cut into two posts because the damn thing is long-winded as fuck. here’s part one, if you give a shit.
I even remember an earlier time in that same year, when there had been a “burglary” in the school. One student from the high school department lost some money or something. Everyone in the building had to have their bags searched by teachers and, due to their insistent demand, by students as well.
I had the misfortune of having one of the red score-keeping bitches to check my bag. It was too late when I remembered that I had a napkin tucked in the secret pocket of the bag. I realized that if I yanked it from her, it would look very suspicious to everyone. So I let her find it, and when she did I feigned surprise and made up a story on the spot about my sister having used that bag on some out of town trip, and that it was probably hers. I thought it was a pretty good story, considering.
Unfortunately, she didn’t buy it. Or at least, I don’t think she did, judging from what she did next. Either she didn’t buy it, or she didn’t listen to a word I said. The bitch had the gall to yell to the entire classroom that I was already having my period (“Dalaga na si Lyra! Hahaha!” was how she put it). It would have probably been a big thing at the time, since no one else was having their period yet.. And it was for that very same reason that it was embarrassing as all hell. It was treated similarly to, say, the presence of body odour. And using a deodorant was the marker of your shame.
Thankfully, everyone in the room was too tense about the thievery that no one bothered to pay too much attention to her, except for a couple of her homie-hoes, who snickered a little. She still gave me that snooty smirk, though; the one that said “wait til they hear about this” (though I doubt if she could articulate herself that well in English.. But I digress)
That being said, I believe somewhere along the writing of this post, I found the answer to the puzzling question of my shamefaced lying about my menstruation: I was embarrassed because with them, anything about my existence as a human being was embarrassing, because they hated me.
The humiliation swelled only because we were talking about something much more personal than even my underwear; we were talking about bodily functions. I think it would be similar to talking to them about my bowel movement schedules, and goddamn if that wouldn’t be one cringe-fest worthy of the books. I wouldn’t even tell them what I had for breakfast; what more of the time of the month that my vagina bled?
All in all, the shame probably stemmed from the fact that these people–with whom I was not comfortable talking about anything at all–were prying into my life only to excavate something to shame me with. Looking back on it now, maybe I did have a reason to be ashamed, that reason being that I didn’t sock them in the eye and kick their teeth in when I had the chance. I won’t go into the details and perils of bullying et cetera because this is already a tedious thing to read as it is, but let it suffice to say that I should have stomped the fire out before it consumed me entirely.
Oh well. It’s not like anyone’s asking me about my period nowadays.