growing up in a culture that speaks in sexual language

it came like a rite of passage —
a thing you must do when you reach a certain age.

a phone was handed to me by a classmate,
like hey, do you want to swap phones?
i have videos, and i could use yours to log into facebook
since mine doesn’t have internet.

the videos on her phone shook me.

we were six in a group,
and they noticed i was uneasy.

in my mind i kept thinking,
this isn’t right —
why are we watching naked people having sex?

they laughed,
teased,
and asked questions that felt like interrogation.

you mean you’ve never watched porn.
so you’re still a virgin.
do you not have a boyfriend.
have you tongue‑kissed.

each question raised my eyebrows higher.

we were sixteen, seventeen, eighteen —
children pretending to be adults.

now that i’m older,
i understand why i was still a virgin
in that circle of friends.

it wasn’t innocence.
it wasn’t fear.
it was environment.

some of us grew up with screens no one monitored.
some grew up abused in their own homes.
some learned through friends, music, or television.
and some, like me,
grew up in homes where talking about sex was taboo —
where even school taught it like a crime.

fast forward to now,
and not much has changed.

music teenagers listen to
is still rooted in sexual fantasy.

artists dress in ways
that centre the body as a sexual symbol,

and people copy the same outfits
for everyday life,
calling it “my dress, my choice,”
or “just being trendy,”

not realising that trends themselves
are shaped by the same culture
that speaks in sexual language
long before young people understand
what sexuality even is.

a culture where clothing becomes communication,
and the message is learned
before it is questioned.

and because this is now normal,
nobody pauses to ask
where the language came from,
or why teenagers feel pressured
to speak it with their bodies.

sexual education is more than warnings
and contraceptives.

it’s about teaching respect,
consent,
emotional maturity,
and self‑awareness.

it’s about helping children understand
their bodies,
their boundaries,
their choices.

it is also showing them by example —
the way we speak,
the way we treat others,
the way we carry ourselves.

it is guiding them in the music they listen to,
the stories they consume,
the images they absorb.

it is having regular conversations,
not once,
not rushed,
not whispered,
but open,
honest,
and ongoing.

when we stay silent,
we leave room for strangers —
screens, songs, peers —
to define what sex should look like,
sound like,
feel like.

and that silence shapes generations
who confuse intimacy
with performance.

maybe it’s time
we unlearn the shame
and start talking —
slowly,
honestly,
without fear.

because silence doesn’t protect innocence;
it only feeds ignorance.