~ 20:00 24 September 2023

Here I am,(https://youtube.com/shorts/F81HTuRJLjQ?si=LFksfj0H0XZDMHv7) resting in my tent across from Kameni Zamak Restaurant. A male and a female came over to the tent and asked if I wanted to eat. I said I wasn't hungry. The male then went behind my tent to relieve himself and the woman said, "mangiare" to which I laughed and decided to come out the tent and have a tea. I needed to get dressed and when I finally crossed the street to the restaurant, I saw a balding male coming towards me. I asked him if he was the one who asked me if I wanted a "caj" (tea); he answered yes and led me to sit at a table outside (semi-outside, it was sheltered on three sides but the doors were open and it was like sitting outside). He spoke to the young lady and asked her for a "zeleni caj" as I had respnded to his question. In the meantime, the balding male insisted on asking me repeatedly if I were "zena or muskarac" "woman or man?" Over and over, he insisted on asking me this question and over and over, I pretended as if I didn't understand his question. I even laughed and said 'razumem' ('I understand') but he kept asking over and over again "man or woman?" Finally, he motioned his hands near his chest area and said what I'm assuming was the word "breasts" in Bosnian to which I answered in the affirmative. By this time the tea was ready and I was grateful for the distraction and peace. They didn't have green tea so the young lady brought me chamomile tea for which I was and am extremely grateful. The balding man then said I could go upstairs "gore." I knew this was a bad idea (as this would place him behind me, we were currently sitting at a table). I knew it, in my gut; but, I stood up with my tea and walked towards the stairs. I tried to walk behind him but he wouldn't move unless I did. One guess as to what happened next; he touched my butt and my shoulder. This is bad on so many levels. I despise being touched; it's very triggering for me. Only on certain occasions can I be touched by someone else and only and always with my permission. HOW DARE he? He dared because once I answered his question about the presence of breasts, this, in his mind, was an excuse to excuse his vulgar desire to touch me, to somehow deem me less than; therefore, according to this male, my permission needed not be granted in order for him to do what he did. Yes, logically I can process this as "a dirty old man" scenario. But, I shouldn't have to. I don't know how my mind will cope with this. The childhood trauma I have from being touched without my permission is intense, extensive and lingering. Yes, I immediately pulled away from him and told him not to do that. Yes, I am wearing three layers. Thank the Universe. So, this will help to calm me down. I'm enraged, furious. As I'm writing this, I'm still in the restaurant with an unfinished cup of chamomile tea and more people are here. I don't like the atmosphere. I will finish my chamomile tea and return to my tent, my space, my peace. They really believe they have the right to touch me, others, without my, their, permission. They don't. They'll learn. They have no other options. What follows is my immediate way of attempting to cope with and encapsulate this experience; write the rage. A Furious Letter to Him Who Touched My Body Without My Permission Oh, you're so funny, that's why I was laughing as you repeatedly asked if I were a "woman or a man." Then, you kept repeating "you don't understand, you don't understand;" but, I did. I did understand your context and question, you dicked display of delusional dumbfoundedness. And, as if that wasn't enough, you motioned with your infested hands on your chest area to ask me if I had "breasts..." in order to discover my gender...in order to pursue a potential fuck? How presumptuous of you, penis? Yes, I'm addressing you by your genitals since discovering the nature of mine seem to be the essence of your existence. So, penis, why have you deemed it necessary for MY genitals to be the second question you asked me, a complete stranger, the first question being if I wanted something to eat, as you lazily yet aggressively, relieved yourself behind my tent. My question was, in my mind, since you had just come from the restaurant across the street, why did you choose to urinate into the grass near me? Were you marking your territory, as canines do? Were you attempting to empty your chamber, so to speak, to free it up only for it to be filled later by your internal juices, as I would supposedly, fuck you for a meal? Well, penis, I had already eaten. But, thank you for the superior manner in which you proved the prowess of your penis. How could I possibly resist such a disgusting offer of degradation against myself. You know, you aren't the first penis to assume every possible hole, I mean vagina, is yours for the taking and filling. In my lifetime, many such as yourself have attempted to persuade me to submit to this nonsense; that part of you isn't unique, not even a little bit. I accepted the tea because in Bosnia, many individuals and families have offered the same to myself and others, in the spirit of understanding and communication. Yes, there were questions, there will always be questions. Yes, I'm tired, very tired of the stares and interrogations. But, the kindness that oftentimes accompanies these interrogations sometimes surpasses the suspicions of said exhausting interrogations. So, though my gut told me to stay in the tent after I heard you peeing behind my tent, I put aside these instincts for the sake of the aforementioned kindness. You, penis, were not kind. You were grotesque, rude, vulgar, brutish and your actions were exponentially triggering for many of my past traumas. I loathe your energy. Tammi TomboiTravels