Breathe
By Orly Perez Frid
In case it disappears, burn it all. Burn it because I would never leave without saying goodbye.
In case I disappear, don't let me become just another number, just another statistic. Look for me.
In case I disappear, I want you to know that I fought. That I screamed and kicked and scratched. That I tried to keep every inch of my body.
In case it disappears, read this, over and over again, until the words stop making sense. Read it until my story is etched in your mind. Read it for yourself, read it in loud, just read it. Read it because as long as someone remembers me, I won't be completely gone.
Ma, promise me you won't let this break you. I'm gone, but please don't disappear with me. I always looked up to you, so take this and become someone everyone looks up to. Promise me that you're going to try to find me, but you're not going to let this consume you. Don't give them that satisfaction.
Mommy, don't believe what they tell you. People will blame me. They're going to say I was asking for it. That I went out at night, that I was drinking. That I trusted someone I shouldn't have. That I was showing too much skin, that I was in a dangerous place. That I messed with the wrong people. I promise I took every precaution possible, but here, in Mexico, that doesn't help. It could have been outside my school in broad daylight, like Fatima Aldrighethi. Or inside my own house, like Ingrid Escamilla. Or in my boyfriend's car, like Ana Cristina. It could have been someone I know, someone we know.
Pa, promise me you won't blame yourself. You taught me how to fight, how to be a strong and independent woman. Ever since I was a little girl you always told me that if any man tried to get past me, all I had to do was grab, squeeze and twist, I wish life was that simple. I know you're going to say you should have protected me more, but you couldn't have. No one could have.
Daddy, I never told you everything I experienced as a woman walking the streets of what we call "home". It's not because I don't trust you, believe me, I trust you with my life. It's because I know you would never understand, even if you wanted to, even if you tried. You don't know what it's like to be complimented, or whistled at, or honked at. You've never held your breath, feeling the palpitations of your heart resonate through your whole body, as you walk past a group of men in the street. You've never felt what it's like to have a man look at you like you're nothing more than an object. But that's okay, I had learned to live like that. I had learned to live like that.
Morro, my little brother, promise me you won't pretend you're fine. You forget that I know you better than I know myself. I know you are going to act strong, that you are going to be there for mom and dad, but that the pain and sorrow will be eating you up inside. If I could have said goodbye to only one person, it would have been you. The little boy who became an only child overnight.
Promise me that you are going to grow up and become the man I know you have the potential to be. That you're going to stand up for not only your girlfriends, but any woman who needs you. That you're going to walk them home and make sure they get home safely.
"We all have a friend who was abused, but none of us have an abusive friend. They don't give the accounts." Promise me that you're not going to keep quiet if you know something, that you're not going to become that friend who is an accomplice with his silence. Promise me you're going to be the man I needed, not the man who took me.
Girls, my best friends, promise me that youwill go and fight so that I will be the last one to be taken. Make noise, enough noise for my case to be taken seriously, to be published in the news, for everyone to know my name, my story. Don't leave it to the police, we all know how useless they are. Or maybe they themselves are the ones behind everything, like with Victoria Esperanza Salazar. Seek justice for me, try to make my case part of the 2% that get a trial. I would tell them to be careful, but we all know how useless that advice is.
Can I ask you a favor? Hug my parents, hug them tight enough so that for a moment they don't think about me. No one should lose a child. And when you go home, hug your parents. You never know when it might be the last time, and I would give anything to hug mine one more time.
To each of the 90,000 women who protested in the National Zócalo on March 8, 2023, promise me that you will say my name next time. I swear I could not be more proud of what you have accomplished year after year. Of the purple emanating from every corner, of the marks you leave wherever you go, of the women you are. Remind my parents that they are not alone, walk with them in the contingent of the parents of the disappeared, carry my picture with them.
For just a couple of hours as they walk the streets of Mexico surrounded by their sisters, feeling empowered, safe, at home, they are also going to feel powerless, angry, frustrated. They are going to feel it all and nothing. So cry my story, cry our story.
Shout for all the women of Mexico. Shout for those who never returned home. Shout for the 5.4 million girls and teenagers who are sexually abused every year. Shout for the 99.7% of sexual violence cases that are never reported. Cry out because 6 out of 10 rapes occur within the place they call home. Cry out because 60% of sexual violence cases are perpetrated by a family member, or someone close to them. Shout for the 3,500 victims of femicide every year. Scream until you lose your voice, because if you don't, no one will.
In case I disappear, you may never find my body. You will never find the body that was abandoned in a ditch, or on the side of the road, or in a mass grave. Still, bury me. Give me a grave, a headstone, a place to mourn me. Make sure it's not empty. Search through my things, my stuffed animals, find the one that accompanied me every night when I was little, the one I never managed to decide if it was a duck or a bear, bury that instead.
If you never find my body, I may not actually be dead, but it will be easier to think that I am. Easier than imagining my new reality. What I have become. A simple object, to play with, to have fun with, to enjoy.
But if they manage to find my body, don't see it. Do not see the body that was touched, or abused, or raped, or mutilated, or burned, or bruised, or marked, or cut, or exposed... or all of the above. Clean it, purify it, and bury what's left of it. But please don't see it. That body is no longer mine.
When you think of me, I don't want you to think of what happened, of what was left of me. I want you to think about the little girl with the gray Chinese who always smiled. The little girl who couldn't go to sleep without a kiss from daddy, who never went to school without hugging mommy, who drove for hours without a destination with her brother, just because. Not the little girl whose life was stolen. Not the little girl who will never go home.
In case it goes away, remember what it's like to be a woman. The fear. The frustration. The powerlessness.
In case she disappears, remember that she was someone's daughter. She was a sister, a friend. We all are. We all were.
In case I disappear, promise me that you will find a way to keep on living. That you will keep fighting, keep surviving.
Because in case it disappears, you could be next.
Not rested, not at peace, never yours,
- One more name on the list.
*Orly Pérez Frid (Mexico City, 2002) is a sophomore at Trinity College, Connecticut, where she is studying Neuroscience and Literature and Creative Writing. As a member of Sigma Tau Delta (National Honor Society of Literature in the USA) and recognized with the Fred Pfeil Memorial Prize in Social Justice through Creative Writing, Orly has published in newspapers and magazines locally and internationally, aspiring to continue doing so throughout her career and professional life.
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The opinions expressed are the responsibility of the authors and are absolutely independent of the position and editorial line of the company. Opinion 51.
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