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La Llorona My Ass


Photographer: Elisa Lonergan

CUE FLASHLIGHT ON. 

 Gather around my fair beauties, I shall tell you the scariest story that your ears will ever hear and your eyes will ever read (I don't know how you roll). It is the story of the man who just fuckin' left. I know what you're thinking: This again. Another feminist piece about how women are better than men and all that jazz. 

 I mean...yes. 

 But, really I'm just gonna rant about the scariest thing I can think of: OVERREACTING.  

 Where is this coming from? Well, I just went through a breakup. That shit was messy. Probably because it was just a normal breakup. He wasn't an asshole trying to experiment, or a hipster trying to prove a point. He was a young, humble, sweet guy who, well...just left. 

 Just quit. 

 Granted, he's a dumbass. 

 But all I've got to say is I can deal with dumbasses. I can't deal with jackasses. I like to think that you don't waste time with a relationship if you learn something from them. Unfortunately, I have yet to learn anything from this one, since I did nothing wrong. Trust me. I have lost a lot of sleep thinking about it, but nah, I got nothing. 

 So, I thought time would not have been completely wasted if I wrote a blog post about it. 

 He kept playing this song on our first date called La Llorona. At the time, it was romantic as hell. Now, I'm like, "Girl...get a clue." Like every post-breakup, I've looked into the details to the extent of not turning back, so I proceeded to research the folklore that the song is based on. 

 In a nutshell, this poor beautiful woman marries this rich, hot dude. (I think he's hot, he might just be average looking but he does have money so who really cares.) Meanwhile, Papa-in-law disapproves of the marriage so they move away from the inlaws. Years go by and rich, ugly husband dude (yes I've decided he's ugly, he can't be rich and hot, that's too much power) gets bored of his beautiful woman. He ditches her and the two twerps that they had together for a new little young thing. La Llorona goes crazy cause now she's stranded God-knows-where and has to take care of two demon children (I mean, they're 50% his offspring, so they can't be great). She's a single mother in the 16th century, I can assure you that there was no Lizzo at this time singing Truth Hurts every fifteen minutes. So of course, she gets a little depressed...fine, she loses her shit and drowns her children before committing suicide. 

  So now this poor biddie has to walk around the damn forest for the rest of eternity, crying because she knew she messed the hell up. She's looking for her children's souls because God decided that was the only way she was going to get into heaven. Meanwhile, the rich stumpy-ass dude who left his wife and two children is just livin his life doing God knows what to that poor new child-bride. 

 NO PUNISHMENT.

    I'ma need this to marinate in your mind for a minute. Because I fail to understand the judgment. 

 He just fuckin' left. Yeah, he probably gave her a lame-ass excuse like, "I'm just feeling down." Or, maybe he said something like, "Your disability is making me feel like shit because it's been three months and I haven't been able to tell my friends about you and I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to do that." (Oh yeah bitch, I'm throwin' in the shade.) Meanwhile, La Llorona is probably sitting there with his two spawns reminiscing on the time she invested in this unappreciative asshole. He probably just said, "I'm sorry" and left. 

 That's when you know this folktale was clearly written by a man. A woman would've never ever remotely considered depicting another woman as senile enough to kill her children. 

 Here's what a woman would've placed as an ending:

 La Llorona cries for maybe a day or two, then she would look at her two boys, fill up with rage, leave the kids with Hansel and Gretl, (I don't fuckin know), hunt his mf ass down, kill him instead, tell the child-bride she's a hoe and also to save herself (I know we're trying to empower women here, but La Llorona isn't perfect). 

 And the new moral of the story would be: Little boys, when you grow up, your actions will have fuckin consequences. 

 Now, I could rant about how I'm probably never gonna be enough for a man blah blah blah because I'm disabled blah blah blah. Let's be honest, that's never the case really.

 The real tea is that women get tormented and labeled by the way they react. Since the beginning of storytelling, women have always been placed at a disadvantage. I just want to point out that I do not stand for killing your offspring. But if you want to put a poisoned crown on an SOB's head and just ride off in a dragon-lead chariot like Medea did (look it up) then go for it. I mean for God fu--flipping sake (why yes, I have some etiquette) if Medea was a daughter of Helios, the SUN GOD, and she STILL wasn't enough, then I'm sure as hell am not going to be feeling insecure because of your sorry ass. 

 If you're one of these incompetent little cowards that just, I don't know...

run awaydon't have the ability to verbalize emotions

Or better yet, 

feel that tearing down your significant other or, in this case, your ex-significant other to make yourself feel smarter or braver or give yourself some sort of purpose: 

I. You are shit. 

II. You can kiss my worn out wheels. 

III. They are going to be fine. They can live without you. Suprise, they have done it before. It would be extremely helpful if you give them a little closure. Honesty, you could be like, "I'm lost. I have no purpose in life. You are too much for me." Or whatever self-deprecating thing you want to say. But leave them with their heads held high. Because there is no point in tearing them down. You're just making the time you spent with them tinted and cloudy like haunted memories. And that's a fucking waste.

 This is why...for future reference, I am done thinking that I am overreacting. The idea and concept of me overreacting is nonexistent. I will react however I damn well please. And I assure you when I take that guilt away, I will not feel the need to cry. I will not be haunted by the loss of you. Or by the amazing memories that I am sure you felt too. For this Llorona, there will be no punishment. I am not the daughter of any god, because better yet, I AM A GODDESS. (You know what I mean God, just trying to prove a point here.)

 At the end of this story, you will be the one searching the forest for someone resembling me. You will be haunted by the idea of me, and I will have already left on my golden chariot.

CUE FLASHLIGHT OFF. 

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