Happy Women’s Day

I was in the process of writing another article for my blog when a friend suggested that I should write a post for International Women’s Day. I summarily dismissed the suggestion and continued with my work, much offended at his impertinent interruption.

But, thinking over it, I realised, to my shame, that it would be utterly insensitive of me to post anything else today, considering that many of my past posts deal with what could only be described as women’s issues. So here I am, tail between my legs, with pride at the roles women have played in my life, and happy to be able to address something of my own to the fair sex.

Here goes. Dear woman, I am man. I have little to say. And the little I say will probably be insufficient to acknowledge your magnificence. Because that’s what pervades your movements, your tenderness, and your uncanny ability to notice everything that we men always seem to bumble over.

Your sensitivity, which sees emotion even in the most impassive of faces, sees suffering even when it is adeptly hidden, and uncovers joy even when it is little, has the incredible capacity to impress me every time. Your ability to smooth over the even the roughest edges of life with your natural insight is beyond astonishing.

It is a great honour for me to know that the roots of my earliest existence were driven into your very own, that the first warmth I felt, the first heartbeat I descried, the first nutrition I obtained, the first caress I got, the first reprimand I earned, all came from a woman. The first clumsy words I mentioned called to a woman.

The first joy I felt came with the comforting company of a woman. And when the clouds darkened over, and all seemed to fall apart, your smile drove the clouds away and your tender hands put everything back together. Without you, life would not be. I, man, thank you for all this, and know you will keep giving your love, even amid the temptation to think that nobody notices.

I do, even if I never say so.

And so, when I say that my words will be insufficient, I mean it in every letter. That they come so late in the day does not help matters much. But it doesn’t matter, does it? Your splendour needs not my words to acknowledge it. For testimony is borne to you by creation itself. Mine is but a tiny and unworthy line in a long hymn of praise nature sings for you.

Here’s to you, woman-grandmother, woman-mother, woman-sister, woman-child, I take off my hat, which you taught me to wear, and give my heart, which beat for the first time to the rhythm of your very own. Happy Women’s Day. And though it is unworthy of you, may the world never be deprived of your grandeur.

Feature image: Google.

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