My Mother Feminist

I do not belong to any political party, sir. I guess you could call me... a feminist. Well, not those avenging feminist with a black belt in auto repairing or a vegan punk. I draw my definition from the sixty-year old girl, who works hard, sweat hard, and loves hard. She does my dishes, wash my clothes, and rule the house with no baseball cap.

And, when the starry night spreads, she sits on a hammock combs the hair neatly, apply lipstick thirty times a day. Not because she have to, but because of a mutual, unspoken agreement. She’s still too much of a lady like… when hundreds of women burned their bras.