I woke up at seven, got up and started getting ready for work. Nothing better than having my mom telling me shit about how I don’t do anything in my life, great. That was a hellavuh good morning for me. Went crying to my room and only gave myself four minutes to do so. After that, I realized that I wasn’t crying because of the shit my mom told me just then, but because I realized it has been a year already since I move back to San Diego since I left Oregon, since I left the one that I thought was ‘it’. My mind didn’t know it, but my heart did (or subconcious, whatevs). I’m pretty sure I’m not the only once that has experienced this kind of situation.
Since elementary, I remember getting so excited for Valentine’s, just going to the store to buy candy and the most awesome V-cards there were out there to hand out to my classmates.
At first it didn’t hurt, seeing that most of my female classmates would receive anonymous letters from guys declaring their love to them, roses and fancy chocolate being delivered. It didn’t hurt because I would think to myself “Next year…”. “Next year” never happened to me. But who am I to blame? Really? Who would do that? Who would be the poor bastard to like a chubby, four-eyed girl with a slick back ponytail like me? No one. I never had a secret Valentine, or just a Valentine for what matters. Just grew up hopeless in that department. A big ass hopeless romantic.
I was bullied for my physical appearance growing up, since first grade of Elementary, all the way up through High School. From how I would pronounce my “ch”, how my glasses were so big and thick, the extra pounds on me, and not really having a style, well, pretty much for everything. Girls would talk to me behind my back and boys would laugh right in front of my face. And I really didn’t understand why, why was I the target of so many people. Fortunately that didn’t make me change the way I was, kind.
Everything that I’ve been through has made me who I am right now. Yeah, I may be read like a female version of a Don Juan, but I do have feelings. I’ve had very nice bonds with my men, and also shitty experiences/feelings with them as well. Life has taught me to be a cabrona. It has its advantages and disadvantages, and they are usually in two extreme opposite poles.
That’s how I grew up disliking Valentine’s Day. I think I’ve only celebrated Valentine’s three times, and that was because I was dating my first boyfriend (around five years ago). Nothing before that, and still, nothing after that. I could say that I could care less, but damn, it looks like it feels hella nice. *Exhale slowly* Oh well, that’s life and I can’t do anything about it. Fuck everything and everyone, especially you, Cupid! You keep freaking missing!