On Bedbugs, Stabbings and Deja Vu
Trigger warning: If you are my mama, you will be disturbed by this story. I suggest you dont read it but if you do, dont say I didnt warn you. Also know that I am safe and was safe at the time, and that this scary shit happens everywhere, not just in Panama.
Tuesday, January 2nd, 2024:
I couldnt help myself. As soon as Omar left to go to the gym, I folded his man-pile of clean clothes he had heaped on the floor upon arrival.
I consulted with myself to make sure I wasnt…oh dear. The keys don all work on this computer, especially the t and the apostrophe. Or maybe I have the wrong button…where the F is the question markÉÉÉ
Erg.
In order to sign into Medium on a new laptop (I borrowed a cheap chromebook from a friend of Mommys so as not to be worrying about expensive macbooks in Panama.)
I was not supposed to be moving around this much, either! I was supposed to get to one destination, unpack, stay there for longer than 3 fricking nights, and then go straight to the next spot! All in air conditioning and flowers and fluff for princesses!
Instead I ended up in Omars room, which was…
Well, lets just say he gives my brother Isaac a run for his money when it comes to just exactly how bachelor-paddy the room is.
In fairness to Omar, he shares the home and the room with multiple people and had just come back from a month or so away.
Anyway. I decided to feng shui the place, because otherwise, what was the point of Mistress Me splurging on this adorable little thatched hut for two nights if not to turn it into a Happiness Palace all of our ownÉÉ where the heck is the question mark. Youll have to imagine it, along with the apostrophes.
It is all pretty and painted yellow with birds , flowers and palm trees! And the table Im using to write, on our own little tiled balcony, is made of some pretty wood for sure.
There are things about Omar that are really similar to Sekhar. Like, shit that drove me crazy with Sekhar.
Somehow they-re adorable on Omar.
Even his nephews waking him and me up all night long on New Years Eve.
I know it could just be the honeymoon stages talking, but I do think I see the reason why it doesnt bother me that Omar is at the beck and call of his family.
Omars family actually needs him. Like legit needs him. And i kind of think its beautiful, how he takes care of them. All of them, from the one year old nephew who has just learned to walk, to the 69 year old Tia Teresa and the twenty or so people in between, some related by blood, some not, all of them family.
“Usted no es como los demas, usted no es un extranjero que viene ya que no hace caso, usted quere conocernos. Aunque somos pobres y humildes.”
Poor and humble. She actually said that. “You aren-t like the others, you-re not a foreigner who comes and doesn-t pay attention. You want to get to know us, even though we-re poor and humble.”
End italics.
Of course, it also helps that I dont have to ever try to be a perfect daughter in law. That shit was challenging, and Omar and we are aware of the miles that regularly separate us.
That what makes this so special, though. We have our moment.
“To build our bubble!” i said, yesterday.
“But bubbles can explode,” he argued. “A bubble is a fairytale, its expectations. What about…”
I defended my bubble, explaining to him what its like with Mommy, how we create a world of warmth and magic and dive in.
“And we can choose WHEN to pop the bubble!” I continued. “We know its temporary, but whats left afterward is still there.”
“But thats why I think we should say tejiendo vinculos,” he said. “Creando asi amistad, esa es lo que hace que dos personas puedan disfrutar de la vida. Porque eso es. Disfrutar la vida, cuanto puedas.”
Tejer vinculos.
To knit connection.
Thats the literal translation, anyway. To knit the connection, as though it were a blanket, as though it were a web that connected you through time and space.
“So was it weird to bring me to meet your family” i asked.
“What do you mean” he said.
“Well, I mean, here we are talking about how we cant have expectations, how we live in two different countries, who knows what tomorrow brings. But. You walked into your familys home holding my hand, and it does seem like they would think we are a couple. So if you, you know, a few months down the road, bring somebody else…”
He still seemed confused at the question.
“Okay I guess I mean, is your mom gonna give you a hard time”
There, he grinned. “I think she DOES hope each time, PLEASE let this one be the last…”
(Erg. Its so annoying not having italics. Please just imagine them in the right places, okayÉ erg erg erg)
I am glad I didnt bring my real computer, though. Its really somewhat exhausting thinking about the whereabouts of all my belongings at all times, and the fewer precious items to worry about, the better.
Im hungry. Where are the taco stands.
There were sooooo many taco stands in Mexico.
And my poor brother only got to go to one.
I felt very sad for him that he didnt enjoy his vacation.
But also, what was he thinking….
Plus he never takes my advice so I really cant get all emotionally responsible for him.
I had been looking forward to actually relaxing with him, which definitely never happened. But I grieved the loss with overpriced meals and drinks that he complained about paying for.
But if you take me to the most expensive restaurants and hotels, I wont be able to afford them.
Brothers. Sheesh.
We agreed on this bungalow colony because it seemed chill and the price was nice. Its on the outskirts of Tigre, the beach village we are here to visit.
The only problem is that there are no taco stands nearby, and to get to the city we need the car.
“Do you want me to pick something up on the way back from the gym” asked Omar.
“Sexiest words I ever heard,” I said, and then I kissed him on the lips, which is against the rules but I wont tell if you dont.
I waited to kiss him for two days, which proved quite the feat, considering that I did, in fact, end up in his bed.
Honestly, it was exhaustion and logistics that made it happen.
Also, I feel very yummy next to him.
Gah gah gah gah gah.
He left to go to the gym. Thats when I decided to feng shui the bungalow, which is almost-but-not-quite perfect.
I wonder if he will mind.
Something tells me he wont.
I did try to fold Etiennes laundry, during our trip to Greece.
He looked at me suspiciously and asked why I was doing it.
I think he was worried I felt obligated to do gender stereotypical things, and Im not sure if he actually believed me when I said I liked to do it.
And I DO like to do it, Ive folded a lot of mens laundry, actually.
It did become unbearable with Sekhar, though. He had far too many clothes and not enough space to store them, so they lived in endless piles, with my previously neatly folded clothes strewn about, wrinkled and disheveled.
It feels a little startling, how comfortable it is to be intimate with Omar. Weve gotten to know each other over the last two years, but not a lot. We had never spent this kind of time together.
But we are clicking and it just feels good.
One way he is like Etienne is the…
Okay get yourself back off the man orbit, Lorelai.
Center.
Mmm I am hungry, though. Which is why I thought of Etienne, and then Omar. Because from the very beginning of my relationship with Etienne, whenever we have spent time together it was always very clear that once a day he would need to train.
Which is exactly the first thing Omar said: Once a day, he needs to work out.
So that is what he is doing right now, at some gym located down the highway from our perfect bungalow paradise.
And when he comes home, hes bringing the food.
See
Erg the lack of punctuation and emphasis really is irksome.
In a nutshell, I think writing on this computer sums up the Panamanian travel experience (and maybe just the Universal Travel Experience, because this isnt unique to Panama).
But everything is more complicated. The logistics. The figuring things out in a place that isnt yours. The getting from one place to another. The making sure you have everything you need, but that if you lose it or it is stolen you wont be heartbroken.
Then you try not to let it get lost or stolen.
I explained “get” to Omar this morning.
“Entiendo que get significa agarrar,” he said.
I understand that “get” means you “take something.” So how can something get stolen…
Oooooh.
“Yeah, so theres this whole set of verbs in English that are the -get- verbs,” I explained, possibly just realizing it for the first time. “So the word get CAN mean you pick something up off a shelf, for example, but it also can mean…like, you can GET sick. Or get tired. It basically means -to become.”
“Oh. OH!” He said. “THANK you!”
“Sure,” I said, a little guilty that Id been floating in a cloud of Spanish for the last few days without ever offering to help his English. “Im glad to help. The thing is, I know why you say certain things. Its because the words line up a certain way in Spanish, so you expect it to be the same in English. You have to find the little switches and then follow those patterns.”
“It is like, because,” he said haltingly, “I still think in Spanish, you know. I am not think in English.”
“You will,” I promised him. “It will take work, it will take time, but if you invest in it it will happen and one day youll realize youve just been thinking in English without even knowingit.”
“Oh yessssss,” he said. His excitement was fricking endearing. I love how enthusiastic he can become. “I hope you will be there with me when it does!”
In fairness to me and the man orbit, I AM cohabitating with him currently. Careless clothes piles and all. So hes on my mind a fair amount.
Oh and it feels good, though. Empowering, too.
On Saturday night, we cooked for the guys at the Nest. We got all the spices we could find at the supermarket and improvised a curry.
It was delicious, and the moment was sweet, and the hugs were plentiful.
Then he playfully smacked my butt.
Boys and butts, I swear.
Anyway, I didnt actually break a sweat. I just said, “Hey, I have a trauma with spanking, actually. Would you please not do that, gah gah.”
And he was like, “Oh, of course, Im so sorry, gah gah, I didnt know. Sorry.”
And I knew he didnt know, and I didnt mind and I didnt panic and we continued on with our evening.
“Sabes, eso fue nuestra ultima pelea con el ex,” I said.
My last fight with Gavin. How he smacked my butt, which was a huge trigger given the number of times he had done so in the past with the stipulation that I was supposed to pretend I had a Mysogyny Fetish.
People are endlessly fucked up.
Anyway, mind you that this incident happened during the re-conquering stage.
Actually, holy crap. It happened three years ago almost to the DAY. It was New Years Day, 2021. And Omar and I were on his kitchen at the eve of New Years, 2024.
Yeah so anyway, with Gavin it went a LOT different. As I said, we were in the re-conquering stage, which is when the abuser
Wednesday, January 10th, 2024
BAM and a week goes by.
Omar isnt here anymore. Wah! Holy crap how quickly that Man Orbit took hold.
We had fun though. A lot of fun. And we definitely got to know each other better.
Now Im here with Anton and Rigo, who are like Omars brothers. They all grew up together in this circus collective that they now run.
The second place he took me to was like this acrobatic palace. It has a main room and a kitchen, plus all these little side rooms, a huge outdoor jungle garden, and a bunch of dorm rooms where visiting acrobats come to stay.
Omar and I took one of those rooms. It had no windows and a LOT of mosquitos.
I didnt even check for bed bugs. I figured it might be too easy to actually find one.
Oh right! I didnt even tell you.
In Mexico…
Yeah.
I dont even know where to start. I havent even told you about New Years Eve yet.
About Mariela, the sweet and possibly spicy pretty girl who came over and told me all sorts of nice things.
About the guy who came into the house suddenly and got way too close to her. He looked like one of the homeless drunk guys Id seen outside.
I saw Mariela flinch and then scurry away to another part of the kitchen as soon as she had the opportunity.
She was chopping cabbage as fast as a hummingbird, neat little shreds piling on the corner of the cutting board in this kitchen that looked like the back of a warehouse, with a concrete sink and a dirt floor.
The New Years Eve dish had finished and I didnt know why we still hadnt eaten — it was already 10:30pm.
“Omar, arent you hungry” I asked.
“Oh si, pero es que…en general esperamos al nuevo ano.”
Wait…we dont eat dinner until MIDNIGHT
Outrageous.
The weird drugged out dude got close to Mariela again and I started mentally calculating my options. Maybe ask her if she knew him. Tell him politely that I needed help elsewhere in the house.
Get him away from her.
Thats when Mariela turned around with this weird little smile and said,
“This is my husband.”
Oh.
I see.
fuuuuuuck.
Its so fricking beautiful here, its unreal.
Today is the rest day. My official job title is the Self-Care fairy, so one would think that I would ENJOY the rest day I so adamently fought for.
Ive spent it as depressed as you can get in paradise, which is quite depressed, but also surreally depressed, because you are so surrounded by beauty and the oceans waves feel so calm that even your rage is muffled.
We rage screamed in the penthouse, me, Jasmine and Carelia.
Carelia is all feelings, they pour out of her eyeballs like little unicorn bubbles, the glittery goo seeping from her pores, she is made of light and love and art and EMOTION.
Jasmine is furious. Both of them are. We all are.
How dare he.
How DARE he.
I tell them about this weekend, with Mariela. About how everybody has a story, how when you bring up domestic violence they nod sadly and mutter.
The femicide numbers are high as fuck. The government has passed a law against gender violence so now aggressors just kill their victims because they figure they-ll be punished anyway so they may as well.
I found the phone number for the Panama Prosecutor Office. Im going to call them for Carelia.
Meanwhile, Mariela is back with her husband.
And Gavin is still squirming like a little worm in Montreal.
Omar came to find me in the kitchen, steering me firmly away from Mariela and her husband, downplaying the problem, its nothing.
It was NOT nothing.
In fairness to him, he was just trying not to see it, and he would have succeeded, if it hadnt blown up in everybodys face.
I think the moment that I realized it was real was when I saw the blood on the floor. Big splotches of it staring up at me, daring me to do something.
At that point I was in the far corner of the living room. Omar and four other very big men were guarding the door.
I was guarding the children.
I turned to the one little boy with the big elf ears. I had noticed him earlier when he and another boy were dancing on the street, back when all of us were celebrating the new year as though there wasnt a telenovela full of drama about to unfold in our living room.
“How are you feeling,” I asked him in Spanish.
He didnt answer.
“A little scared, maybe,” I prompted.
He nodded.
“You were VERY brave tonight. Very brave,” I said, and he gave me a serious little nod.
My heart broke for him, how he kept poking Mariela before she fainted, “Mommy! Mama!” he kept shrieking. She didnt answer him. Just kept staring into space, trembling.
What could I say to him. Itll all be okay…
Except that it probably wont be.
Statistics show it takes 7 tries to leave an abusive relationship.
Statistics also show that the scariest, most dangerous time is when a victim tries to leave.
You see, the abuser treats his victim terribly, but he needs her. He needs her badly because she is where he pours the externalization of his insecurities. He is violent to her because he cannot find what he needs inside himself.
So when the victim leaves, the aggressor will do anything to get the victim back.
It is when they will be at their most loving, or at least the semblance of love, like the love-bombing Gavin did to me, the 30 emails he sent proclaiming his love and desire to change when I tried to break up with him the first time.
It is also when they are at their most violent.
It is also when the victim is most likely to die.
And that is if the victim can leave at all, because they have been sapped of their confidence and isolated from a support system. Often, the manipulation has left their perception of reality as foggy and uncertain.
Change is always hard, but most so when you are trapped in a web of lies and hate and dont know which way to turn.
I couldnt tell him it would all be alright. Statistics show that Mariela would likely go back with her husband. That he would likely treat her with exceptional care and promises to change and apologies, until one day when he gets drunk and stabs her again, maybe actually hurting her this time.
“Sometimes, adults behave like realllly big dumbos,” I told the little boy sadly. “Im sorry. I wish it werent like that. If you are ever in a scary situation again, you go and find an adult you trust and you ask for help, okay.”
He nodded, seriously.
“You were VERY brave tonight,” I said again, and I let him pick out three more frog prince stickers.
I was actually surprised that Mariela lasted as long as she did. By the third day when I found her at Omars mothers house once more, I thought that maybe she would actually stay away.
But she went home to get her stuff, and as far as I can tell, she never came back.
Shes alive, that much I know. I gave her my phone number, and maybe shell remember some of the things I whispered in her ear as the clock struck midnight on New Years Eve.
“This is not your fault. This is NOT your fault. The only thing you did wrong was pick somebody terrible to love, but there is nothing wrong with loving. Yes, the people will talk. Let them. You choose the brave option, and you remember your son. Do you want him to grow up to be like that. Your life has VALUE. Your husband loves you but he doesnt know HOW to love you, and your life is more important than his ineptitude. Remember you are strong. This will be the hardest thing you ever do, but you can do it.”
In the middle of the chaos, Omars sister in law started screaming at Mariela,
“This is all your fault! ALL YOUR FAULT!”
Ummmm…what.
“You should have left him when I told you to!”
Oh.
I mean, I get it. I feel the same gut rage about Gale sometimes. But Richard didnt come to my house, get drunk, stab Gale and ruin a new years eve party.
I mean, metaphorically he DID, though. He took a really nice life we all had and ripped it to shreds.
Anyway. I do see her point, but 1) it is NOT all Marielas fault, not by a long shot, and 2) Could you pick better timing, please.
Then again, Marielas husband had just stabbed her brother.
The women restrained him from going after him with a broken bottle. I think if hed have done it, Marielas fuckface of a husband may have ended up dead, which honestly could have been a good solution to this whole mess, but then the brother would have gone to prison and nobody wanted that.
He is Garifuna, the brother, from an indigenous tribe by the sea. They have their own language and culture, the vestiges of which still survive, if shakily.
“Theyre racist,” Omars cousin informed me. “They always stay away from me.”
Ummmm…are they though…
Omars cousin called him over. He was a beautiful man, all dark sinewy muscle, and I tried not to look at him too much because his wife was there and that would be rude.
“She wants to hear you speak Garifuna,” said the cousin, pointing at me.
I had said no such thing.
“Tell her how to say…beer!” he commanded.
The brother looked uneasy, but told me. It was a strange word, filled with sounds Id never heard. I tried to repeat it and failed.
The cousin laughed, as though he could take credit for the entire language.
“Another word!” he commanded drunkenly.
“And another!” Again and again, as though the Garifuna man were a performing parrot he could somehow use to impress me.
I tried to defuse the commands and divert the conversation toward something less uncomfortable, but each time the drunken cousin ended with a command.
No wonder the Garifuna man didnt want to hang out with the cousin.
Racist my ass.
Jasmine just found me. She was a vision in a maroon bikini.
“Who the hell had the idea for this rest day,” I asked with a grin. “Why on earth would we want to feel our feelings today…”
She had just gotten out of therapy, and did a very good job reminding me of my own advice.
The therapist had just been telling her to fill her own cup before trying to fix all the Panamian guys problems…Omar, Anton, Rigo…
“Tools, support, and resources,” we agreed. That is what they need.
Eventually last week, at some point in the road trip, the conversation turned to transgender politics.
“Es una conspiracion,” said Omar.
A conspiracy.
“I mean, I do know transgender people,” I said.
“Oh sure!” he agreed amiably. “Im not saying they dont exist, poor things. Its just, theres not much you can do. Youre born with the body you have, whether you like it or not. But the conspiracy…”
Ive heard it before. About how all the powers that be from all the different countries get together and manipulate the masses through tools of distraction, such as gender politics.
“Not in a million years,” I refuted bluntly. “You think they could be that organized…no way. The leaders of the world agreeing on things…I mean honestly, that would be impressive.”
I continued, “More likely is that they latch onto particular cultural and political waves and take advantage, wherever they can. But not in some sort of coordinated international attack.”
We kept driving, and like so many other times during the trip, my thoughts turned to money. I knew that every time we bought something, it was cutting a huge chunk out of Omars monthly budget. And not only does he have barely any money at all, but he has no understanding of economics. Like, at all. He had not considered comparing his income to his expenses until I sat down and showed him.
He let out a low whistle. “Preciosa, you are SMART,” he said, in a new Panamian version of the word I had never heard. “Will you teach me more…”
“Okay yes. You were talking about conspiracy theories earlier, right. You want to know the biggest conspiracy of them all...Its not teaching poor people the rules of capitalism. They are born with little to no resources and dont know how to use them even if they tried. THAT is the conspiracy,” I said.
Omar didnt disagree.
Holy shit it is hot. And so humid my sweat is just building on my skin. I may give up soon and go back to the air conditioning.
I think Im glad I didnt go to El Remate. I didnt feel like that long, hot, dusty drive in the back of a pickup truck.
I did need to stop moping, though.
“Isnt it different to be depressed in paradise,” I asked Jasmine. “Like, cognitive disonnance or something.”
“Oh, I spend half my time in paradise depressed,” she said. “You just have to get over the guilt, and give yourself permission to feel your feelings even while youre on vacation.
“Because you know,” and now she was rubbing my chest over my heart in this way that felt rather comforting, “You want to hold the feeling. You want to dive into it, through to the bottom, to hear what it has to say. Because that will connect you with the thing you need connection with. And then you will feel more whole.”
“Oh. Right. I think thats what the self care fairy was trying to say earlier, but I ignored her…”
SO MUCH EASIER TO GIVE ADVICE TO OTHER PEOPLE!!!!
Apparently the National Park That Shall Not Be Named has gotten back to my mother and called her a liar about the bedbugs.
I feel somewhat emotionally buffered because I havent yet read the email, I just saw Isaacs livid comment in the family chat.
Im pretty mad though.
Joseph and Lizzie didnt get any money back from the airbnb either. They say the bug was a beetle.
Seriously that morning in Sayulita, Mexico didnt feel real.
This is happening AGAIN, I kept thinking, hoping that my things were safe because I had kept everything in my own apartment downstairs. We checked my bed and didnt find anything, either. The only ones who got bites were Joseph and Huck, who were both in the bed where we found the actual evidence.
That didnt stop me from obsessing for the next few days. Except, it was Christmas Eve and fumigators are not as easy to find in Puerto Vallarta as they are in Santa Cruz.
Not only that, but even the laundry staff had the day off.
So there was pretty much nothing we could do at the new hotel but pray we hadnt brought any bugs with us.
I went through every inch of my suitcase, and I did find one, this tiny little bug, was that what it was…
Joseph and I decided, after a long conversation, that it was a baby cockroach.
“Arent you worried,” I asked him, surprised that he and Lizzie seemed so nonplussed about the potential of bringing a bedbug infestation home.
He shrugged helplessly. “I can only handle one crisis at a time,” he said.
At the expensive hotel that night, Joseph paid $100 each for us to have a pretty mediocre Christmas dinner.
The decorations were spectacular though, and I will never forget how adorable Huck was, holding onto my hand as we followed a beautiful girl dressed in a red elf costume. Huck, at age three, was almost the littlest, so we were at the front of the kid parade, ending up at the back by the pool, where they would take turns swinging at the pinata.
When it was his turn he held the stick in his tiny little hands and batted very softly and completely ineffectively at the pinata.
Oh my god it was so cute.
Carelia is on the war path. Im going to help her call the police.
The mother fucker “healer shaman” violated her during her healing session.
This fucking world.
If it had happened to me, with where I am at with my trauma and trust issues with men, I would have crumpled.
As is, Im triggered. Were all triggered.
This is a PROBLEM.
I told Anton.
“Oh, gagita,” he said. They call me gagita, a diminutive of gah gah. They also always sing the Lady Gaga song whenever I walk by. “If it happened to you, dont you worry, we would murder him for you.”
I feel safe with my Panamanian guy friends, I definitely do.
Even Omar got involved with the Mariela thing. Once what was happening became too obvious to ignore, he stepped up and big.
It was his mom who got the fucker to hand over the knife.
“We all love you here,” she said, “and we know you love and respect us. Please hand over the knife.”
Or something like that. I was not in the room at the time, but Omar told me about it later.
Once he had been de-knifed, Marielas husband looked small and boyish.
I sat directly in front of Mariela so she wouldnt have to look at him.
“Mariela, por favor…” he moaned. “Por favor…”
Come home with me. Come back.
“WE ARE WOMEN!” Screamed Omars sister-in-law. Seriously, that woman is fierce. “We dont have to do what you mysognist, machisto men tell us to. We are free! Mariela is free!”
He ignored her. “Mariela…ven conmigo.”
Mariela, come home.
She just sat there trembling. This was right before she fainted.
“You ask her ONE time!” screamed Omars sister in law. “One time if she wants to come home with you, and then she can say yes or no, and you respect it.”
“Marieelllllla…por favor…”
And then I watched her summon all her strength.
“No,” she said faintly, and the room breathed a collective sigh of relief.
I dont know why I was shocked by what happened next. No violence. No knives.
Just a bunch of motherfucking little wormy ass tears.
“Noooooooooooooooooo” said her weasily little husband, and before I could even understand what had happened, his entire face had transformed into a pool as big as the ocean. He sobbed loudly, snottily, for the whole neighborhood to hear.
“I lovvvvee you,” he sniffled.
I couldnt stand it anymore. Plus, I knew I was safe. Dona Carmen had de-knifed him and two men were holding him firmly back.
I stood up, blocking his view of his wife entirely.
“Fine, you love her. Then value her life, and NEXT TIME DONT STAB HER,” I spat into his ugly little face.
Omars sister in law clapped.
When we finally got into bed that night, safe away from violent men from “the campo” and their abused wives, I asked Omar how he could rest easily, knowing that the husband might find another knife and come back.
“The boys from the barrio took care of him,” he said.
Ummmmm….
“They…how, exactly,” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Vos sabes. Conocen a mi mama y le tienen mucho respeto. Asi que lo golpearon y dijeron que se alejara de la casa de dona Carmen. Que si en algun momento entrara de nuevo en el barrio, lo turkiarian pero fuerte.”
The boys from the barrio beat up Marielas husband and told him to stay the hell away from Dona Carmens house. He wouldnt be doing anything else tonight, and tomorrow he would wake up a different person, the kind of person who is nice to his wife, most of the time, except when he drinks. He would wake up hungover and begging her to come home.
For tonight, we could sleep easy.
“No es que me guste la violencia, pero…esta vez si,” I said. Im not for violence but this time…I think it was the right thing for sure.
“You were amazing,” said Omar when it was all over. “You were brave and you were helpful. You made the children feel better. You helped with Mariela. My mother said you are a defender.”
A defender. A warrier. Thats me.
Except, not on the battlefield. Not during the heat of battle.
Im on the battlefield afterward, picking up the pieces.
“Tumbemos el patriarcado,” I screamed to Omars sister-in-law, and she laughed her agreement. Down with the patriarchy.
Oh, but its a cultural shift we need, and it will take more than a generation to accomplish.
I asked Anton and Rigo if they would consider being influencers. I want to build an army of feminist influencers in the war against the patriarchy, and we will need men.
Anton-s sculpted body, eye catching as it is, will catch the attention of men and women alike.
HE can tell the next generation of men to manage their feelings.
Ill find it out of my own pocket if I have to.
We will channel our rage.
“Thank you for your rage,” I said to Jasmine earlier. She was burning with fury, guilty that this had happened on her watch.
“It is not your fault,” I said to her. “You couldnt have known the was a creep. You had a good experience with him, and you wanted to trust him. What happened to Carelia is not your fault.”
“I feel like Im being unprofessional,” she said helplessly.
Her voice was almost gone by now. These assholes, so insecure, so dumb, they dont even see the disaster they leave in their wake. All of us here shaken, activated, triggered.
Good thing we are artists.
We will make MOTHER FUCKING ART.
“NO,” I replied vehemently. “You ARE being professional. Youre creating a space where we feel safe. I feel SAFE because of your anger. I know I am protected.”
I told her about Gale, how she let a perpetrator back into the community even when she personally had witnessed and been concerned about his tactics. How she wouldnt hold him accountable. How that was the last time I had spoken to her.
I didnt say her name, because Jasmine would know who she is, because EVERYBODY fricking knows Gale.
But that is, in a nutshell, the reason I havent spoken to her since July.
So thank GOD for Carelia and her bravery, for Jasmine and her fury.
And fuck the mother-fucking patriarchy.
Mariela went home to her husband after her stepmother told her she had to. Apparently the husband owes the stepmother money, and if Mariela leaves him, how will she get the money back.
I think its a few hundred dollars.
What idiots this world has.
The day that Omar and I left his town to go travel, I met his older sister. She is quiet and composed. She lives on her own in a house about 15 minutes away from Omar.
She nodded sadly when we told her the drama.
“But you know, Mariela can be a bit rude to her husband. How did this whole thing happen, anyway.”
Omar said, “Apparently Mariela cheated on her husband one time, and when he drinks, he remembers.”
This was the first time I was hearing this. I had never actually stopped to ask why he had done what hed done, because the answer was obvious: Because hes a perpetrator of domestic violence and thats what he DOES.
“Okay,” I said, trying to hold onto my blood pressure, “lets say all thats true, that she even cheated on him. Being rude. Cheating. And stabbing…NOT the same thing…”
They agreed readily enough.
“The thing is,” I said, because I was still processing and I needed the platform, “what characterizes abuse specifically is that it is a pattern of power and control. Sure, one person can say hateful things from time to time. But if they generally dont have power and control, they are the victim of abuse. It is a pattern and cycle that repeats itself over and over. It is easy to see, and there is no excuse for it.”
People dont know, I realized.
It is so pervasive they cannot even see it.
Thats when I decided on my influencer campaign.
Okay. I think thats it for now. Gah gah.
Lorelai
