We were born with balls. Yes; although society has tried to castrate us. We have the eggs of fertility and history; of life and fertility. We are the balls … and the ovaries. We are strong. We are brave. We are women who have already tired of the label of the weak sex.
We are the daughters of the fight; we are the granddaughters of submission; we are the mothers of equality; we are the generation that no longer falls silent. We are, along with them; perhaps more tenacious, because we have never had the right to be only a sex. No one inherited privileges.
We are the women of poems and roses, of pants and computers, of silent prayers and religious freedoms. We are the daughters of the sun and lovers of the moon: With cleavage, with insolence, with power, with haughty looks and high heel shoes. We are the contrasting image of what we want, we can, we should and dream of being.
[bctt tweet=”We are the daughters of the fight; we are the granddaughters of submission; we are the mothers of equality; we are the generation that no longer falls silent / Maritza Felix” username=”hispanicla”]
We are. Just like this: We are.
On “International Women’s Day” we don’t want compliments, but opportunities; we don’t want flowers, but salary increases; we don’t want dishware, but the power to decide; we don’t want pink nail polish, but a rainbow of equality; We don’t want permission, we want to be able to be.
We want to not be silenced or killed.
We want to not be harassed or cat-called on the streets.
We want to live without fear.
We want to not be raped.
We want to not be despised for our decisions.
We want to not be crucified for our motherhood.
We want them to stop criticizing singleness and be free to bluntly speak about infertility.
We want to vote, march, comment, question, write and raise.
We want to stop being sacrificed and selfless.
We want the controversial, complicated and beaten justice.
We want the same, without haggling.
We don’t want to be men. No. We love them, respect them, admire them, hold them accountable and forgive them. We want to be women, with all our incongruities, crises and hormones … we like being them!
Nor do we want their balls, we have ours and we prefer them because they procreate, because they bleed, because they release, because they make us strong and vulnerable: because they make us the eternal source of life. Ours are enough, although sometimes they condemn us.
Yes, we want every day to be for the women … and the men … and everyone. We want life, society and family to treat us the same. We want an encouraging future, not the repetition of a painful history. We don’t want to curse genetics. We do not want happiness to be defined by a chromosome or plenitude for a gender. We want our daughters to be free and not engage in these same battles.
We want to walk and pave the way to have something real to celebrate.
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