Yes, you do, right? Don’t hurry, if you’re a girl you want to see this too, I promise it’s worth it;) Just look at me! Desirable, right? Fuckable? You want a piece of this? What do you want me to do to you, daddy? Because apart from what you are imagining, I am much more than a goddess in bed (and believe me I am). I can impress your parents, make you the total envy of your friends, they will even raise your position because your boss will want me and nothing happens, because you deserve me, daddy, and I am as faithful as a dog. And I sing, I dance until I am the center of the party, I feel so much that I surrender to your fingers and you have not even dreamed of what you can feel with me. How are we doing, do I have your attention? Because I love you too. I want you to see everything I do to make you happy, my dear. Watch how I look at you, watch how I move your schedules and stay late working so you can see your son before he goes to sleep. Look at how I hide that I like the neighbor, because if not, let’s see how I fare – maybe you disinherit me, or you kick me out, even in front of Mom. Look at the hair, the makeup, the cleavage, the effort so that you don’t change me for a newer model. Or for you to see me and fuck me really hard instead of hitting the bottle, or the needles, or the weights, or the table, or the computer for work. Or maybe distract us with a movie so that I doesn’t end up with bruises tomorrow. Look at me. The woman who has given you everything. To you, that deserve it all. That you think you deserve this great body for you. You, my love, you deserve it. You, dad, you didn’t believe me -or worse, you told me I deserved it.- Boss, you deserve the world, nothing happens that gave José the raise- he has been here for two months, I can wait for my fifth anniversary at the office, and it doesn’t matter if he grabbed my boobs the other day … can the three of us get together anyway? 😉
Do you see me, do you love me? Do you want my love, the adoration of this woman, your woman, your wife, your lover, your slave, your daughter, your fantasy, your sister, your mother?
Well, earn it.
Take a break. Breathe in, breathe out. Close your eyes. I invite you to return, for a moment, to the happiest day of your life. You see it? You remember? You hear it? Let’s see, raise your hand who thought about your wedding day, or the day one of your children was born. Exactly. Because, let’s see, tell me, tell me and don’t lie to me, that you didn’t last all your childhood dreaming about your wedding day. Tell me you didn’t think about what your white dress was going to be like, how long the veil was going to be, what the readings were going to be at mass, what they were going to say when they changed rings. Tell me you didn’t dream of a prince who was going to show you the world. Tell me all those princess stories didn’t brainwash you. Tell me that the values you grew up with don’t follow you everywhere and that you feel comfortable breaking them, from going out alone at night to wearing a miniskirt. Exactly. You can not. You cannot because there is the little voice of your holy mother and your aunts and your sisters who raised you as the woman you should be. You can’t because you know I’m right. You can’t because you know this works. And they say it so often, like it’s a bad thing. That we’re prettier when we’re quiet. Well I’ll be damned, isn’t it obvious? It is not to take away your opinions, dear Feminazi, it is so that you do not shoot yourself in the foot by yourself. Because people like to talk, and they don’t realize that a good woman knows how to keep silence. Because the good woman has no bad things to say. Because the good woman has nothing to hide. Because the good woman is proud of her achievements, her home, her family, her husband, a man who gives her the sustenance and love she deserves, and the endless blessing of the children we conceive with them. I told you no, Rogelio, stop it, eh! But as I was saying. What bores me is that. Forgive me. What makes me angry is that these women think that because we don’t say it out loud we don’t understand it. If they tell you not to wear miniskirts it is because they are going to rape you, not because we have problems with your legs, sweetheart. Because you show them after they pay their dues, after they have shown that they love you, that they woo you, that they open the door for you, that they pay for your dinner, that they send you roses, that they write you letters. Oh yes, yes, yes, her feminism, because all she has achieved is to take away from women the good things that were the responsibility of men to give us in order to have us. Now nothing, you do it like they say Swype or something like that to that cell phone and the boy just like that goes into your house and then they go around asking why there are femicides. Oh no, what a horror, to go around meeting people online and then hang out there, my god no. God save me. How do they assert themselves like this?
And it is the thing. These feminists do not represent me because these feminists do not know what it is to be a mother. It is good that the contraceptive pills worked for them or it is good that they did not die in those clandestine abortions because surely their legs they did not keep closed. But for the rest of us, who play by the rules that we learned and worked on and it cost us our work to learn them, they are taking away what little we have to do. We are all screwed. why do they make us worse?
They talk about gender equality as something real but it really is not like that. All these feminazis do is say that all men are bad and it’s not true. There are good men in the world. Of course, I am happy – and very much! – to receive my husband after the long hours in the hospital, the table set and ready, the children freshly bathed, and we talk about school and the world and grades and activities after church on Sunday. We pray before we eat, we pay tithe, we don’t eat meat in Lent on Fridays, I go and confess every week before I take communion, and also my children who have already been confirmed, I still have two left.
Rogelio, keep on doing that and I’ll come with the chancla!
And God provides and God makes it all work out for a reason. A child is a blessing, and it is inhumane to think that it is something else. If you couldn’t handle the fever, miss, then take the blame, miss. But how nice it looked on the cell phone, right?
The truth is that being a mother is the most incredible thing in the world. To be able to take care of a house with pride, to have a favorite cup, to have your space to have coffee in which you see the children playing by the window. see how they grow, how they become the servants of God that you want them to always be. And you don’t doubt for a moment that they are going to do incredible things, that they are going to make good children of God, that they are going to respect their elders, that my daughter will probably take care of me when she grows old just as I am taking care of her.
Renata you too? Chancla for both of you if you don’t shut up!
And do not give me that there are many divorced and single women and whatever you want. We are not gringos, here the word of God is respected, here we do have values, not like the gringos, here we are faithful, here you do not touch women with the petal of a rose if you are a man. At least a real man. Those children out there who did not know how to educate them? Therein really is the problem. They should be trying to stop teaching feminism and teach them the prayers and commandments of our beloved Church, which tells us not to steal, not to kill, to honor God above all else. God brings us what is good and if it is something bad it is because we can handle it. God made woman out of man’s rib, so that we would serve him and find our other half in him.
Because haven’t you noticed how almost all the feminists you see on the street are single? Well, because those of us who did achieve what we had to do in life are not out on the street saying that we are sad with our lives. We are at home, happy, content. Feminism does not represent me. I don’t need it, it doesn’t need me, and I’m going to instill my children well, my children will open the door to women even if women complain, they will always face up to integrity, and they will respect.
Rogelio and Renata I already told them that there I am going look that I bring the flip-flop and here I go!
Yes, young man, it was me! What turns life takes to find us. Well, young man, you know how things are. I am humble, I was not trying to do anything impressive. But the lady in the house has been very involved with the feminist thing for a long time – I remember that she was even involved with the women in Juárez a few years ago – and the children follow her a lot. There are three, like any good Mexican family: separated but close enough to get along but not invade each other’s space.
And well, I always cook birthday or first communion cakes and that, the lady is not given that of the kitchen. A few years ago, it was the birthday of the girl Valeria and she asked that the frosting on the cake be pink and purple. And well, in those years there was only vanilla and chocolate frosting, it was not the time to have colored frosting. So it occurred to me to put together sugar and coloring and holy remedy, the colored glitter on the white frosting was very nice and the girl Valeria was very happy. And from there came the colored “glitter”, which is simply sugar with coloring. It can also be made with salt.
And then it happened that as I told him that my wife is involved in activism, and they began to talk about the glitter when it occurred to them, and that suddenly she put down the phone and turn to see me in the kitchen, and he says “but You know how to make glitter with sugar, right?” I said yes, and that night I showed her how (the first time I taught the senio to make something in the kitchen), and she was delighted. She shared the idea with her friends and they all liked it a lot and there it was.
-No, I don’t think they used my name. That is why I was so surprised that you came to ask me these questions young man.
-No, I don’t feel bad because they hadn’t used it. Like why? Well … I don’t think it works like that. Look, young man. What my breast told me, and what I also understand, is that diamond is stronger and more important and more beautiful and more significant than all the pistols in the world. Because what we women choose
To defend ourselves, it was a diamond that did not harm the land that we step on and love, even made of sugar, and of beautiful colors, to throw at those who harm us instead of damaging them.
The pink diamond is a … as the lady says … a metaphor! A metaphor that the beautiful can be strong, that the beautiful can change things, that we do not have to hurt ourselves, that we do not have to give ourselves up like you men do to find ways to live and be and exist without it hurts us.
Since then many things have changed in activism and all that, and the truth is that I should give more to that because I feel that I should go to the marches more and all that, but well, you see, one in the house and the lady leaves with the children to the marches and he asks me to stay at home, to be on the lookout if something happens to him. So then I always find out, even if I’m not there.
What I understand is this fight. We fight for our lives, yeah But I think it’s something more tangled than that. The diamond was pretty. I think that was the point: that we can build peace with beauty. And although it was not used again in other marches, the idea remained: that beauty can also be strong, that it can also be warrior, that things can be improved by making them sweeter.
Stupid nails! But it was worth it, look just how cool !!!! Hahahaha there are already 100 views in two hours !! Wait, wait, wait, someone swiped me on tinder. Oooooooooooooooooo. Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. I already want to take these nails off, it’s fucking idiocy trying to live a real life with these things on. I imagine Cardi B will be outsourcing her errands because no …
Or maybe it’s a matter of practice, like the eight-inch heels or the tight corsets or bras that squeeze your chichis to make you look prettier. Or learn to walk with your legs close together when wearing a skirt, or learn not to touch your face (or to touch it super softly or so) so as not to ruin your makeup.
I remember when my grandmother told me that she met my grandfather and how they lasted I think a month or more before he held her hand. Today people don’t even know you and they send you their fucking cock and no big deal dude that’s how it is!! And the truth is, yes, it does feel a bit sad. I hear many people who complain about feminists and who say that with the fight for gender equality we have lost the respect of men. It seems silly to me; You don’t stop being a gentleman because it occurs to me to say that if I work the same as you, they should pay me the same as you, right? Or well, maybe you don’t have to be a gentleman geez, but you don’t have to kill me either, you know?
As little girls they sell us fairy tales and princesses and the prince charming and shit. And you grow up dreaming of the day that someone brings you a serenata, and who brings you the bouquet of flowers to the office, or brings a smile to your mother. As if being with a man is all that is important, as if getting married is the most important goal, as if having children is the only thing that matters, as if we are a failure as human beings if we are alone.
Who has not ever fallen in love? but it is not the same depending on which street you are on in which part of the world. In my world, there are no prince charmings, I have a lot of horny dudes who want to fuck me on tinder. Before getting to your fucking was a three-minute transaction on the internet …it was already difficult. Going out to bars or clubs or even to fucking karaoke alone? Do not even think about it. You go with friends. And if you go with friends, you can’t flirt at ease, but well, the truth is that “flirting at ease” doesn’t exist in Mexico. I remember that the only time I went out to dance with my sister in a salsa club, the guy danced with me, he asked for my phone number, he took me to a hotel on the first date, I had just turned 18 and was like what?
Or there is the typical dude who is a love at first until he gets what he wants, the one who gives you flowers and beautiful dinners and texts of I love you until you open up your legs and then the beautiful thing goes down and gives them confidence to treat you like a whore; Sometimes they’re decent, they treat you as a person at least for the little while that they are together, and if they go two or three times you see them and they have not completely fucked up, then you open up a little more … I mean, nothing has to be serious, you know?
What is not cool is that by wanting or not wanting to be with someone, my life ends up being in danger, whether it is at the bar, or on the internet. There are stories of femicides that happened on Tinder, as well as those that happened for the girl in the club or in the bar or the party or the wedding or the baptism or the mass. If you are very good, if your body is not noticeable because the apron they give you to clean the boss’s house hides it, or if you are seven years old and you are leaving school.
If you’re doing nothing but waiting for this fucking contingency to end, and you’re just there – 155 per hour. 155. By. hour. The calls in Mexico since the contingency began asking for help for domestic violence. More than two thousand calls a day. The fucking country is but full of fucking princes right? whadya think?
“Ponte piola!”. If you have lived in Mexico, you will have heard the phrase, even if only in passing. It is used to refer to people who find solutions even under the stones, who know how to connect, who do things who knows how but they get them out. Normally, it is a phrase more than anything for women.
“Piola” is Spanish for strand: it’s a small string, made of hemp, that connects two larger strings. Hemp is strong and resistant. And the strings that result from its fruits are strong and resistant, not only because the material itself is strong, but because the way in which the strings are made up of smaller cables give them a different strength than if it were a single line. of rope. PIOLA, then, is a word in its own right; the small and resistant and innovative rope that joins the larger ropes. It is also an acronym for the Party for the Inclusion and Optimization of Latin America, which I invite you to join today. My proposal is not new. I am not discovering the black thread. I propose a truly social policy in which the resources of each community are used optimally, without trying to put or take anything out of the community to improve it; creating communities so self-sufficient that the money that politicians steal from those communities makes us laugh instead of rage. Latin America is not a monolithic bloc, but we have many of the same scars. Being away, the celebrations, as well as the misfortunes, are shared. The prejudices of skin colors or whether or not the quesadillas contain cheese are forgotten: by listening to a language that can vibrate the R’s, you feel in heaven. And you want to meet someone who speaks your language. You want to make friends. You want to learn. You want to help. And it does not take long to establish common ground, just as you do not stop establishing things that have to be changed while everyone enjoys that song or that tequila or that cigarette in the after-dinner table, a concept so far removed from fast food at times so different from ours when we live seas apart. But I’ve been sitting at the table for as long as I can remember talking to someone on the other side of the table about how we are going to change the world. Call me an idealist if you want.
The revolution that I propose is feminist not because it is what is fashionable but because it is the only policy that will really work in the long term, period. We women start it because we can be piolas: we can be those strings that interconnect with the large strings and make them work.
Exam time. Who is the social cushion of society in Mexico? Even easier, in almost all of Latin America.
Let’s start by revolutionizing our concept of time. What matters is what is achieved and not how long it takes, that someone else does not deserve to pay for a job because he is in a suit sitting at a desk in an office.
I want a political party that makes sense. And where I, like the many others who have come out of paradises that bleed in open veins, have voices and votes that neither our countries of origin nor our recipient countries want to accept that we deserve. Not making alliances with others in order to have votes, without seeing ideologies. Because when we have time to think about what is important and not what is urgent, we have time to decide with whom we are going to partner.
What I want is a political party, very Bolivarian: all together, so that we have the opportunity to grow, a revolution where the fists are not raised but instead we raise the open hands, to connect, help, transform, learn, ask, ask to speak. We tried Diamantina Rosa and they ignored us. We tried days of silence and they didn’t listen to us either. If we raise our hands to ask to speak, will they listen to us?
My name is Natalia Valenzuela, president of the Party for the Inclusion and Optimization of Latin America. Can you ponte piola, and join us?
(on the cell phone with her sister, after they both saw the video of #PIOLA; her interlocutor is not seen or heard)
-But can you believe it? Comparing herself to Anaya, my God, where are we going to stop. This young lady has no idea what she is talking about.
-Well, yes, I understand that you say that there are things to do, but Natalia is really off base. It shows that she is not married, it shows that she does not live here.
-No, my dear, I did not say it that way, there is nothing wrong that you are not here either. But that’s what I’m telling you, you’re out too, you don’t understand. Things are not so bad here. People earn well, people have dignity and values. Violence has always been a problem, but, you love your family and your family gets ahead, you know? You are with people who are worthwhile, who are not going to harm you, who are not going to backfire on you, and you make sure that things are going well …Eviña, your soup is burning. I can smell it from here, your soup is burning!
-As I was saying. The problem with this little woman is that she doesn’t see what’s going on here. We are not like the gringos, here there is not so much divorce or so much abuse
-Oh, of course not !! They must be pure numbers invented by those old women that this huerca is inciting. Of course we are not receiving 155 calls per hour by abused women in the country as you think
-Oh no, how can you believe that! Anyway, what is missing is that they go to mass, we have not been able to go to communion for weeks now …
(dialogue with recorded therapist voice, such as zoom therapy session)
-So what do you think, do you see?
-Well, I already saw it, Natalia. What can I tell you, you know that I agree with your ideas, but I can’t help but remind you that you are in mania.
-I know, I know you know, I know that you can call me that I am in a mania but well, you take advantage of the high and act better, little by little, right? So, does it have value or not?
-Natalia, that’s not the important thing, the important thing is that you don’t get out of it so much
-that I get so much of what? I’m not getting out of anything. The important thing is if it is worth it. If I don’t look crazy on the other side of the camera, nobody cares about my diagnosis
-Natalia, you left the mental hospital three weeks ago.
-I know I left the mental hospital three weeks ago, you don’t need to remind me.
-You want to create a political party outside the target country and you feel like you can handle that leadership. Can you do that? Are you okay?
-I’m fine. I’m fine and I’m going to be fine because if this takes off I can’t afford not to be well, and if this doesn’t take off when least I had the opportunity to do it. Of course I don’t know if I can, but look at the bunch of politicians out there, could they do it? Stop labeling women as hysterical, you need a bit of madness to try to change the world, right?
-you tell me that you can control your psychosis? That if you have to put on a facade you can kill your symptoms?
-Let’s see now, you ask me if I can get rid of my symptoms if I stay pretending to be a character? Uhhhhh .. I don’t know. I know that when I am thinking about politics I forget about the world, I know that I have taken things forward in crisis. I know that if something is more important than me, I don’t matter anymore. And well … if these views are not trolls … maybe this is not so far-fetched. I am not imagining it anyway
-Everything is smoke and mirrors, Natalia. The important thing is that you are well
-Hahahaha, yes, I know, everything is smoke and mirrors. and where does the smoke end? Where are there no more mirrors? Where did you just pretend? How do I know if whoever sees me exists, how do I know if you exist, how do I know if I exist? Anyway, I’m still locked up in that big room where the walls wouldn’t let themselves be broken. Maybe they have not taken me out of there still. -Natalia, this conversation is real. And you can be whatever you want, but you can’t lose yourself in the attempt
-Yes, I suppose my cell phone says I’m talking to you… How do I know if you are real, Ana? I haven’t seen you for so long. I don’t even remember what you look like.
-Of course you remember. We are running out of time today, but be calm, ok? Remember to drink tea, and meditation, affirmations, eating at your hours, sleeping what you need, it is very soon since you left the hospital. Take care, ciao * click *
-Yes, I remember those things, the thoughts that you pass them as if they were through a Teflon pan, you let them feel, you let them go. Ok, breathe. okay. Yes, I am going to meditate. Yes, I am taking my medications. Yes I’m fine. Okay.
(talking to the phone that no longer has someone on the other side)
-Why am I doing this alone? Where is everybody? Why if I am going crazy or if I am sane there is no one who can tell me? Why are everything screens now?
(We are still in the same scene as the previous one. The interview is over, and now they are asking more questions)
– (laughs) They haven’t asked me where I’m from for a long time. (quiet)
I stay home when the ladies go to the protests. And I follow her and her friends, we are checking that everything is safe where they pass, there are many who are taking care of themselves. For every one of us who is out there are two or three making sure they come back alive.
(laughs) you know. I don’t know much about those big words and so feminism sounds like a big word to me. I just know that my men die because other men kill them and my women die because men also kill them. I don’t know how we do it so that the men stop killing, but I help in the marches because nobody has to tell me that we need a change. We march because it serves more than going to cry to graves that we could never have.
(Laughs) no, I’m not married. In town I am one of those who missed the train. But pos … why? … I was the one in the middle. Three sisters and three brothers. The men were killed off by the narco. One because he did not want to, another because he did enter and could not carry out the order, and the other because one day he just did not return. My little sister went missing when she was little – I remember my mother once asked me if I didn’t go to Acapulco to see if I couldn’t find her. And the other was beaten to death by the husband, who said he felt crazy for being so locked up by the pandemic, you know, I’m the only one left. I have to go visit my mother … to see if we can leave soon. I am afraid of infecting you with this pandemic and well I keep waiting but well, listen, it is a lot …
No, there are no graves. Well, there are no bodies! They didn’t give them to us, Mom couldn’t pay for anything and I found out very late. I take the week on Day of the Dead and I bring all the sweets and flowers that I can from the city and we make an altar for them that brings tears to mother. Those are my days with her – for Christmas and Kings and New Years I’m cooking pa la seño.
They treat me well. It’s like her children are the ones I never had. They even have me registered for insurance and everything. The lady is good to me. Sometimes it even makes me believe that we are the same.
It is that you do not mames wey, net, do not mames…. Fucking nails!
I know, I don’t need the “I told you so” and the “you already know” and the “why are you fucking around” or the “you’re lucky you came out alive.”
You do understand why, right?
Because I shouldn’t run out of someone’s room who, in principle, shouldn’t hurt me.
Because I shouldn’t be afraid, no matter what time it is.
Because I must not be carrying pepper spray in my bag, nor should I be thanking these fucking nails for helping me scratch that son of a bitch who goes out with me for a drink and tries to rape me in the alley of the bar.
What the hell is going on in this country? When did his mother tell that jerk that it was valid to corner a woman who does not want to hurt you, was it valid to tell him that if he does not shut up, they will kill her?
Someone please tell me in what fucking catechism class I missed that teaching that women are to be caught or killed if we don’t let ourselves. That the values, that the family, that the sanctity of the marriage, that the fragility and beauty of the woman, that the importance and the sacredness of the virginity, fucking hypocrites, scoundrels that live in this fucking country. Fucking old men who pay more for the beer than for the baby that they just fixed that they are going to fuck in the back room in Acapulco, and fuck those who sell them too. And it’s not just the fucking old men who sell them and take them, but also the mothers who let them take them or even the one that is not missing, the lost bitch that even helps to kidnap them.
And if the problem was nothing more when you are seven we could still do something, but I am 34 and I shouldn’t feel like I have the same power as when I was seven, or ten, or fifteen, or twenty, or thirty. Yes, as those Chilean women from LasTesis say, that it was not her fault, nor was it mine, nor where we were, nor how we dressed, the rapists are all of us. So what, am I supposed to stand cross-legged in what it takes about three centuries or so to teach the Mexican male what consent means?
We cut all our nails, to be able to touch each other, why poor me if I even think that another body that is not mine is going to respect me?
They don’t rape us: they kill us. As trained in defense arts as I may be, I can’t handle someone twice my size.
Is it too much to ask? Let me live? That they leave me whole? I mean, so that I can plan accordingly, because if we don’t go from there, asking to be loved is a pretty high bar, right? Because what everyone understands is that if we are going to be the same, is it so that we are all equally screwed up?
Chingadamadre is that I do not understand how they do not understand it. Of course we are different, men and women and whatever is in between. But we are the same: we are human beings. That need to break, that need to open up, that need to be respected, accepted … loved. (through tears, laughs), hippie moment! (singing out of tune, voice breaking at the end) “What’s so wrong about peace, love, and understanding?” (opening hands)
(The scene begins in the same scenario as above, Inma is looking at the cell phone in shock, her hands are shaking, her lips are shaking, it is evident that she is trying not to cry.)
Kids? Renata? Rogelio? Eviña? I’m alone? Seriously there is no one?
Maybe it is God who is giving me the opportunity to have this moment in silence. Maybe I should pray. But what do I ask for, Diosito? Do I ask you for strength, God, to face my husband? I ask you for strength, Diosito, to paint a line in the sand and leave with my children? Or do I ask you for the strength to keep this secret from me, God? Because the children are still in elementary school, and the neighbors can’t start gossiping, and if I tell my mother she will have a heart attack, if I tell my father he will take out the gun and shoot him.
It is true that quiet we look prettier. And even if we are quiet and even if we are pretty it doesn’t matter. Maybe this is what God wants for us, right? We are the rib of man, a part of, not the other way around. The pain is saved, drowned, the messages are erased and here as if nothing had happened.
God is my shepherd and I will lack nothing. Heaven is for the merciful. Marriage is for life. Forgive us our offenses as we also forgive those who offend us. Turn the other cheek. Blessed are those who suffer because theirs will be the kingdom of heaven.
Well, you look decent young. I know, sometimes my head fills up with so many big words that I don’t understand. And sometimes it also occurs to me that the poor men who don’t do all those horrible things that we say, well, they must feel bad. Weddings and baptisms and communions continue in town, marches don’t matter in town, but for those who do go out and are in the cities? Yes we see it.
The other day the girl Valeria was telling me a story that had been left to her in the class, about someone who comes out of the cave and sees the light of the sun and the world, and returns to the cave and tries to tell it to the people, and people don’t understand because all they’ve seen are shadows. And well, I don’t know, I feel like that person who comes out of the cave. Because when I returned to town, I no longer wanted what the town offered me, I wanted more. It was just as good that everything happened so that my mother did not beg for grandchildren, that she never told me that I should have married, that she never made me feel that it was a bad person or worthless because I did not stay trying to help me people. But these are also my people. The lady and the children and the ladies who come to organize the marches in the house.
The man, a true Godsend, who brings them cakes and wine to the meetings of the ladies for the ladies and girls who come to get together. And when there is a march, he and I sit together on the sofa, following them all. There are good men in the world. There are those who are fighting with us too. And you will see the joy it gives me when I prepare that meat roll that he likes so much, or when it’s time to make him his birthday cake, that same bundtcake that he asks for every year since I’ve been here. Well, I don’t have much, but at least in that cake, let’s see if he can taste the gratitude that I have for him for reminding me that not all of them rape us and not all of them kill us and some even listen to us.
I have never been afraid to stay in the house alone with him. It is one of those that are made of good wood, you know? Of those men, of whom a lot is said but one does not really find that much. And those who are really good, like my husband’s husband, do much much more than just bring money home. There are those who understand and there are those who fight, she has told me about the times that he almost beat someone up for a comment that he should not have made, you know young man how the bricklayers are when you go through the houses and things like that.
The lady once showed me the paintings of Frida Kahlo. But more than the paintings, I was left with a poem that I don’t quite remember how it goes, but he ends up saying that if “I have to ask for it, I don’t want it.”
You don’t have to ask good men. They just make people happy who knows how. They are like those good luck talismans of the shamans, like the choloescuintles that guide you to death, only they are up here and they lead us through life. Not because we do know where we are going, but because we cannot go where we are going alone. And they accompany us and they do not care where we are going, they do not ask us if it is the same place where they are going. They accompany us, and like faithful dogs, they bark and bite and sometimes kill things that are crossed on the road at night before reaching the town.
What do they say about having balls? The man who has balls not only respects the woman, he makes sure that all other men respect her as well. And if they do the first thing and not the second, and if I have to ask them, then I don’t want it. Maybe that’s why I never got married. It seems that there are few of those and my lady was very lucky.
#We have other numbers. That hashtag has become popular in recent weeks, arguing against the number of cases of domestic violence that are being reported in the country during the pandemic. I like the way it argues without attacking, but keeps its ground. It is a way of inviting debate without inviting the fight. We have other numbers: we do not say that yours are necessarily wrong, but ours are not the same. We have other wishes. We have other needs. We have other ideas. Our ideas are equally valid as yours.
White glove slaps can destroy empires, look at us, the order of the world has been changed by something we cannot even see.
A young writer that I have had to follow for many years, Liliana Colanzi, proposes that the revolution we have to create requires something called radical imagination. That the structures of the world we live in are not correct and we have to dare to imagine new solutions because the world no longer works as we know it.
And if there is something that we have now, it is time. Right, maybe we can’t get out. But we have the equivalent of the Library of Alexandria in the palm of our hands. Information and the dissemination of information is at our fingertips no matter how many walls are between us. Question. Answer. Read. Create. Imagine the world you want. For it is up to you to go out and create it. We have plenty of room for when we go out. It is up to us to rebuild. The world that follows is designed by us.