Keshayinie Edmund
I still vividly remember certain things, even today. When topics like these appeared in the newspapers, I used to read them in secret. I still remember the exact spot I used for my secret reading, the corner near my bedroom door. At times, countless questions about those topics would arise in my mind. But Amma and Appa were usually at work during those moments of questioning. Our older sister, who took care of us at home, either didn’t have the knowledge to answer or perhaps didn’t know how to come down to my level and explain. Alternatively, what she said might not have made sense to me. These were the conclusions I arrived at during my adolescent reflections.
But questions around those secret topics, like sex, male and female genitalia, and condoms, continued to stay with me for many years.
Whenever the whole family watched a movie together and a kissing scene or a bedroom scene came on, my younger brother and I would shut our eyes. Most of the time, I’d sneak a look through the gap between my fingers. Sometimes I’d scold my brother saying, “Why are you watching such nonsense?” And he would reply, either with, “Didn’t you watch through your fingers too?” or “Why are you lying, Akka? I didn’t even look.”
It was when I entered Grade 9 that I truly felt I had become a “big girl.” That was also when my secret questions began to multiply. We had a subject called “Health and Physical Education.” Only the pages from 61 to 73 in that textbook contained illustrations of male and female reproductive organs, diagrams of the chest, and topics related to puberty. Even the health teacher skipped those pages without reading them.
Sometimes, within our group of girl friends, we would look at those images and joke around. But beyond that group, or even to discuss those things with a teacher, I never had the courage. Maybe it wasn’t even a matter of courage; perhaps it was more about shame. And that shame never left me, not even until I finished school.
When my classmates in the biology stream studied reproduction during Advanced Level classes, I would secretly wish, “Why don’t they teach this to us math students too?” It was only after I moved beyond adolescence and my social world began to expand that the feelings of shame started to dissolve, little by little. Until then, I had only had female friends. But during university, male friends began entering my circle. When we studied together, there would sometimes be double-meaning jokes. I would sit silently, pretending to be focused on studying, while secretly listening in.
If any “naughty” words came up, my mind would linger on them. I would start comparing them with the things I had read in secret. Still, I couldn’t openly participate in those conversations or ask my questions. It felt like an invisible screen would drop between me and everyone else.
During those early years, if I skipped university for a couple of days and someone asked, “Why didn’t you come?”, I couldn’t even say, “I got my period. I had stomach pain.” Instead, I would make up excuses, fever, headache, diarrhoea, anything but the truth. The truth was, during my period, I also felt emotional changes. I would get upset about everything. If someone asked me what was wrong, I’d say, “Just a small problem… that’s why I’m angry,” and attach some random anger to it.
It was during this phase that I was forced into hostel life. A place with no other forms of distraction. Luckily for me, there was a library near the hostel. That’s when my reading list began to grow. Eventually, I started reading in English too. These books began planting progressive thoughts in me. I started to realise that sex education isn’t some foreign or shameful topic, it’s an essential part of being human.
That understanding helped me reach a point where I could even tell my male university friends that I had my period. These days, I no longer see menstruation as something shameful. I’ve come to clearly understand that it’s not a mistake, it’s a biological process, and there’s no need to hide it. I believe that comprehensive sex education can play a vital role in preventing sexual violence, early pregnancies, and abuse. Moreover, it can also help transform our perceptions towards sex workers, fostering greater empathy and understanding.
