La Mujer Loca

Chapter 2

Ladies and Gentlemen,

May I ask one thing before you proceed? Do you wish to know me, or do you wish to judge me?

Ah, but I forget. You have already read the previous chapter, you believe you know me. You think you know my rage, my scars, and my contempt. But do you know who chiseled those features into my psyche?

My name is irrelevant. I am merely one of many women told to remain silent when we should speak, and forced to speak only when we are expected to be heard.

I was born of a woman who married a bastard, a man I refuse to call a father, for he never fulfilled the function. After a divorce that left us with nothing but trauma, my mother remarried. I am the eldest of three, raised under an invisible weight tossed onto my shoulders without consent. You are surely familiar with the refrain "You must be an example."

An example of what?

An example of a daughter who doesn't cause trouble? Who is diligent, soft-spoken, calm, and submissive?

Or perhaps you’ve heard this one "You are the eldest, so learn to yield." But do you know what they really mean by that? No? Let me decode it for you. When they say that, what they are actually saying is, "You are a woman, therefore, stay silent."

What? You don’t believe me? HAHA! That’s fine. Let me fill your empty brains with my 'madness.'

I grew up in a house echoing with two distinct sounds, the ego of a man barking orders, and the stifled sobs of a woman, swallowing her tears so as not to frighten the children. We were told to protect our 'honor.' Keep your head down when speaking, cross your legs when sitting, and never possess ambition. Ambition, they said, is not for women. It belongs to men.

I work in a world that claims to be 'modern,' yet they still interrogate me about my marital status during job interviews. I struggle in workplaces that feign fairness but label me an 'attention-seeker' whenever I voice my own ideas.

We starve ourselves to look thin. But if we show hunger, we are labeled gluttonous and shameless. "A hungry woman is an embarrassment. But a thin woman is beautiful." So, we must be nonexistent, yet we must not starve.

I hold the same degrees, the same experience, and possess the same work ethic as my male colleagues, yet my compensation remains inferior. I am labeled 'too abrasive' if I lead, and 'weak' if I yield. We are expected to be friendly, but not too friendly, lest we be called flirtatious. If we are silent, we are arrogant. If we are intelligent, we are insufferable. If we are ignorant, we are finally 'marriage material.'

Why? Because I am a woman.

I study, I work, I climb the ladder, I outperform my male peers. And what do they say? "She must have slept her way to the top."

When I choose to buy my own home, save for my own future, and pay my own bills without depending on anyone... they say, "Poor thing, no one must want her." I am not asking for pity, I am simply living. Is it a crime to be autonomous? OH! I forgot. I am a woman. If I am independent, I am a threat to the male ego.

Ah, this world is so obsessed with 'shame.' Women must know shame. Women must safeguard their modesty. Yet, this world has no shame in objectifying our bodies on billboards and soap commercials.

It is amusing how the standards of 'womanhood' were never created by women. They demand, "Be a good woman," but they forget to provide the definition. Because every time we attempt to become our own version of 'good,' it remains a clinical error in their eyes. They want us docile but not weak. Brave but not aggressive. Intelligent but not superior. Beautiful but not conspicuous. Virgin but not naive. A homemaker who is also a breadwinner. They want us soft, patient, faithful, and sensitive... but never strong, assertive, or free.

They say women must be soft. But the world into which we were born is cruel. If we are not strong, we are trampled. If we are too strong, we are rejected. Or simply labeled "unwomanly."

Funnily enough, they are confused by the very standards they manufactured. And when we start to question, to speak, to write... we are once again called mad.

La mujer loca, they say.

But hey! If your logic makes a woman like me look insane... then perhaps my madness is the only remaining trace of sanity in this world.

I was not written into this existence to be a footnote in someone else's sentence. If you still think I am 'crazy' simply because I know what you refuse to admit... then fine. Let me be the madwoman in this book. Because at least... I am not a coward in my life.

So, Ladies and Gentlemen, before you read further, remember: I am not writing this story to make you happy. I am writing so that you can see the world from a perspective you have long chosen to ignore. And if you are ready... take a seat. Because the real story is just beginning.