6. Women’s Slavery

Dear London Fire Snake Scorpio,

Good morning, my love. How did you sleep tonight?

I have been spending a lot of time in this cocoon of warmth and protection you have created for me, even in your absence. For the past week, I have been utterly obsessed with these letters. It was what got me out of bed. I sat and played with the platform, with AIs creating the images, publications, and descriptions. The mere thought of you is a healing power in my life. How does that make you feel in that power-craving soul of yours? To know that just the ghost of you is enough to make a change for a soul across the ocean?

Neck pain this morning is a solid 7/10 with the neck brace, and I just took the pain meds, so it might still get a little better. Haven’t showered yet, either, which also helps some. It’s hard to know now if the pain is because I don’t train or because of the inflammation, but I decided that while I pick up proper work hours, I am giving myself the grace. Cortisol is a factor, and this week I am diving back into the field. Next week, going back to training, hopefully.

I once spoke to a guy from the UK. I speak to a lot of people around the world. He said something on the lines of “the good old days” when family values were stronger because women stayed home. He said it was a different era and we should not judge it through modern eyes. Stop smirking. Yes, I saw red and might have been very explicit in telling him he’s an idiot.

But when my famous Ox temper subsided (to which, of course, he folded quickly and faded away from the conversation), I could not ignore the difference. Why is it that, though the English people treated women as second-class citizens for centuries, they never quite used them as property as my culture did? Why is it that in London, in the UK, female authors were the ones who broke out and wrote novels? The suffragettes originated in this island. Why?

I think it’s a combination of two simple facts. One, the same difference we spoke of yesterday between possession and belonging occurred here. In Asian countries (Central Asia, where I am from), women were perceived as men’s property. Same as his camel, horse, and mule. While in England, women were perceived as incapable. Don’t get me wrong, in the words of Viktor Frankl, every nation has only two “races” all humanity has: the decent man and the indecent man. After all, my father never treated the women of his house as property. And I am sure there were enough jerks in London alone to abuse the power and the women in their care.

That said, a cultural inclination does something. British literature idealizes the gentleman. The one rushing to the rescue of the weak and defenceless, doing the right thing when no one is looking. Have I ever told you that you are not my first English love? Not my second either. But of that in a bit.

To the point I was trying to make: it is well established that the environment creates inclination to behaviour. We can go with modern research on littering, but my personal favourite is The Police Vacuum in Denmark, following their heroic actions in 1943. Shit. Now I am crying again. My ability to resist a good story is nonexistent.

Anyhow, the crime in Denmark, this country of obviously extremely conscientious people (because of why their police officers were fired), spiked almost overnight, as Karl O. Christiansen’s research shows. In other words, the environment is crucial. So when stories about a nation are written about women like Ms. Adler (The only one who saw Sherlock for what he is and outsmarted him in his own game) and Ms. Morstan (The composed, steady, self-built woman who does not fall apart even when her world crumbles) BY men.

And women like Agatha Cristy, Mary Shelley, and Jane Austin publish their work — the environment is immensely different from that of 1001 Arabian Nights, where Scheherazade is a seductress who fears for her life every night, but wins her husband by being smart, patient, and soothing his tantrums, and the other women are all traitors.

I am not trying to excuse the past. Enslaving women happened on your island, too. But I am saying that while you, as a nation, were able to evolve — mostly — because women were allowed to speak, the place I grew up in still doesn’t allow them to. Women are cancelled, ridiculed, minimized, belittled, ignored, and that was the best case. In others, they were beaten to submission.

I suppose I am telling you this because I am a combination of old and new, and for many people, almost all of them, that is something they cannot understand. It makes me fall between those who seek a follower wife, who cooks, tends the house, and waits for protection from her man. And those who want a woman who is completely independent, to the point that she does not even care if you come home for supper without letting her know. (You try that on me once, mister, and I will promise you there will never be another for the flock you’ll receive.)

I believe in belonging, I believe in unification, but I am also much more Mongolian in my spirit than my original birthland. Did you know that Mongolians treated women as equals on the battlefield? Women were trained to become horse riders, archers, and warriors. I suppose England allowed women those liberties, too. Not where I come from.

Where I come from, traditional women do not drive. It is considered not for their “scattered” and “worried” nature. Even though there is no legal limitation anymore, the current of the culture runs deep. None of the women in my family drives.

I have broken many, many limiting self-beliefs over the years. I told you, last year I travelled to Vegas. First time in my life that I boarded a plane alone, went to a business conference and stayed in a different country alone. First time for all three. The amount of fear I had to overcome… I have a good friend, a Water Dog Sagittarius, who was literally with me the whole time on the phone, encouraging me to get out of bed, get out the door, remember to breathe… all the way to the plane. It was a tough one, but driving… driving is even harder.

Well… I cannot hide in these letters to you forever. It’s time to start my day and do those damn tax spreadsheets before I send them to my accountant. I wonder if all businesswomen and men in the world feel that shame wash over them when they know a person, be it a professional accountant or not, will go over yet another year of their balance and see that they have produced well, damn nothing. I think this is why I hate taxes. It’s a testament to how little I achieved this year with my business.

Thanks for the chat, handsome. It does make all the difference. 
We’ll talk tomorrow. 
Yours with love,
Oxy. 
March 16, 2026

Help me find him: Have you seen this man?