I shuffle in the chair I haven’t stood up from for hours and my lower back freaking hates by now. This chair is not even close to ergonomic nor comfortable, but it’s what I’ve got.
My therapy sessions continue to be on Zoom because well, we’re still in a pandemic. I’ve been searching for words pa’ explicar this thing that keeps twisting my insides and takes away my appetite. And it turns out that the last time I talked to my therapist, I finally said out loud what I feel. Outrage. Rabia. And that, if I am being serious, I need help. It shouldn’t be surprising that I still haven’t opened the email to set up the following sessions but hey, I finally said it.
But let me explain myself better because this coffee has been brewing for months. No, years!
The same pandemic that has me stuck thousands of miles away from my home and my people is the same one that has caused the darkest part of the Dominican society and culture, to which I still belong to even if from afar, to get exposed. Just like a used pot that quickly reveals the oil added to make the rice as good as it was, my anger is quiet but recognizable. Easy to clean or hide even, if I have to. Until, one day while browsing Instagram, I had a rather painfully obvious realization: Who the hell is actually free in the Dominican Republic? Which woman is free?
I have spent years asking my friends who are the most influential women or voices of our generation. The answers have not delighted me, nor the quantity or variety. It makes me sick to keep seeing that the women most followed and admired are the same ones, already rich and well off, trying to sell a completely unattainable dream one post and ‘I live where you vacation’ at a time.
Our bodies still don’t belong to us.
Our future and dignity are insignificant in the eyes of the law.
Our stories are half told.
Pero hey, I live where you vacation.
As more and more green fills up our screens and we follow one of the most important conversations that I consider we have had during my generation —las tres causales—, the silence of the same women with so much influence who preach empowerment and personal improvement has been devastating. What a coincidence that when it's something pertinent to the health, integrity, and dignity of all women, those who have always had access don’t say much.
But, as my best friend says, that's not surprising. What makes me angry is that we stay the same. Liking everything they publish because imagínate, what are we going to do?
It is precisely that indifference, both personal and collective, that has caused me so much outrage. What is it going to cost us to wake up? If they already take away our lives, opportunities, recognition, space ... everything. What else are we going to lose?
Carajo.
I have considered an abortion exactly twice in my life. I never needed them, because I turned out not to be pregnant, but in my head, there was no question that it was an option. I had not been raped. My life wasn’t in danger. I wouldn’t have qualified for las tres causales — but had I been pregnant, I probably would have gotten one.
And that, considering a free abortion, does not make me feel bad or ashamed. The one who is going to carry the pregnancy is me. The one who is going to breastfeed is me. The one whose life is going to change is mine. My life and everything it represents will always be more important.
Dominican women are asking for the bare minimum within three situations no one ever wants to be in. And if that doesn't make you angry, then maybe we deserve to continue the same way. Without freedom... en lo mismo.
