Last things the beauty queen said. These she left as legacy, carved into a table 10 feet from where she would hang later, like “strange fruit in the western breeze.” Just in front of that picturesque Mopan River bank.
At the time she was the Reina of Mopan Tech with a ‘collar de heridas’ from a previous encounter, from standing at the threshold between this life and after.
She was beautiful and smiled in her interview, denied all EMO affiliation and gave hope and advice to other ‘troubled youth’. She also thanked God for being here, still.
When she repeated and succeeded on April 4, 2011, everyone scrambled like "chicken widou’ hed" blaming EMO, ouija boards, the devil, the mark of the beast, the 666s, the lack of awareness, los guatemaltecos who brought EMO to Benque, and then later the Benqueños who passed it on to San Ignacio. Everyone blamed and misunderstood and misconstrued everything. They missed the loneliness.
We do not have solitude.
We are lonely, ignored and misunderstood.
Not even EMO saves any of us from any of that.
“And if you're still bleeding, you're the lucky ones.'Cause most of our feelings, they are dead and they are gone.” ~ Daughter
Daughter best describes what is wrong in most of the world, but especially what is wrong in Belize. We are so numb now, we don’t even feel.
“Perdon mami, perdon papi” I think is actually the resignation letter of someone who felt in a space of numbness. Someone no longer blinded by our blame games, and passing the ball games, and this collective numbness.
If you feel but the space is numb, what are you to do? Even a queen faces challenges. Even a beautiful girl is insecure in Belize.
I could blame the men. The men who don’t let little girls turn women before they start to fuck them. The men who tell women that they are ‘trapos’ and wipe the floor with her to clean up excrement and blood, and fear and pain after they have beaten a woman into submission.
The men who will not pay child support unless they can still fuck you raw, even if they are fucking everyone else raw, in a place where HIV/AIDS is so prevalent.
I could blame men, but I won’t.
I could blame women who make other women feel that this is a skimp race, that if you don’t wear the latest tight and skimpy clothes you are ‘bushie’ and worth little. Maybe even worth less. Or women who take naked selfies with their cellphones and send it to guys because, “I am sexy and able to” because this will set me apart from all the other ‘sketels’ he is with.
Women who have brains, but are afraid to use it, because men prefer vaginas. If they want to talk, they will go hang with the guys.
I could blame women, but I won’t.
I am one of those too. I remember reducing myself to tits and ass to get some asshole to notice me.
I remember slashing a wrist with a shard of glass, which I had bought at Bodega Aurrera three years previous, when I had hopes and dreams still. I remember feeling as worthwhile as the garbage which falls gently unto the breeze from buses on the Belizean highways.
I remember my reduction. I did not become ‘espesa’ like confit. I just remember wanting to press quit. escape. delete. clear. off. stop.
I remember that reduction.
I remember no one reaching out.
I remember loneliness.
I remember everyone in his or her designated space, guarding it like gold, refusing to leave, not even to console or to be consoled.
It is 2014 and there is another young, beautiful woman; vitals ebbing and flowing. People praying on facebook. Constructing theories and speculating.
These beauties at the threshold, like sirens, but not dangerous, warning us of the oncoming rocks, treachery at sea, they speak volumes, treatise on our failed society.
Where’s the next rock, whirlpool, storm?
also featured on: http://www.postlandings.com/marathon.html