chopsueygalaxy - Tumblr blog

[chopsueygalaxy]

I think all Euphoria characters are real.

For real, I think they just grab stories from places like this, they just read a lot of social media and then put us on a screen.

I want to be there, I think my life is something you would relate to, and I want to share it because it is fucked up...in a good way.

I come from somewhere, down south, somewhere poor, speaking in capitalistic terms, I was not poor money wise though, I'm pretty poor in other ways, like, with words. Just a regular conservative hypocritical upbringing for me.

One time I was playing doctors with my sister and my cousin, we got ahold of a Swiss knife from my uncle or my dad, in the 90's that was the iPhone, the gizmo of choice. Anyway, we decided the game was not elaborated enough, so we said before you go to the doctor, there's gotta be something wrong with you, so we played robbery, and I got robbed at knifepoint, we skimmed the blade over the crest of the palm of my hand...and we'll, it was a Swiss blade so in bursted open and bleed like shit. I think I was 5 or 6, I think that was a such a clever game, adults were pretty impressed.

I grew up at my grandparents house, they were always arguing. And then cuddling. That makes sense, sounds like my current relationship arrangement. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

My mum was a single mother, an absent mother, a hurt woman who, like most of us had no fucking idea what she was doing, nor she was actually sure she wanted to do it. So she got her mum to help. I think my grandma carries the wound that has been passing on...you know, that thing that we all live to solve and keeps therapists financially stable.

I have no idea what to say about my dad. He was scary, but petty. He was harsh but softer than my mum sometimes. He has a great sense of humour and I don't really show him who I am sometimes. He has this stupid sense of loyalty, like, you basically have to be like him, think like him, love like him and do what he asks you, or else, you have betrayed him and he will just erase you. What the fuck, I think erasing people is not self care, I think erasing people is plain fucked up, we exist bruh even if we remind you the worst of you.

My family is funny, my sister, my uncle (mum's cousin), my uncle (mum's brother), my grandparents and I would sit down and have breakfast, and talk shit about everyone. The house was never clean, everyone always criticised, but they always came home. there's lots of us, from both sides, I have lots of cousins, lots of stories. I went to a Catholic school all my life but used to play mum and dad with my cousins and got stuck in an elevator a couple of times, it was pretty weird to see men with balloons in their chest and ass, with faces painted in the cemetery acting like drag queens and selling lollies, I hated them.

At school I always felt different, I was shy, but when I opened up I blossomed. I had lots of best friends through time, I flowed. One of my best friends was a a beautiful girl with a name that was different, and she was different too. We didn't fit in to the s

Heteronormative of what a 'girl should look like' I was obese, she probably was too, but way taller than anyone, her beauty was a dare, non conventional, she lived with her Nana and her brother, waiting to get a visa to move overseas, and she did. At lunch time, when we were 9, we used to recreate the Tyson and Hollyfield fight, and she would bite my ear off, everyone was in a circle watching the fight in the classroom instead of playing outside, the teachers were outraged.

My other best friend was a languid long girl, you guessed, way too skinny to be attractive, I don't say that, that's what y'all think, my mum let me stay everywhere and I used to stay at her house and we spend most days creeping around the flat attic, finding treasure, old dusty jewelry, papers and clothes, her mum would boil plantains and blend them into a juice, they always fed me lots and I felt happy; my best friend was a guy who didn't fit in in the heteronormative of what a 'boy' should look like. He was very skinny, his top teeth were forward and he was dark skinned, like me, super rich, and smart. When Harry Potter came out, we obsessed. And because sending little written notes across the classroom was the thing to do we created 'Hedwig express' and sent little notes around with an owl he would draw, he was a great artist. Fucking epic, my other best friend is amazing, we used to talk shit and eat shit watching chucky's bride and other movies, we used to read manga and watch corny teenager shows, we used to fight, she used to stay over all the time at my house. She was bold, she didn't care about anything, she told a guy she liked him and he rejected her, but for her, it was way more awesome that she was capable of loving. This are only some of my primary school, I'll keep throwing stories out there.

I wanted to be a skater, I wanted to be a drummer and a musician. I wanted to be cool and be with an older school kid whom I talked to on the phone every night. I still don't get why he never asked me out. I got asked out by the guys I did not want to be with, was it because I was fat? Like, he really acted like he liked me. Was it that I was way too shy and I should've been more confidence? I move super slow, I miss all the queues... I don't know why I'm so scared and I don't think I see myself the way people see me.

Maybe it was because one mother's Day, we had a presentation and me and a bunch of other girls who didn't fit the part did a presentation and danced Spice Girl's Stop song, I was Sporty Spice with 90kilos and 150cms. I loved it, but I was so scared and ashamed, I wanted my mum to see me, and she was late. She bought a lot of food to compensate.

Ugh, I'm 13 years old now, and I have lost a ton of weight to combat PCOS (I was having month long periods with heavy flow since 12) and because the dickhead doctor we went to see said "don't come like this, loose 20 kilos, and if you have a problem after, then come and see me" my dad had me drinking milk three times a day and starving for a whole summer, he said to his girlfriend at the time he didn't like fat chicks, that summer my two sisters and me were skinny I lost 25 kilos. I'll keep going tomorrow. Bye.

[chopsueygalaxy]

El niño que quería recoger basura

Facundo tiene casi 5 años. Es muy hablador y tiene un corte de cabello muy a la moda en teoría, pero en la realidad, cuando toda la crema y gomina se seca, hace que parezca el corte del conocido dictador norcoreano.

Facundo es muy elocuente, y consecuente. Él y su mamá van de paseo por la calle donde viven, todas las noches después de la cena, y recogen basura. No hay mucha porque viven en país privilegiado, informado y con sistemas en pie que permiten que todo esté limpio. Sin embargo, siempre hay algo. El lo ve, y quiere recogerlo. Le incomoda y le pregunta a su mamá si lo van a recoger, aveces ella dice que no porque le da asco, flojera o porque es un poco difícil hacer las cosas bien cuando sabemos que a las gran mayoría le intimida alguien que haga algo diferente, entonces el pregunta de nuevo PORQUÉ, ella se queda en silencio, no tiene respuesta, se arranca la vergüenza y recoge la basura.

Facundo quiere retarlos a todos a caminar por su manzana y limpiar la calle para que todos la puedan disfrutar, para ser buenos o porque sí.

[chopsueygalaxy]

I made a collage with my 4 year old son. Created a very simple piece as I only had supermarket magazines, a couple of retail shop catalogues and an NPO's newsletter. It shows the way I perceive the world I live in these days. The filters us humans have, what we think we need to make us humans, all the boxes we got to tick. And this is why I called it: The problems people grow.

I believe this just becomes a problem, we add more filters and soon enough, we need all these things to make us happy. This is main issue of our society as I see it: addiction. We need houses, babies, love, we need jewelry, holidays, we need to feel better helping the poor, pets, food, experiences. It is all too much for a 100 years lifespan.

What we need is a journey of liberation and self knowledge. Our lives passed 30 years of age should be an I internal adventure, where we find us, love us and our loved ones and experience us and our surroundings.

[chopsueygalaxy]

Cigoto empoderado

Los pensamientos invadían su mente, agitaban sus ideas como una tormenta, inundando todo a su paso sin piedad.

Cómo iba a lograrlo todo? La hipoteca, el trabajo gerencial, el sueldazo, el carro, el cuerpo perfecto, ser profesora de yoga, tocar el ukelele, el post grado, aprender a bailar tango, hacer bungy, zip line y parapente, las fiestas, los viajes, el amor, cocinar pasteles, voluntariar con enfermos o ancianos, escribir un libro y plantar un árbol?

Estaba todo calculado hace unas semanas...

Ahora qué? Va a tener que ser madre a tiempo completo, estudiante preñada y trabajar siendo mujer en un mundo diseñado para que exhibir tetas sea nuestra llave al éxito.

No quiere contarle a Pancho Hernández que esa noche maratónica en un hostel de San Bartolo ha traído consecuencias catastróficas. "Pancho se va a borrar" -pensó- "es juerguero y misio, nicagando va a querer jugar al papá, además un idiota y no me gusta tanto"

Tampoco le quiere contar a su hermano "le va a sacar la mierda a Pancho...no quiero dramas de hombres matones". Queria gritar, estaba asustada, enojada y sola. Odiaba a su mamá por dejarla. Odiaba a su papá por ser un borracho inútil. Odiaba a ese ser que iba a parasitar dentro de ella por las siguientes 40 semanas. Odiaba ser Peruana y no poder abortar en paz.

No era su culpa, no es culpa de nadie. El sexo tiene fines reproductorios, pero es un medio de placer. La reproducción es el fin principal, el placer, la exploración y el descubrimiento de uno mismo es también un fin principal. Es necesario. Lo que no es necesario es que personas que no están preparadas mental, económica ni físicamente para tener un hijo sean forzadas a tenerlo. Es una locura, casi todo el planeta lo ha entendido, sin embargo, Latinoamérica no.

El papá de Carito Benítez es médico, quizás le pueda preguntar, estoy segura de que Carito ha usado la pastilla del día siguiente y mil cosas más porque su familia le hacía la gauchada, cualquier cosa con tal de evadir la vergüenza de tener una hija de 21 años panzona.

Estaba dicho. Mañana iba a llamar a Carito y hoy, iba a ir a Barranco con ese gringo coquetón que le escribió en Tinder. Al carnaval, seguro que le ponía todas las cremas y ella feliz, hora de jugar a desaparecer un ratito.

Botó la colilla, se dispuso a tomar el bus a la casa que compartía con su hermano Miguel en Comandante Espinar. Se sentía exhausta, la cabeza latía a mil. Subió al bus, no hay asiento.

Todo transcurría de la misma forma que antes de saber que estaba embarazada, salvo que ahora había un aire pesado en el ambiente, algo que no podía quitarse de encima y le pesaba en cada parte de su ser. Un nuevo filtro desde el que veía a la sociedad. Escuchaba más los chillidos de los bebes, tomaba más en cuenta las expresiones de las madres aplastadas en el bus, exhaustas. Recorría el bus con su mirada en busca de nuevas imágenes para torturarse cuando encontró a una chica, estaría en sus 25, con un bebé, quien decidió autoritariamente, como ellos suelen hacer, que tenía hambre y empezó a chillar. Ella despertó, lo miró suavemente y sacó la teta, empezó a darle alimento y por un segundo, Mariela dejó de sentir que todo le daba vueltas, vio el amor que un hijo puede proporcionar, el sentido de la vida. Se rompió todo de un estallido cuando una mujer pequeña y regordeta voceó su cólera al ver a la mujer amamantando y gritó: "anda a tu casa oye si vas a estar dando de lactar eso no se hace en la calle, qué te pasa? Acá hay hombres y gente que no quiere ver eso" concluyó su discurso misógino. Mariela no sentía las piernas sobre el ardor que tenía en toda la cara, que sentía que le iba a explotar "cerda asquerosa" -pensó- Ya se disponía a empezar a gritar cuando se dio cuenta de la expresión de la madre al ver la cantidad de gente que la desaprobaba, al oír los murmullos, sentir la presión de tener que bajarse. Notó la desolación en sus ojos, el temblor de su cuerpo, las líneas de resentimiento que se acumulaban a esa mujer carnosa y odiosa que la delató. Mariela se dio cuenta de que las mujeres, al traer vida estaban solas en el mundo, que nadie las valoraba por haber traído un ser al mundo, que a nadie le importaba, sólo cuando algo salía mal. Ahí entendió todo, entendió que no quería sentirse como esa madre, entendió que no quería ser madre: quería ser libre primero.

La mujer se cubrió y el bebé rompió en llanto. La mala onda brotaba a borbotones del bus...la pesadez, el llanto inconsolable del niño, el movimiento del bus. Mariela se movió dando zancadas y empujones hacía la puerta dónde se encontraba la madre y la mujer horrenda.

Avisó al cobrador que bajaba pronto...No pudo contenerlo más y vomitó encima de la mujer carnosa que pegó de alaridos alarmados y pedía ayuda desesperada. Mariela sonrió, cruzó miradas con la madre y se armó de valor: "Yo no quiero vivir más en un país donde una madre no pueda dar de comer a su crío en paz, porque existe gente como esta mujer, quién francamente me generó náuseas. Una madre tiene derecho a ser cuidada por todo el mundo, no solo por su familia, protegida, pues ella se ha vulnerado para traer vida a este mundo. Si ese niño es jugador de fútbol, científico o político, todos lo vamos a celebrar, entonces porqué no lo cuidamos?" Dejenla alimentar a su niño y métanse la lengua al bolsillo concluyó casi quedando sin voz- El bus estalló de aplausos y risas y en medio de toda la conmoción, se bajó. El cobrador le gritó "gracias loquita, pero me dejaste todo hecho una mierda pe! A mi quién me cuida?"