In light of the recent sexual assault victims bravely coming forth with their traumas, I have a little something for you men, who haven’t physically assaulted a woman but daily harass with your unwanted “compliments” or looks.
I am a woman
The strongest being that withstands much more than any man could ever comprehend.
On a daily basis.
And my struggles are not imagined but rather imposed by a society that attempts to fit, in the newsstands, a variety of body shapes into one prototype:
a 26-inch size waist, voluptuous breasts and bums, with hair iridescently shiny.
And what about the rest of us?
When we are constantly pressured to believe these standards are the wanted ones and our bodies are the wrong puzzle pieces.
How do we love ourselves then?
Many of us have managed to slowly remove the gangrenous roots out of our pretty little heads,
to begin accepting what a unique genetic composition we are.
To go against all beauty lessons we were taught.
And it isn’t easy, there are fallbacks
There are moments where a slight frigid comment regresses our progress to our brainwashed state of mind.
But for the sake of time, let’s say we’ve moved on.
As I continue on my trip, which has been both a constant thrill and a gargantuan challenge, I have planned to improve one of my hobbies/interest/skill very dear to my person: photography. And though nowadays it seems that anyone with an apt camera device can be a photographer, I certainly believe it takes more than just pointing, shooting, and filter. For countless years I have more than enjoyed capturing images and through those years I have certainly developed a style, composition, and a color palette preference. Therefore, right this minute, I believe it is the time I proclaim myself a photographer (how strange to actually express the title). Before my trip, I began this series, with the purpose of showing the world the faces that come and go around me. To further expand my street photography interest, I present to you, the many Faces of Mexico.
I write this as an outsider, as an observant visitor whose everyday appetite devours your plethora. I’d like to share my honesty about your children, your inhabitants who I have seen demonstrate raw humanity. I understand they misbehave – all flawed humans do – but for the most part, their core means well. They adore you; your residents speak so highly of you it begins to haze into a grandiose pride that will never quell. But fear not, an inexhaustible pride would be my exact sentiments. And even though their love may not always be obviously demonstrated, there are moments such as the 19th of September, in which your parenting skills shone.
The plan for September 19th, 2017 was to get organized and to be productive. After much dilly-dallying with my affairs, weekend escapades to paradise lands and loafing around, that Tuesday was to be devoted to completing long-avoided errands. By 1 pm, I made the decision that in 15 mins I would begin arranging after I showered. By 1:13 pm, I was in the bathroom, when I noticed a change in my vision. For many years, I have “suffered” from low blood pressure and mild dizziness is quotidian. The swaying rapidly gained force and in a slight second I realized, this isn’t a flaw in my circulation, but rather a grievous adjustment of the Earth. I held on tightly to the sink, calming myself by repeating the sole mantra I will never forget, “this will end soon,” concentrating on the small window drowning the shower in white light. I paled at the sight of the walls moving like elastic, back and forth like a slow-motion video of gelatin on a plate. Somewhat late, but just in time, my reflexes to remove myself from a potentially crumbling building kicked in, and I ran down the steps. Everything after those estimated eternal twenty seconds and the days that followed can only be described as a helplessly confusing and a dreadfully long nightmare.