La Mujer Loca

Chapter 1

They claim that the 'social organism' is balanced, that equality has been achieved. But I observe a systemic failure, those who shout about equality are the first to look away the moment a woman’s voice exceeds their preferred decibel level.

You want equality, they say. But what kind of equality is it when a woman’s professional achievements are immediately suppressed by a diagnostic question 'Who is her husband?' instead of 'What is her objective?'

Sometimes, I suspect they don’t want a partner. They want a biological function, a host for their domestic frustrations, kept in the kitchen or the bedroom like a culture in a petri dish, always available, always easily neutralized with the sedative of 'don't be so dramatic.'

Ah, right. A woman isn't meant to perform deep analytical reasoning. If she does, it’s labeled as a pathological condition, too sensitive, too critical, too... la mujer loca.

'Protect your daughter,' they warn. But why is there no protocol to educate the son? Why don't they mutate their own biases instead of raising boys on the ego of 'head of household' a title awarded long before they develop the basic motor skills to wash a dish?

And as for us? We are told to conceal, to avert our gaze, to preserve our virtue like an aseptic specimen in a lab, sealed away from the contaminating eyes of the world.

And then comes the mandatory prescription: the order to marry. They cite 'biological function' as if my purpose is merely to be a gestational vessel a machine programmed for reproduction. What is the utility of my prefrontal cortex, my hands, my intellect, if my entire value is reduced to my uterine capacity?

They equate the integrity of a woman’s life with her marital status and her progeny. As if our value is simply a quantitative analysis of how many times we’ve undergone labor.

I am never asked, 'What is your cognitive goal?' I am only ever asked, 'When will you be pregnant?'

When I decline, they diagnose me with arrogance, when I refuse motherhood, they call it a defect of character. Have they ever considered that choosing not to replicate the herd is the most honest evolutionary act a human can perform?

Ah, but a woman's critical thinking is always perceived as an infection to their status quo. That is why they call me la mujer loca. Because I hypothesize, I question, and I refuse to remain a passive variable in their experiment.

Do you know what it feels like to be a human seen as a fragmented specimen? Not because of my anatomy, but because of my gender. Because my name starts with a 'soft' prefix. Because my voice, they say, must be kept at a low frequency.

Let me remind you, I was not synthesized to be an outlet for your systemic failures!