I truly wish the world was a safer place for women, though I’ll be the first to admit that my reasoning is rather selfish. I wish we lived in a world where I could die happily, knowing my wife, or my sister, or my daughter would be safe from exploitation or sexual violence or coercion. I do not know how we got to this point, although I suppose you could say we’ve been at this point for the better half of recorded human history. Exploitation has never been a foreign concept to the human psyche i suppose. Does being a descendant of exploited people’s give me an increased capacity to empathize? Maybe. There are many ways this could be interpreted really, though the feeling of all this is something completely unique.
It feels like knowing you’re going to lose and still being compelled to fight in spite of it. Marxists would probably say it’s a symptom of being the ideal proletariat. Pseudointellectuals online would say something about imagining Sisyphus happy. Whatever the root of this desire is, I cannot believe it to be a normal feeling, nor a common one. It provides an interesting interaction with my depression as well, honestly. I am a nihilist, and I recognize this fact. I own this fact. I shall always use man as the standard by which things have meaning and measure. I shall always compare the real to the ideal. I do not truly understand how to exist outside of the measures of man. I do not desire to either. It is not that I do not recognize the grandeur of all that is occurring now. It is that the beauty I experience in the brightest supernova, or the wonder I feel staring into the void of the largest black holes are drowned out by the shine given off by the extinguishing of human life, the deafening shriek of the loss of ones sense of humanity. Perhaps I cannot see the grandeur of what is occurring as well as I thought? Perhaps it simply means nothing to me.
I am not blind to the issues that men face in the world. I would never put forth the idea that men do not suffer as well, nor that they suffer any less. Comparing suffering is completely futile. I simply accept that the world we find ourselves in is more hospitable to men than women, even if not by much. Should I pass, would i worry for my son or brother? Yes, of course. Do I worry as much as I would had i a sister, or a daughter, or a wife? Not really, no. This may be the result of some toxic masculine viewpoints. This may be the result of simply seeing the world as it is. I simply worry less about a male alone in the world being taken advantage of, being put into a position where they need to do something degrading to survive. Do my worries accurately reflect the reality of the world? Probably not. Do men get called “slam-pig” or “whore” or beheaded for rejecting people as often? No. I do not desire anything. I do, however, require myself to leave the world better than I found it. Sisyphus must have been fucking miserable.