Sacred and Saint

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want girlfriends. I’ve always been a girls’ girl. Even when they were cruel and mean, I still expected everything from them. I’ve always wanted the best for my gender, and I projected every single one of my insecurities onto them. I only have one friend, maybe two. It’s definitely not what I imagined friendship would be. They never choose me, they never reach out and I’m never the one they call when they’re feeling down. Maybe it’s because I seem tough and I don’t express my emotions in the same ways most girls do.

I hate when girls act stupid or dumb on purpose. I hate every stereotypical trait assigned to us, and I hate seeing witty and talented women living in the shadows, reproducing those same stereotypes without even realizing it. I hate their boyfriends. I hate that they hate me, and I hate how much I care. I care about stuffs most people find irrelevant. I tend to think people are stupid — and yet, I still overestimate them. I don’t think girls are stupid. I just think every aspect of our surroundings is.

I can tell some girls see me as a role model, but when it comes to women, I know they find me annoying. Whenever they’re around me, I can feel that they expect something from me – like there is something I must provide.

When I was a kid, I used to throw pyjama parties for the girls in my class. Loads of food. Tons of fun. My mom would help. She’d spend her whole afternoon baking pastries and decorating the house for the same girls that’d  completely ignore me or call me ugly and fat that very next day.

As a teen, I dated hot guys — most of them older, considered cool. Girls would come after me, pretending to be my friends just to get close to them. Some would try to comfort them with their vaginas, some would just stop talking to me after the breakup. Every time I dare to say this out loud, I can’t help telling myself how crazy it sounds. But it’s happened to me way too many times to be a coincidence.

I talk about womanhood like it’s divine. I’m in love with femininity, and I can’t stand that femininity isn’t in love with me. There are some girls I want to be friends with—most of them are prettier, smarter, or even funnier. I don’t mind being the ugly or not-so-pretty friend. I actually enjoy taking pride in my friends. I admire these girls from the shadows just like I did with Nicole.

She was never my friend; she just went out, briefly, with the boy I had my first crush on. He was obsessed with her—and so was I. She was outrageous and a total mystery to me—to both of us. Half-Colombian, half-American, from North Carolina but living in Miami. Her Spanish was sweet and fluent, but I definitely preferred her English. It was thick, full of strength, and it suited her better.
She smoked cigarettes at thirteen and completely changed my mind about braces. I now think they’re cool—might even look good on certain people. They definitely did on Nicole.
I think about her quite often. She lives in my mind, rent-free. Honestly, I think about her more than I ever think of the reason we met.