who can’t recognize you by your face and needs to carry a shoe around—what a pervert! “They don’t even know each other,” I used to think. “What idiotic woman would marry someone she only danced with once?”
Finally, there is a third era for me. This is the era where I can understand my girl Cinderella and just want those shoes again. I think now, I am old enough to let go of my hate for other women and their choices.
The first “modern” Cinderella was written in 1697 by Charles Perrault in France. This is a story of a girl who is just trying to save herself in an era where women couldn’t get an education, choose their husbands, or be seen as equals to men. Who was I to judge her when I never had to fight for my life or my own rights? She could never leave the house without the help of a man. Even if she could, this was her home with many memories of her deceased parents .
Let’s say she left the house after the intolerable abuse. What would she do? If she had no money and no husband, the best option for her would be to become a prostitute who somehow hadn’t lost all her teeth yet. So in an era where the best a woman could hope for was to marry a rich man, how could I judge Cinderella? After everything she went through and did for me, how would she see me if I was hating her like a man would? In our society, where men can only degrade women by making them hate each other, we can only protect ourselves by being each other's fairy godmothers.
Now, I am 20 years old. I still want the dazzling blue dress, the elegant glass stilettos. I desire to be at a huge party and dance with my prince, but this time not because I need him to live, but only because I am in love.
The day I died was the last day I was free, and I had no idea. As a fanatic atheist, I was absolutely sure that the life I used to live was my final one.
Git demişsin başımdan, gitmeyeceğim
Ben bir çiçeksem gök gürültüsünden korkacak
Bu satırları, rahatsız edici hiçbir çıtırtının duyulmadığı, huzur dolu bir gecede yazıyorum.
I woke up early today
Gotta get up and start the day