If you're a woman, you probably have at least one memory of being sexually harassed. The unfortunate thing is, it's not always done by a stranger. It could be a boyfriend, a trusted friend, a mentor, or even a family member.
Ahead are harrowing stories of Pinays who've experienced sexual harassment:
"It was the early 2000s, and he was my boyfriend. We had dinner, and I wanted him to drive me home, but he insisted on taking me to his house instead. He told me he had something to give me. [I told him to give it to me some other day, but he wanted to give it to me tonight. He took me to his room, and we stopped talking.] I don't remember how but I was suddenly on the couch, and he was on me. My shirt was up, and my bra was undone, and his hands and face were on my breasts.
I wasn't in my body anymore; I was floating above us, watching what was happening, the girl who always said she wouldn't let anyone grope her without her consent, who thought she'd fight like hell if anyone touched her in ways she didn't want to be touched, that same girl was being mauled and she was not doing anything about it. She was frozen.
He stopped when he realized I had stopped moving, that I had given up on trying to push him away. He stopped and started crying, apologizing.
"Take me home," was all I said. I was ice cold.
There was no Uber or Grab back then; I needed the fucker to take me home. In the car, he tried to hold my hand, but my hand was limp. I
I asked him, "Do you think that just because a girl is your girlfriend you have the right to touch her anytime you want?"
I don't remember his reply. I remember him threatening to kill himself if I didn't forgive him. I remember telling him I would tell his mother that he was threatening suicide. He stopped. And I refused to see him again.
For a long time, the voices in my head [took over]: It's your fault for letting it happen. But he was your boyfriend. It wasn't even rape. They were just boobs.
Stupid voices that tried to diminish the attack, echoing a society that always finds ways to blame the victim, to excuse the inexcusable, to silence those who should speak up and stand up.
It's been over 15 years. I am done being quiet. #MeToo. And there is no shame in it. The shame is theirs."
"I must have been 14. I'm not sure anymore. I was at Megamall with my family... As they did their shopping, I walked around on my own, browsing the shelves as one does. I crouched in front of one shelf, perusing the titles. A guy whose face I never even saw, reached in front of me to grab a book. As he lifted his arm to bring the book to him, he grazed my boobs—from under and across.
And there was definitely enough space between me and the shelf (and my barely-there boobs) for him to grab a book without fucking touching me. It was intentional.
But I thought maybe it wasn't? I was young, timid, unsure, but ultimately uncomfortable. I took a few steps away and went over to another shelf. The guy followed and did it again. I moved again. And again, it happened. I wish I could tell you I told him off. I wish I could say I ran to my mom and told
[Instead], I quietly walked away, never once even seeing guy's face. [Truthfully, I was too scared to look.] I looked for my mom and pretended like nothing happened. I was shaken, but also in denial, [only comforted by the thought that he wasn't going to try anything for sure when he saw me with my mom]. This was almost two decades ago, and it still haunts me from time to time. I have never told anybody this. Literally, no one, not even anonymously on the internet. That is, until today. And I'm glad I'm doing this now. Friends who have gathered the courage to speak out gave me the courage to do the same and I thank all of you beautiful people. I know there are stories far worse than mine but... Why do I even have this story to tell in the first place? Why do so many of us? Well, I guess that's it. Thanks for reading this far down. Yep. #MeToo.
Once, at The Mall in Washington D.C., when a seven-foot-tall man brazenly walked by and firmly grabbed my ass in his large hand. He didn't even look at me. Just walked by, grabbed, then walked on. I was 19. It was my first trip on foreign soil, and I froze on the spot because I was too scared to say or do anything. I used that incident later as a funny anecdote for my first trip in the US, forcibly laughing off the fear and shame I had felt the moment it happened.
Hindi ako makapag-jogging sa lugar namin dahil nang ginawa ko ito minsan, naranasan kong sundan ako ng isang mamang hindi ko kilala. Nung nakatira din ako sa Makati, madalang akong lumabas ng apartment mag-isa dahil sa takot kong ma-harrass.
I've fortunately never experienced graver instances of sexual harassment or assault, but that fear has always been there: that a man may cause me harm just because I am a woman.
Imbis na sabihan ang mga kababaihan na ibahin ang pananamit nila, bakit hindi natin sabihan ang mga kalalakihan na pagingatan nila ang pakikitungo nila sa atin? Imbis na sabihing "Mag-ingat siya, ang iksi-iksi pa naman ng shorts niya, siguradong mamanyakin siya," bakit hindi na lang, "Matuto tayong respetuhin ang ibang tao, at 'wag mambastos dahil lang sa mga sekswal na pagnanais mo." Hindi pananamit niya ang nag-udyok sa iyo na manilip, "mang-manyak", o mang-rape. Sarili mong desisyon ito.
I have a daughter and will soon have a son. I cannot shield them from the world, but we can change this culture of victim-blaming, of a person's powerlessness against her (or his) aggressors. People are being harassed and assaulted everywhere, not just in the workplace, not just among strangers. It [shouldn't be] normal for a woman to feel unsafe in her own neighborhood, on her commute home from work, in a room full of men, in a public park while on vacation. It can happen to anyone. It has happened to me."
"Me, too. Even as a young girl, there was always unwanted, unwelcome male attention: from my
"Posting this is scaring the crap out of me. I never talk about it. It’s hard to. It's too real, too embarrassing, too personal. For so long, I've wrestled with the shame and anger, but I'm learning that those belong to those who made this happen...To my sisters who've gone first and inspired me to share my horror stories, here's to
I was 23. I was attending my film mentor's birthday at Tomato Kick, Tomas Morato. I went over to the smoking area for a cigarette where an actor was smoking, too. He started asking me questions, to which I tried to politely answer. Then he [began] to tell me he loved me, whispering that he’d like to urinate on me, and eventually he [came] over to kiss me before leaving because it was (his)
When I tried to tell people about it, they laughed and asked me if I was making it up. #MeToo.
I was 20. I had fencing training at our university's gym. It's vacant, save for a group of alumni playing basketball. The cheer squad was rehearsing outside. I [went] to the locker rooms alone to change. As I [was] removing my shirt, I [turned] around to see a man crouched down by the door, his head peeping through the locker room. He was watching me. All I could do was scream, but the sound of the drums [drowned] me out...[By some miracle, he ran away.] I [found] out later that the pervert was one of the alumni playing basketball at the gym that night. He [was] a law school graduate. [They told me not to sue the school, so I didn't say anything.] #MeToo.
I was 13. It was my birthday. My mom finally
I kept my eyes closed the entire time. #MeToo.
I was 7. It was the first day of first grade, and everyone was so excited to be "big kids." I felt extra lucky because the teacher assigned me to the seat next to the window with my best friend. It was only the first subject when we both hear a "psst" coming from outside. We turn to see a man standing outside the fence of our school. He pulled down his pants and exposed himself to both of us. I don't remember anything else from the first grade, except that I never wanted to look out the window again.
Would you believe me when I say that these are only the stories I can bear to tell? Would you believe me when I say that this is only the tip of the iceberg?
These stories sit with many others—when I refused to be let out of my date's bedroom; when I was followed outside of a club; when I was violated along Katipunan. It's so easy to sweep ugly things like this under the rug, but we can't let people think that things are okay when they have NEVER been okay. Women know it, we don't have to explain it. But we explain it now because we need the world to know."
"I remember being fresh out of college with a new job and having a
And my experience with harassment didn't end there. I've had my share of [men] who think they can get away with it. It is all too common, and you tend to brush it off as something you just deal with. I've also learned to play the game, and use it to my advantage. It is sad to think that you just have to live with it."
"I remember watching "Wake up Little Suzie" starring Aiza Seguerra and the Eat Bulaga crew with my big sister in a Q.C. movie house. I remember the cinema being packed so my sister and I shared a seat. This man beside us was looking at me while fondling his [penis]. At first, I didn't understand what was going on but my sister suddenly told me to get up and whisked me to the sides of the theater to finish the movie. We've never spoken about it so I don't know if my sister saw what I saw, but I don't think I was emotionally or mentally scarred by that. But that sure as hell was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. If all the women who have been sexually harassed or assaulted wrote, "Me too" as a status, we might give people a sense of the magnitude of the problem."