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this is ME

Favorite Little Girl

My scary encounter was when I was left alone with my mom on a Friday night with nothing else to do. We were both watching the TV in the living room during that evening. I was beside her looking at the screen while she subconsciously scrolls on her Facebook newsfeed. She asked “Ne, gusto mo mag Alabang bukas?” in a joyous tone as if she was persuading me to go eat brunch with her just for a mother-and-daughter moment since it’s the weekend. At that moment, my guardian angel left me alone and I was in my purest form. I switched to my mother’s daughter’s version of myself for a minute. I smiled and happily answered “Sure yes please!” until I realized how much of a sin and injustice I brought myself. It was terrifying. I felt disgusting and horrible. I’d rather choke on my suffering in silence than allow my mother to see me in any state of real emotion. The irony of all of this, the most terrifying part is at the end of the day; I only want to be comforted by the person who hurt me. My attachment to my embarrassment of being myself (my mother’s daughter) is consuming me. I wish I wasn’t such a slave to nostalgia, that I am my own self now and my skin replaces itself over time. The haunting of my own skin I’m covered in since I was 5 is repeatedly numbing me. Well, I don’t really care. I cried to god, I did. I wish I could just be my mother’s daughter in peace.

zegalba

Björk (1997) Ph. Nobuyoshi Araki

I broke free from the misery tree

I agree up to this day with Susan Sontag's statement that the world is a whorehouse and I'm someone who's seeking love. I have changed ever since but I would like to focus on one major point in my life for this blog.

I was a teenage girl who was thirsty and desperate for male validation. Boys my age call me "doll". I was Jennifer Check personified but I was the one getting eaten. I was asking for it. I wanted to be the girl with the most cake. I was fame, I was lust, I was an object. I was an angel in the land of gods and monsters until I wasn't. I was imprisoned in the body of a young 90s model in a sketchy agency.

I always end up in relationships with boys that are either motherless or are in love with their mommies. I'm convinced they saw me as some kind of reflection of their mothers, a mother figure to caress them to sleep and give them their daily milk while I rot from the inside out. I was changing skin like how I change clothes. Their pleasure is my priority. They hit so hard, I saw stars. They hit so hard, I saw God.

Looking at the ceiling now; I know I am human, I am a person, I am a human being. I loved the concept that is me until I loved myself. I came to see that I'm in charge of my own destruction so I came to seek freedom. Now, I look at men in the ocean underwater. I am on a honeymoon with myself. Men trigger my female rage, validation is a null word. I am safe and protected. I am human.

zegalba

stealurkidneys

i love nin more than my friends

zegalba

Vivienne Westwood lighters

cocainejuul

Bourdain and Blythe

stealurkidneys

hes just like me

zegalba

Maison Margiela spring 2024 haute couture 'broken doll' by John Galliano

Shadow Boxer

by: stealurkidneys

I am just a teenage girl. My mother asked me one random Tuesday, "what happened to you?" as if bruises randomly appeared on my legs.

I read a book by Bianca Sparacino titled "A Gentle Reminder" and it made my soul comfortably numb like a freshly pierced lip. I seem like a diluted white girl with my choice of my favorite book. I chose a self-help book because I'm written by Sylvia Plath. I was 15 when I met a boy from an all-boys school. He is shaped after an idealization, his hair is long and fluffy and he lost his mother due to a reason he never disclosed to me. Throughout our pushing and pulling; I was a fountain of tears, I was blinded by his light, I became defined. I turned strictly fluid and perceivable unlike before that I was a paradoxical iridescent creature. From then on, everyday, I open two gifts which are my eyes.

Million words after, he opened my ribcage and devoured my heart. I developed the strangest thoughts, I was once a flower that now rot. I remember how I am a landfill for my father's anger, that maybe I wasn't god's favorite daughter. To feed my hunger, I read an online copy of "A Gentle Reminder" to validate my experience and seek an apology from a motherless boy like I'm milking a stone.

"A Gentle Reminder" taught me that I am worthy, lovable and pure. But, what is purity when my love for him is as intense as cannibalism? I want to breathe his soul and exhale it. I finished the book and picked up my doll parts. I talked to him and left him, crawling out of his skin. For a while, my mind and my body couldn't be stifled by his deviant ways. Thanks to the book, I learned to think about myself. However, time passed and I disproved my faith. I ran out of feathers to soak up the hot piss I leave on myself. Afterall, a self-help book needs the self.

Everyday I pray for metamorphosis. I learned the book, I learned how to love myself, I learned my worth and I learned when to walk away. I keep a rosary near my chest, I hope to ignore and to accept. The book taught me how things should be and what he should've done. I know. I know. I know. I know until I don't. I am just a teenage girl.