...my style was considered too 'dangerous'

This is going to take a while before it get's going so just bear with me guys. I'm going to rant a lot here and I know it's a controversial subject but... just deal with it. I'm really not trying to make a statement here - it's just something that came up in a conversation a little while ago and I want to get it off my chest (no pun intended). 

Let me start this off by saying I am by no means a feminist. Well, at least not the militant type. I guess you can say I am a believer in gender equality. I do believe that women can do anything if they put their mind to it and they deserve equal opportunities and equal wages. That being said, I know that men and women will never be - can never be - completely equal. That's just nature for you. We can change society but we can't change nature - we can't change who we are. Nature intended women to carry and nurture their young while men went out to hunt. That's how it's always worked and while stay-at-home dad's are becoming more common as time goes along (and there's nothing wrong with that) it's only natural for women to be more family-oriented and men to be more career-oriented. Genders have different roles to play and there's nothing wrong with that. We should just accept it as it is instead of trying to change something that's basically set in stone.

That, however, does not mean we should accept sexism. See, sexism and gender roles aren't the same. Sure, sometimes it's hard to tell the difference and there are people willing to grab their torches and pitchforks as soon as someone dares to point out the differences between genders - or dares to point out that there are differences - but those people are fanatics and I'm not going to go off on a rant about that. I honestly didn't plan to go on a rant at all but due to the nature of my story I feel like I have to. And that's sexism for you.

Yes, I know that both men and women are affected by it and I am aware that often we tend to gloss over sexism that's directed at men. We have debates about the wage gap, public breastfeeding and domestic abuse directed at women... while barely acknowledging that many domestic abuse victims are men. We all agree that rape is a terrible and serious subject... unless it's a woman raping a man - then it's apparently funny (I'm looking at you 'Wedding Crashers', you disgusting piece of rubbish). We glorify girls who are tough and fight to achieve their dreams, we admire them and look up to them while looking down on boys who cry. I could go on and on about how women aren't the only ones oppressed and how sexism works both ways but today I'm going to talk about me.

I think we can all agree... okay, maybe we can't but let's just pretend. Let's pretend that we can all agree that women have to deal with a lot more than men. We have to pay more attention to how we dress, who we hang out with, where we go and what we do - apparently it's a woman's job 'not to get raped'. We are the ones who have to make sure it doesn't happen. Not the men who - you know - actually do it. It's strange but it's true.

From a very young age girls are taught to be modest. We are taught to cover ourselves and not let too much show. If you wear clothes that are too revealing, too tight, too sexy then you're apparently asking for something... and that's your fault. I don't know about everyone else but when I shop for clothes I tend to label them in my head: too ugly, too prudish, too slutty, too ugh!, too girly... Sometimes I really like a dress or shirt or a pair of pants but I choose not to buy them because 'it would make me look like a whore' and I don't want to give someone the wrong idea about me. I know it's stupid. The clothes do not make the man - or the woman for that matter. Wearing a shirt with cleavage doesn't make me a slut - I'm still the same person acting the same way I always do - but still, I have to avoid looking a certain way if I don't want to be mistaken for a whore. And that's something men don't really have to worry about.

You might wonder why I started this rant and if it's actually going anywhere. Well, I'm getting to it... soonish.

See, I have a... somewhat curvy figure... and I like to wear clothes that show that off. I'm not trying to impress anyone - it just makes me feel good about myself when I look into the mirror and like what I see. Sadly, most of the clothes that suit my body and make me feel good about myself have cleavage... and when you have cleavage you tend to turn a few heads... and then those heads might make some rather crass remarks about your body...

Let's go back to Japan for a moment. The year was 2014 and it was Summer. Summer in Japan is super hot so for most of the time I would wear long, flowing skirts and sleeveless tops. I liked my clothes and by European standards they were pretty conservative. Not totally conservative but I wasn't wearing skimpy mini-skirts like all the Japanese girls around me. Apparently in Japan it's really popular to show off your legs so girls love to wear mini-skirts. And by mini-skirts I mean belts. Seriously, those skirts were so small you could literally see their underwear while they were walking up the stairs... or down the stairs... or just walking... or standing... or doing anything really. I didn't like to have random Japanese girls' panties in my face every time I went up the stairs but it was something I had to get used to. Nobody else seemed to mind so why should I... 

So one day, in Japanese class, I was sitting around in my long skirt and top when my teacher came up to me and said:

'Oh, umm... Grete... about your clothes... I feel like I have to say that your way of dressing is a bit... dangerous.'

I blinked and stared in amazement. I understood she meant that my style was too provocative and therefore dangerous for me but... why? I wasn't showing off my legs, I was wearing flip flops and my top - while it did have a stooping neckline - was far from sexy. It was just a normal summer top! I have never in my life tried to look super sexy or be very provocative. I just knew my strengths and weaknesses and preferred to show off the former while disguising the latter. 

'Here in Japan girls don't... show off their chest like that. I'm sorry, I don't want to offend you but since your mother isn't here I feel like I have to be like a mother to you and protect you.'

Uh... great... Yeah, that was really sweet... Except that it really wasn't. Why the hell were girls allowed to walk around practically pantsless while I had to burn all my V-necks? In fact, why was it anyone's problem what I was wearing?! It was hot, I was suffering and I wanted to have as little clothes as possible! But that was a big no-no. I was dressing too 'dangerously'! And that kind of ticked me off. Why wasn't I allowed to wear what I wanted? I was hot and it made sense to wear small tops (that might've showed off a little bit of cleavage). Why was anyone bothered by it? It was none of their business! 

After that I started realizing that apparently my clothes really were too 'dangerous'. I would see guys staring at my chest on the subway, at school, on the street... Thankfully this was Japan and me being a foreigner made me more scary than sexy. Like a flesh eating zombie with a nice rack - confusingly sexy but you wouldn't want to touch it with a ten foot pole. The stares were getting annoying though. I learned to live with it - it was really nothing new for me.

What was new was the time I was in Kyoto and a random middle school student ran up to me and took a picture of my cleavage. I was just standing around, taking in the wonderful view when suddenly there was a short Japanese boy in front of me. He had a camera in his hand, pointed at my chest. There was a small 'click' and before I could even react he ran off, never to be seen again. I didn't get angry. I was just confused... and surprised. Was my chest really such a big deal to deserve a photo? Well, apparently it was. Who knew. 

I can't say it didn't affect me though. Sure, I wasn't going to change how I dressed just because people were staring or warning me or even taking pictures. I loved my clothes and I liked the way I looked in them. It wasn't anyone's business how I dressed or how much skin I was showing. But still... Isn't it sad how a piece of clothing can turn a person into an object? How a shirt or a dress can be considered 'dangerous'? How I have to critically look over every article of clothing I have and decide whether it's okay to wear it outside? The worst part is that it shouldn't be my problem. My Japanese teacher was wrong: my way of dressing wasn't dangerous. An article of clothing can hardly be considered dangerous and me wearing it poses no threat to anyone. What's dangerous is the person who interprets my choice of clothing as a message. Who looks at me and thinks I'm trying to get attention, that I'm looking for something - or someone -, that I'm asking for... for what exactly?
I know I tend to wear clothes that may be considered too 'revealing' and I've gotten used to the fact that sometimes guys forget where my eyes are when they're talking to me. I don't even mind it that much anymore. What I do mind is people telling me I should change my style because it's either 'distracting', 'provocative' or 'dangerous'. Instead of me changing the way I dress some people should just change the way they think. Why don't we just spend more time teaching boys that no matter what kind of clothes a girl wears it doesn't mean she's easy or a prude. If a girl wears revealing clothes it doesn't mean you have a right to call her names, try to grope her or snap a picture of her breasts. I know sexism won't go away just because I want it to - it has always been there and will never disappear completely. But really, could we just get over the subject of clothing already? Can't we just all agree that women have the right to wear what they want without being treated as a slut or a prude or a weirdo by men and other women? No? Well... okay then... Guess some things never change...
I guess I should be happy though. At least I won't get stoned to death on the street for flashing my neck... and showing off my ankles isn't a public scandal anymore. Times have changed and I realize I live in a relatively liberal time. But for some reason I still feel like women have to deal with the same prejudices we've always had to deal with. I don't know if there's any way of actually changing that. Lectures don't work. Increasing awareness doesn't really do it. Radical feminism definitely isn't the answer. I guess... all we can do is start to improve thing little by little by telling our brothers, sons, friends and others to treat women with respect? Sure, yeah, let's do that. Oh wait, that would require everyone to agree that there actually is a problem and that's never going to happen. Not to mention that there are plenty of women who are bigger chauvinists than men. Women who do believe that a woman's place is in the kitchen. That a lady shouldn't go to a bar. That a victim of assault probably 'had it coming'. I would love to say that conservative homemakers are a dying breed but they're not. As long as there are people there are going to be chauvinists and sexism will always be around. Guess I should just be happy that I get to experience more freedom than a lot of my peers around the world. 

...it snowed on Christmas

'What? When was that?' I hear you all gasp in disbelief.

Yeah, I know. It's kind of sad, isn't it. I live in cold, cold Estonia - a frozen wasteland for most of the year. It starts snowing in October and if we're lucky the snow melts in April. But for the past few years there's been no snow on Christmas. Because that's just what the weather is like here. For the past few weeks it's been snowing, raining, snowing and raining again. Sometimes it doesn't rain or snow but the ground freezes over so everything is nice and slippery. It's the weather's way of saying 'I hate you and I hope you die but I'm not going to work super hard to achieve it.' Yup, Estonia: a place where even the weather is passive aggressively trying to kill you.

But let's rewind a bit and go back to Japan. 'Another Japan story?!' I hear you moan in disappointment.  Yeah, another Japan story. This is my blog so just deal with it.

The year was 2013 and I was in Japan. Christmas was approaching fast and the semester was ending. This meant that a lot of our friends were leaving Japan and a lot of others were going back home for the holidays. There was only a small group of us left which meant the apartment building was going to be pretty empty and quiet. I didn't have the time or the money to go back home so I opted to stay. That being said, I did feel a bit sad and uneasy doing it. A lot of my close friends were leaving the apartment building and I had no plans for Christmas - it looked like I might be spending the holidays alone and that was a whole new level of sad for me.

Thankfully, one of the Finnish girls - Minna - contacted me and proposed we hold a Scandinavian Christmas Party for the other students. I was all for it. After all, I didn't have anything else to do and I was pretty psyched about the fact she considered Estonia to be a part of Northern Europe. Take that, people who call us Eastern Europe! We're further north than Denmark! Also, take that, Denmark!

'Why don't we cook some traditional Christmas foods and invite everyone over,' Minna suggested, 'I'm sure you know some traditional Estonian recipes that everyone would like.'

'Yeah... let's do that...'

Traditional Estonian Christmas foods, eh? Umm... sauerkraut? Oh wait, that's German. Bloody sausages and black pudding? Pretty sure those are German as well. Meat... jelly...? Ugh, I wouldn't even know where to start with that and I haven't eaten it in ages. Pretty sure it's disgusting. I honestly had no idea what to cook because... it's pretty hard to find traditional Estonian recipes that are purely Estonian. Historically we were slaves! We didn't have food, let alone recipes! We ate twigs and dirt and the occasional rat on Christmas! Okay, maybe it wasn't that bad but seriously - Estonian cooking has a lot of German and Russian influences and to find something truly original is a difficult task. What exactly is a 'traditional Estonian dish'? Kama? Uh... sour cream? Rye bread? Sadness and misery? Pretty hard to plate that though... 

None of those things were freely available in Japan. In fact, if you want real sour cream in Japan you have to send out a 100-man search party and hope they return within a week. Or you can go to a bigger mall and spend an hour (at least) looking for it in the dairy section only to find a miniature packet stuffed between a box of sesame-flavored soymilk and some sort of weird string-cheese looking product that's apparently made of seaweed. Because most food products in Japan are either made of rice or seaweed.

Anyway, it took me a while to finally figure out what to serve during the Christmas party. I couldn't figure out any traditional Estonian foods that I could have prepared without an oven and with the raw materials available to me so I decided to do what I always do in these situations: bullshit my way through it. I made a salmon dip with cream cheese, smoked salmon and onions, cut up some rye bread and I guess we also had some mashed potatoes and meatballs. And mulled wine, I think... Honestly, it's all kind of fuzzy but I do remember the 'authentic traditional Estonian salmon dip'. It was great and technically it was a traditional Estonian dish because it was traditionally made by me - an Estonian. That's how it works, right?

So we got our stuff ready, spent half a day cooking and in the end we had a relatively large group of people attending our Christmas dinner. Everyone was sitting on the floor and eating off plastic plates but we were pretty content with it. At least we weren't alone and it wasn't as cold anymore. We listened to some Christmas songs and just enjoyed each other's company and in the end headed off to karaoke, like we always did. My memories might be a bit fuzzy but I'm pretty sure it started snowing as we were walking to the carwash-karaoke place that we always frequented. Pretty sure...

The snow was pretty much gone the next day but it didn't matter much. At least for a moment we had a white Christmas and that made Japan feel much more like home. Sure, a part of me still missed my family and friends but at least it felt like Christmas. What did not feel like Christmas was the karaoke. Sure, we sang some classic Christmas songs like 'All I want for Christmas', 'Last Christmas' (by Wham!!!!!!) and 'I'll make a man out of you' (What? That's not a Christmas song, you say? Well, I say it is and you can just shut your mouth when you're talking to me!) and it was great fun but it was definitely one of the more unconventional Christmas things I'd ever done... Not to mention that we preformed what must have been the worst rendition of 'What does the fox say' in human history. Truly - we took a snapchat and sent it to one of the student who'd already left. She hated that song... and we loved that. Oh, good times! 

But what was the moral of this story? No moral, really. I just decided to remind myself of simpler times. Back when the grass was green and... oh wait, it still is.... in December... a few days before Christmas... Oh well, I guess it's something we need to get used to now. Honestly though, even though I'd love to have a white Christmas it's not 100% necessary for me to enjoy the holiday. What's important is spending time with your loved ones, keeping old traditions alive and just having a good time. So yeah, even if it doesn't snow this year I'll still have a good time because I'll be spending the holidays with the people I care most about in this world. And that's all that matters. 

...I rediscovered the joys and horrors of driving

I got my driver's licence right before graduating from High School (technically). The year was 2009 (I think) and I barely made it. No, seriously. During the final exam there was a moment when the guy next to me turned to me and said: 'You know you could have killed us right now, had you moved even an inch further'. Yes, I knew. I also knew that I was a horrible driver. So how did I get my licence? Well, I had had a pretty bad cold a few days before the exam and when he was lecturing me on how reckless I'd been I couldn't help sniffling a bit. My eyes were also red and a bit puffy so I probably looked like I could start crying any moment now. I didn't feel like it - sure, flunking would've been bad but it wasn't going to kill me (reckless driving might probably do that) - but he didn't know that. I think he just felt sorry for me. Or maybe he was tired. In any case, he let me pass and I got my licence.

Did I have a car, though? Nope. Both my parents did but they drove automatics. I'd learnt to drive stick. But hey, it was easier to switch to an automatic. Not that I had many chances to go driving. Long story short: for eight years I basically avoided driving, doing it only a few times a year and even then I kind of sucked at it. I really, really hated driving. It just made me feel nervous and insecure and stressed out. So it was no wonder that when my parents told me at the beginning of Summer that I had to re-learn how to drive stick-shift, I was less than happy. I was downright terrified. Were they insane?! I could barely drive an automatic, let alone a stick-shift... But then again, I really needed a car and the only one available to me was a stick shift...

So one weekend my dad came over and promised to teach me to drive. It would be my first time driving stick-shift again since the day I got my licence... eight years ago. What could go wrong! Some say that it's like riding a bike: you never really forget how to do it. I wouldn't know. All I know that as I got behind the wheel and got everything ready I felt more than rusty. I knew that I should know how to do this but... my body was not used to three pedals... What was that third one called? A clutch? Ugh, what a stupid name for a stupid thing.

Honestly, learning to drive again kind of felt like my first days on the job. I knew I should've been able to do it. I had studied it before... And everyone else made it look so easy. In theory I knew everything I needed to do. But in practice... I was clueless. All the time I was driving my mind was going: 'Am I doing this right? I'm not, am I? I'm going to get myself killed. Why am I even doing this? Do people even realize how inept I am at this?' But nobody did. Or at least they didn't say so. My dad even told me I was learning fast... but then again, he is my dad, meaning he's prone to praise me.

For the first few times I was driving, my dad was sitting next to me, giving me pointers and just reassuring me that I wasn't completely messing things up. It worked out pretty well. So when I finally had to drive on my own for the first time I was understandably nervous. It wasn't a short drive either: three and a half hours from one end of Estonia to the other. That did not seem like a fun endeavor but it was one I couldn't avoid. I needed to get back home to Haapsalu and go to work the next day.

My first drive alone was... relatively okay. I didn't feel comfortable and was kind of terrified most of the time but I survived. I didn't enjoy a minute of it but I managed. 'Great!' I thought, 'Now that this is over I can finally relax and get back to my life.' Except that I couldn't relax. I had a car now. And my parents lived over 300 km away. If I wanted to visit them I would have to drive. No taking the bus anymore. I would have to accept the fact that I was the not-so-proud owner of a car and I couldn't just leave it sitting around uselessly.

The first few months were pretty hard to be honest. I barely drove anywhere but since it was summer I didn't really have a reason to. I drove to see my parents maybe once or twice a month and that was basically it. I went to work on foot, went to the store on foot. My car was slowly sprouting roots... There was this weird nagging feeling in the back of my mind, like there was a certain reason I wanted to avoid driving but I just couldn't remember it.

Fast forward a few months later and I finally realized why I wanted to avoid driving. I have road rage. And I'm a pretty bad driver. Those two things don't work well together. The road rage I got from my mom. I hate it when people who drive in front of me are going slightly slower than I am. And I hate it when people are driving behind me. Like in general. They don't have to be close or anything, just the fact that I can see them from my rear view mirror pisses me off for some reason. Get off my road, you ass!

Sorry... I just can't help myself.

I hate it when people drive their tractors on the road. I hate trucks. I hate it when people go 90 km/h on the highway (which is the speed limit but... come on! Nobody drives that slow unless there's ice or snow on the road!). I hate it when people go faster than 120 km/h (What's your hurry, jerk! You're going to kill someone like that!). I despise people who tailgate! Seriously, if you are one of those people you should just not get into a car. Ever. Take a bus! And I hate it when people are afraid to drive: so what that the roads are covered in ice, we're in the middle of a snowstorm and the visibility is close to zero - that's no excuse to go under 90 km/h! Oh yeah, and I realize that I'm a hypocrite because in the beginning I was insecure and afraid but... I can't help myself. Basically, while I'm driving I hate everyone and anyone who isn't me. Road rage turns me into a terrible person and I don't really like it.What's even worse: I turn into a lunatic. I start talking to myself while driving... like a crazy person.

'What? You're really gonna cut me off here? How's it feel being a piece of trash, you bastard?! Hey, hey, you in the red Subaru, why are you going so slow?! Get off the road if you don't know how to drive! And where are you in such a hurry, Mr.Black Toyota?! You're easily going over 110! I hope a dragon eats you! Or that you get pulled over! You're gonna kill someone like that!'

That's how I sound like when I'm driving... alone. When someone is with me I do try to keep myself in check but when I'm alone I just go all out. I don't like it. I don't like the raging madwoman who I become while driving. Sure, I might not be the sweetest or kindest person even when I'm out of the car but at least I'm calm and understanding... kind of... But when I'm driving I'm just ready to see the world burn. Especially cyclists. God, how I hate cyclists! But to be fair, I hate them even when I'm not driving. They are just human garbage who do not belong on roads. Any roads. I curse the man who invented the bicycle! It is the devil's vehicle - in fact, I'm sure the road to hell is paved with and ridden by bicycles. But that's beside the point.

One thing I did discover after I'd gotten over my initial fear of driving, was that I actually enjoyed it. Sure, long drives are still annoying cause I have to sit still for three hours doing nothing productive but at the same time it gave me time to relax. I don't have to do anything (other than drive, that is) and I can just blast my music, sing along and take things slow. I don't have to worry about my job or my apartment being a mess or anything else - I'm just in my safe little driving-bubble and until I reach my destination nothing else exists but me and the open road. It is kind of therapeutic. Even with my road rage there are times I feel like I'm floating on clouds and nothing else matters. Not to mention that I love the freedom that comes with having a car. I can go wherever I want whenever I want - no more waiting for the bus or looking for a ride. I'm my own master and that feels amazing!

But...

There's always a but...

It's not all fun and games. Having a car is like having an expensive pet. You constantly need to make sure it's working properly, that everything is in it's rightful place, you can't leave it out in the cold for too long - when it's below freezing you have to drive just for the sake of driving to warm up the engine - and when you go to an unfamiliar place there's always the issue of parking: where, how and how much. But the worst part? I know this is going to sound cliche but it almost brought a tear to my eye the first time I saw it. Gas prices! Funny how I never cared about them before I became a car owner. They are horrible! Truly the worst part about owning a car! You just stand by and watch while you pour your money away. And for what? For it to be burned up in the next few weeks. Gone. Gone forever...

Sometimes I wonder if it's worth it. If I wouldn't be better off just walking everywhere or taking the bus... And then I realize that if I had to go back to the days before I had a car I would probably be pretty miserable. Once you get used to having a car  you can't really go back. Oh well, I guess I'll just have to suck it up and get used to the fact that once every few weeks I throw a huge load of money into a metaphorical fire. Doesn't mean I have to like it though. In fact I feel almost physical pain every time I see my money draining away while I fill my car up with gas. Can't we just have like... solar-panel cars already?