Machismo

"What to make of this story? That, too, I don't know, I'm giving it as a present to whoever wants it, because I'm sick of it. And how! Sometimes people make me sick. Then it passes, and I become all curious and observant once again. That's all."


More than five years after I had my first kiss, Machismo is not a concept that was buried. The titular colloquialism refers specifically to the idea that there should be a substantial distance between the women rights and the men rights. So devoted I was to not be part of this called "Machismo" that I did.

I was right. It was impossible to not be enamored with these machos characters. It is something truly especial about them, the Latin blood? The warm heart, a wry sarcasm and the mystery. My dad repeatedly tried to raise me in a different perspective as my brother. He is a year younger than I am. At age 16 he could drive. I couldn't. When he finally got a girlfriend at age 18, they could stay in his bedroom with the door closed...I could never...EVER...have a boyfriend passing the line of my door...and the limits of my dad's eyes. I had rules. My maid was paid sometimes to give dad my hours of study. My brother never had to prove anything. The only way to keep my rights was staying in and obey. Nothing so harsh, I was never beaten..except when I opened my grandma's couch with a cutter. I was 5 or 6, can't remember. The heart beating in solitude. I remember the action, slowly and adrenaline running...the curiosity to find out what is inside the black couch. I realized it wasn't that interesting. I could go to Balls at age 18 (right after my exchanging program in America) only if my bro could come along (I taught the fact that I had lived in a different culture and country for a year could give me more freedom when I got back. Big mistake). So I crashed. And decisively anticipated my trip to Buenos Aires. This capacity to renew myself as time passes is an "existential soup opera". I felt anger against men and stupid rights.

My first boyfriend was atheist and very much like the stereotypical macho...so I struggled against that too...and he never looked me in the eyes again after I said:
- My love, you don’t believe in the God, because we made a mistake when we humanized Him. We humanized Him because we did not understand Him, then it didn’t work out. I’m certain that He is not human. But although He’s not human, He sometimes makes us divine.

He taught I was too much.

He was actually tormented with the reality of his familial drama. And I wasn't the submissive type.

To take care of the world demands also a lot of patience, and in this Latin world, to take care of yourself in a "macho" world is necessary to double that patience. Most women give up, and learn that they have different rights than man. For myself, double that double. These machos will never learn, and I understand...but do not stand. I'm kind of envious of those women who can. My mom has four sisters...they're all bosses and anti-machismo. They're all independent from their husbands and raised boys like no other. This brings to a mixed feeling, I had to understand that to become a "good-woman" my dad had to make the rules...and she let him. But, doesn't that mean she allowed him to machismo? How far we consider that machismo? Am I sexist? I think I need another life to think about it.

To love the truth of what is alive, that which seems ungrateful to Narcissus eyes, to love the origin, to be personally interested in the impersonal, in the animal, in the thing...man and woman must be one.