Currently listening to: The Man – Taylor Swift
I would be complexI would be coolThey’d say I played the field before I found someone to commit toAnd that would be okayFor me to doEvery conquest I had made would make me more of a boss to you
I’d be a fearless leaderI’d be an alpha typeWhen everyone believes yaWhat’s that like?
I’m so sick of running as fast as I canWondering if I’d get there quicker if I was a manAnd I’m so sick of them coming at me again‘Cause if I was a manThen I’d be the manI’d be the manI’d be the man
They’d say I hustledPut in the workThey wouldn’t shake their heads and question how much of this I deserveWhat I was wearingIf I was rudeCould all be separated from my good ideas and power moves?
And they would toast to me, ohLet the players playI’d be just like LeoIn Saint-Tropez
What’s it like to brag aboutRaking in dollarsAnd getting bitches and modelsAnd it’s all good if you’re badAnd it’s okay if you’re madIf I was out flashing my dollarsI’d be a bitch, not a ballerThey paint me out to be badSo it’s okay that I’m mad
I really loved how, in the music video, Taylor Swift transforms into an egomaniac, chauvinistic man — “Tyler Swift,” voiced by none other than Dwayne Johnson, AKA The Rock. It brilliantly highlighted the sexist double standards baked into society: how certain behaviors are vilified in women but praised in men.
Is there a brief encounter or an insignificant remark that stuck with you?
Prompt snagged from: TCMC
Growing up, my mom had a way of making offhand comments that stitched themselves into the fabric of my identity.
- She once told me she hoped I’d have kids just like me or worse. Because I wasn’t the golden child. I was the one who pushed back. The one who fought invisible shackles my parents tried so hard to wrap around me — helicopter parenting so intense it felt like living in an invisible jail. I know they wanted the best for me, they wanted me to excel. But somewhere in their wanting, I lost myself. I became a machine built for performance, not a child built for living. And now, the idea of raising a version of myself — someone struggling to breathe under the weight of expectation — feels more like a nightmare than poetic justice.
- She also mentioned — not once, but many times — that my brother and I were born into the wrong bodies. That he should’ve been the girl, and I should’ve been the boy. Because I was a bull in a china shop, and he was refined, sophisticated, and people flocked to him. I wasn’t chasing mayhem because I wanted to win; I was chasing approval. I was tired of getting my ass handed to me on the playgrounds and in classrooms, tired of feeling less than, so I sharpened myself into someone that could survive. And because I wasn’t as polished as him, or as beautiful — because while he could pass for a K-pop star, I was just… me — it always felt like I was somehow wrong. I remember when we were kids visiting the motherland, strangers would stop my parents on the street just to admire him, take pictures of him. It was surreal — like watching a movie you didn’t have a role in. You’re there, but you’re not seen.
- And sometimes, there were the comments about how if only my brother and I could somehow fuse — his appearance and refinement, my drive and tenacity — we’d be the perfect children. Not as we were, but as they wished we could be.
So yeah… it be like that. Little remarks. Little digs. Little moments. But they stay lodged under the skin like splinters you can’t quite dig out.
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