I forgive you, Priscilla, for your conniving ways. For coming into a job I got you and trying to push me out. I forgive you for pushing me out. For getting me fired.
I forgive you for conniving against me and trying to get the whole world to hate me. I forgive you for breaking my “people are good” bubble. And for making me question the love of family.
I forgive you, extended family, for believing Priscilla’s words. And for all the horrible things you said about my sister, my mother, and I.
I forgive you, Alyssa, for passively sitting by. And for letting all this happen.
I forgive you, Peter, for groping me, trying to finger me, and forcibly kissing me everytime I came to care for your mother. I forgive you for doing this while your wife was in the kitchen. I forgive you for ruining kisses and romance for me.
I forgive you for yelling at me everytime I rejected you. And for trying to hit me because I spilled coffee on you… coffee that spilled because I was pushing you away from me as you tried to kiss me and get ontop of me. I forgive you for sneaking into my bed…with your mother in the room…and trying your advances on me. Knowing I couldn’t scream or yell for I’d wake Ma.
I forgive you, Ruby, for saying I wanted it.
I forgive you, Dad, for making it a crime not to work. And calling me a loser everytime I stayed home. For making taking care of your family my responsibility, and making enduring Peter’s nonsense my only option. I forgive you for always bringing me down. And killing all the energy, fire, and dreams I had for my future. I forgive you for killing the confidence I had in myself; for calling me ugly; and always making me feel like I was not enough.
I forgive you mom for calling me a slut…
I forgive you mom for calling me a slut..
I forgive you mom for calling me a slut. And chosing other people over me. I forgive you for beating me out of nowhere because my cousin said I was flirting with a teacher (?!). At 10yrs old?!!
I forgive you for making it dirty to smile with people. And making it impossible for me to laugh with the opposite sex without feeling like a slut…even though I know none of that is my actual intention.
I forgive you.
I forgive you, cousins, for hating me. Even though all I ever did was love you. And try my very best to be apart of your family.
I forgive you, Martin, for cheating on me with my bestfriend and turning me into a forever untrusting paranoid human being.
I forgive you, John, for playing with my heart. Telling me I’m your world, in private, and then turning around and telling your whole world I imagined it. I forgive you for sealing my doubt in every man’s words and actions. I forgive you for how disrespectful you were, and how humiliated you made me feel.
I forgive you Sam for trying to have sex with me. Your cousin! And gripping my butt at the Halloween party. In front of all our family!! A power move. I forgive you. But also thank you. For reminding me that men are, and will always be…scum!
I forgive you, Me, for not being perfect. And not always achieving the goals I set out for you. I forgive you for not being assertive enough to stand up for yourself. Or strong enough to protect yourself. I forgive you for caring for other people more than you care for yourself. And for not knowing everything and not behaving as perfectly as you should. I forgive you for not having the career you should and the life that you should. I forgive you for not having the people in your life that you should.
I forgive you for all the classes you failed–Classes you never should. And I forgive you, should they be a reason you are not accepted into med school.
I. Forgive. You.
Something happened to me this week that I thought would never happen to me ever again. I fell for someone and wasn’t afraid of anyone knowing. I’ve always been private about my feelings and relationships. No one in my family knows about anyone I’ve dated. Not from my mouth. They only know what they’ve convinced themselves they know. ( Nothing based in fact or reality). But for this person, I told them. Every single one of them! And everything he made me feel.
The someone in question is a very important person at work. All the girls I work with are head over heels in love with him. I never paid him any mind because I found the fawning over him repulsive. I mean, I understood why they love him. Handsome, great hair, perfect smile, and absolutely unattainable. He’s the boss. Let’s call him Jake.
Well, Jake has been showing signs of having a bit of a crush on me for the past 9 months…his stares followed by a shy smile from across the room, his constantly-passing by my desk act, and his looking for every reason to do nice things in front of me–did I mention his smile every time he sees me?
As I said, I didn’t care for him. He seemed so sure of himself and seemed to know that everyone was in love with him. I hated that. No way was I going to be one of his groupies.
But like all women, I knew how to use his liking for me to my advantage. He had a crush on me, I was sure of it. And it was time to see if I was right. As he was passing by my desk for the 10th time that day, I finally talked to him for the first in 9 months. I needed help. Really.
“Under what circumstance, would you help me…?” I asked. The moment I started talking to him you could see him light up. “I could… I could help you. Do you need help?” He said. Slowly folding his arms, resting them on my desk and resting his chin on them immediately after. Putting his grinning face less than an inch in front of mine. I could feel my heart racing. And his eye–his eyes looked like he wanted to have me right there–infront of all my colleagues and clients–and couldn’t care if the whole world was watching. He looked like he had just been given the best gift in the world. Can’t really explain it, but he looked excited, eager, humbled, happy, and intense–all at the same time.
Wierdly enough, his facial expression in that moment awakened something in me. He looked vulnerable and eager to please me. Me! The only time my heart beat like this for anyone was in high school.
He caught himself halfway through his excitement and put on his serious boss demeanour. “Well, if you need help, you’d have to come explain more in my office. I’ll put you on my schedule…” He looked back and smiled at me as he walked away.
Ugh! I became a groupie!
In his office, I couldn’t help but feel cold. I don’t know if it was from the nerves or the horrible set up that made the outside winter wind flow directly in. “Your office is unbelievably cold…” I blurted. I couldn’t help myself. As if there was any doubt of his feelings for me, he reached for his jacket that was hanging on the office door. I stretched my arm to reach for the jacket, but before I could, he was already standing behind me laying the jacket over my shoulders and around my arms. “I hope that helps” he said as he walked back to his chair.
Something about that moved me. What is he up to?
Before you all get your hopes up, or fully disappointed, I can assure you that nothing is going to happen with Mr. Boss guy. He has a Playboy reputation and unless I’m fully wrong, he’s married. Plus, there’s no way I’d turn myself into a cliche… messing with the boss… messing with married men… becoming one’s prey…etc
Built my reputation for far too long to break it down now.
I do love that he’s made me realize that I’m capable of feeling. I have very very strong feelings for him, but I’m pretty sure they’ll pass by winter’s end.
The main question people ask—or struggle not to ask—when they hear someone is a virgin is: “Why?”
Well if you ask me, I’ll say self respect. If you ask my parents, they’ll say I’m gay. If you ask my sister, she’ll say: “well, she never gives anyone a chance.”, If you ask my ex-bestfriend: “No one is interested in her.” If you ask my exes—Wait—I actually don’t know what they would say. They all don’t talk to me.
The problem with having so many people with an opinion about your life is the effect they have on your reality. I’ve caught myself multiple times wondering if it’s true that I’m actually gay as my cousins and parents say, or that I’m just not beautiful enough as my EX- best friend constantly insinuated.
Truth is, I’m neither of these things. Their doubts made me doubt myself so much that I tried to test my mind to see if I’m gay, and here’s how:
Every crowd I’d go into, I’d look around for a girl I’d deem pretty. Imagined myself liking her and my love life with her, but it did not work. My heart wasn’t moved. I didn’t feel anything. Nothing close to what I feel when I see Jake walk across the company hallway with his perfectly combed hair, tailored dark suit, and glass-shiny black shoes. My heart does all kinds of dances every time he looks my way with a smile that forms perfectly on his beautifully shaven square face as he offers his “good morning” nod.
Yes, I have a crush. But before we get into that—
Doubt #2: Not beautiful enough. See, I’m not going to blame my best friend—ex—fully for this. Growing up every single person I met told me how beautiful I was, or exclaimed to my mother about the beauty that is her daughter, to which she always replied, arrogantly: “but of course, look who gave birth to her!”
My mother is a beautiful woman, so I always told myself that if I look even close to how I see her, then I guess I’m really beautiful.
That—that was until the day my dad assured me, in no uncertain terms, that I’m ugly and in no way shape and form of way would I come close to the beauty of the “American girls/women”. He was very sincere as he told me this so I had no reason to doubt that what he said was true.
Maybe I’m beautiful in my country, but very ugly in America?!
See this is the stupidity I never want to entertain in my brain, but somehow, sometimes, it always finds a way. And I hate myself for ever allowing my brain to think this, but what am I supposed to think when currently, majority of the men that hit on me are either twice my age, shameless married men, or young republican boys trying to prove they can be “open-minded” by dating a black girl. I’ll tell you more about that later.
To the core of it all, all doubts and people’s opinions aside, I think the actual reason I’m still a virgin is because of the need to prove, to my mother, father, and to myself, that I’m not a slut.
Before you all jump on me right now, I do not think that the people who are not virgins are sluts. No, I don’t. I do think, however, that the men who take your virginity without any commitment do go to their boys in their “locker room talks” and call you sluts. With my experience, I’d be foolish to think otherwise.
At age 13, I remember being allowed to go to my mom’s for the 3 week school vacation. This was something that always made me happy because she had a very beautiful big house, tones of new clothes for us, kitchen always full, and a driver ready to take us anywhere we wanted to go for ice cream, movies or plays—things that made any kid my age happy at that time.
When I got there, I met my mom’s new boyfriend who I initially avoided not only because he was way younger than her and I didn’t trust him, but because I’m horrible at talking to new people until I mentally find a place for them in my life. It wasn’t long until I found his place: The guy who’s going to teach me the piano. I saw him playing and he was pretty good! I’ve always loved to learn as much as I possibly can and know more than anyone else around me, so finding this opportunity in him was excellent for me. Almost suddenly, his relationship with my mother ceased to bother me because honestly, how exactly was it negatively affecting me? And if it’s her money he was interested in, how was it my business? So I started to enjoy his presence. Instead of hiding in my room all day, I sat in the living room with him and played with him. One of those days, mom came back and found me giggling. I can’t remember what he said, it was probably not even that funny, but everyone who knows me knows I giggle at alot of things that other people don’t find funny and vice versa.
Through my giggles “welcome back mom…” excited, I said as I got up to give her a hug. Next thing I knew, my tiny body was slammed back to the ground by what I believe was her arm rejecting my hug.
“Go to your room right now…” She said angrily. Her arm creating an arrow-shaped path to my room. A path I hurriedly took with no hesitation. “And don’t you ever seduce my man again! Slut!” Her words echoed through the hallway.
I never understood what I did that made her so angry that day, but being called a slut, by my own mother, surely hurt. And from that day on, I became the master of saying “No”.
Any boy that asked me out in highschool “No”, Work “No”, college “No”. It just became part of me. No way was I becoming the slut that my mother thinks I am or the slut that my father says my mother turned us into.