Soft tale

„I think I‘ll always be too soft to survive this world“, I tell my witch one night.
Tonight‘s tale is about one of those days that should not have happened. One of those 14 hours that end with the realization that staying in bed would have been the better option.

I‘ve had a horrible journey on crowded trains, which I had spent standing in the corner holding a book to read with one hand and carrying my violin with the other, when I needed to take a short trip to the post office before meeting a friend. I had to send a few important letters that were not dramatic but stressing me out, because … well, because I‘m me.
So, I went to the post office, which, in my case, comes together with the bank I have my account at. Paying with my bank card for the safe delivery of the two important letters makes the person across the counter realize what bank that card is from, and there it starts.
The seemingly friendly, elderly man starts to get me into a conversation about my violin, while offering to check if all my personal data the bank has from me is still correct.

Phone number?
Address?
„What do you play on your violin?“
„Baroque music. Corelli these days.“

The reason I have my account with that particular bank is that my whole family worked there. My whole family, really, which also is the same family that disapproved of me my whole life, so while this elderly man is wasting my time checking my personal data, I feel as if I am 15 years old again and my uncle just told me off for wanting to be a writer.
He makes a comment about the nice bicycle rout through the town I live in now, according to my address, as he finds a little something to change, makes a few clicks and hands me a form to sign.
I am supposed to stop him right there. I am supposed to stand my ground, demand him to undo the changes and hand me my cards back, but I don‘t.

I had gotten my period that morning.
My uncles and my father with that same manner of speaking and name tag on had yelled at me too often.
My favourite character was killed off in the last chapter I read.
I felt so weak. So weak that if I tried to be fierce and stand my ground, I would only come off as hysteric. I was wearing a dramatic black outfit and my cat ear hat. If I started to yell and cry, the security person next to me would probably react …

So I sign.
Because all I want to do is leave.

And because the form said that I could undo the changes anytime, even on the phone. I was allowing them to make me personalized loan offers, which I do not need anyways.

As I hurry out of there with a racing heart, I feel bad for not having stopped that man. Fucking hell, I could have demanded to speak to his superviser, although it would not have much consequences for someone being 64 and working there for over 40 years. Things he told me about himself while confusing me until I signed.

I should have been tougher. I‘m almost 30 now, I can‘t let people treat me like this, right?

As that thought occurs, I have to think of tough and independent women that face this world with strength. Self-made and single. Strong. Fierce.
And I realize that I do not want to be like them.
Also, I do deserve to simply send my letters without being ambushed like this.
I don‘t want to harden. I want to believe in a world in which I do not have to.
I want to stay soft and sweet, even a bit vulnerable. It is authentic, exciting, and makes the sex better.

„I think I want to be too soft to survive this world“, I admit to my witch, as I plan to cancel the new changes on Monday.