This is me and all the things that matter. My family, my friends , my relationship with other people, my profession, my achievements, my words. Everything else is tiny dust that other people don’t care about.
But to me, it all does.
It counted. It mattered. It matters because it is important. It is important because it is what I care about. It is what I care about… because it is what I love. It is what I love because it is me.
Just me. And all the things that matter.
In this world where people find happiness in hurting others, I think of everything that matters: the comfort and love from my family, the trust from my friends, the bonds and connection with people, the hardwork I did for my profession, the goals for my achievements, the meaning for all the words I write and tell. All of these things matter. And I would do everything I could to keep it safe.
Because that’s what you do when it matters. You do everything. I would do everything. For family, career, relationship with other people, friends, achievements, words. Everything.
Even if it silences my world and turn it black. What would be the difference, if it costs all of those that matter?
So instead of telling women to wear decently so we can avoid being sexually harassed, why not educate the men to respect women whatever the type of clothes she wears? So what if a woman wears a shorty shorts or a crop top or a lesser fabric, does that mean a man is entitled to catcall her? A guy could even go shirtless!!!
This society is really sick! Stop that double standards. It is not about what she wears but it is about what he thinks! Stop saying it is “men’s nature”. To what? To be horny when they see skin? Do not say it is the girl’s fault if she’s harassed or raped because she looks inviting with the way she wears that mini skirt! Like come on! Stop justifying that perverseness. Guys, please. Show some respect. Show some gentleness.
And stop the cliche of a woman’s body as an instrument to sustain a man’s need! No!
This brain is a network of complicated, scattered, undecided nerves and signals that usually end up being a mess. I admit that. That’s me anyway. A disaster. A poison. But anything that I can control, I do that. I manage and “try” my hardest to have it all in my head.
Most of the time, thoughts just slip away. It comes out so spontaneous, I have to let them out. I am not good at sharing it verbally. I wish people could understand that. I want my own space alone, my time alone. I can’t deal with it right away, I need more thinking. That’s me.
I hope I can change that fact. But my genetic makeup is something made biologically, I cannot gain or lose it. This is who I am, and what I ask is a little of patience and understanding. I can’t be a rainbow every time. I can’t be the pretty butterfly when in the inside I am a parasitic mosquito. I can’t be the Barbie doll when I’m all feeling Chuckie.
This world expects too much, and unfortunately I can’t save myself from that. How can you compete with the baseline of beauty?
My only safe place where I can be me is in here. I can write my heart out. I can be who I am without pretending. My mask is nowhere to be found in here. I can be my true self because nobody expects anything from me. Nobody listens, nobody cares. Nobody will judge me. Nobody can hurt me.
This had been my security blanket, my comfort zone. I don’t need the reaction and the thoughts. I just need my words here.
That, at least, is what I believed. But not anymore.
This. It was worth it. Since my eldest brother started studying in college, my parents rented an apartment in the city. For eleven straight years we’ve been renting.
But this, it was all worth it. This is ours. This is hardwork. This is new beginning. This is a blessing. This is home. It was all worth it!