Dear Diary,

Let me tell you what happened the past two weeks because you weren’t the only one worried for me. I was worried for myself, to be quite honest. Nothing drastic; I just don’t want to get sick due to all my stress.

The last time I wrote you, I was emotional, with a full head. I’m somewhat calmer today, but I can’t stop thinking. If I ask you for a wish, I want you to take away all the avalanche of thoughts up there, at least for an hour. 

Last week I was supposed to write this essay-like piece about the social and cultural impact of Un Verano Sin Ti, the fourth album of Benito, better known as Bad Bunny, which turned one year on May 6th. Can you believe it’s been a year since we’ve all heard the first tunes of Moscow Mule? I never thought I would like an album so much. It covers all the moods. From the day of its release, till I went to Rotterdam at the beginning of August, I had that album on repeat. I never got tired of listening to those 23 songs. The first five songs were my early breakfast. I listen to the album’s first half more than the second half because I always play the album from the beginning. After my short trip to Rotterdam, I kept listening to the album. By then, I had memorized most of the songs, and that helped a lot when I got stuck on a flight from hell back to Aruba, but I’ll leave that story for another day. By fall time, I started missing her more and got more into the second half of the album.

The album is sentimental because it reminds me of the old summers. Since my baby sister is also a fan (way before me), I feel more connected to her through this album, especially now that she is so far away. I can feel her in the car while listening to Benito. She’s there singing with me, just not physically. I secretly hope she thinks of me when she’s on public transportation on her way home.

How things have been going lately made me realize that I have been coping and surviving, and I mention the album of UVST because it is one of my coping strategies for dealing with everyday bullshit. Anyway, I always do this fantastic thing where I gaslit myself to think I overreact and have “luxe problemen.” And that is the sad part: who will if I can’t have my own back? Well, I know who will, but that’s not the point. 

The last two weeks, I felt blessed for everyone who I scarred shitless with what I wrote you the last time. I felt supported, not by everybody, but by the ones who mattered the most. It even got me thinking that I should start writing more in Papiamento. Do you want to hear something funny? I usually express myself better in English. So when I start writing my inner voice tells the stories in English, but maybe I should challenge myself to write more in my native tongue. 

Last week I dreamed I was at Beurs Rotterdam. I was rolling down the elevator at the metro station. In a hurry to catch tram 25 towards Carnisselande. I was all happy that I was about to visit my baby sister. Then the alarm went off. It was just a dream, and you can just imagine my disappointment. And yeah, I know it wouldn’t have even been possible because the tram isn’t passing through her street at the moment, meaning that I would have to walk to get to her, and I would walk miles for her.

I don’t know what else to say, Diary. It feels good to talk to you because at least I can clear my head a bit, but I still don’t feel better. I’m still angry, maybe less than before, but the anger is still there. I manage to wake up every day, put on makeup and show up to work. I may look calm from the outside, like I’ve always been, but there’s a storm inside. And it won’t go away. As a child, I’ve always been sneaky and know how to compartmentalize, but lately, I’ve gotten tired. I want to send everything (and sometimes everyone, please don’t take it personally) to hell, and I want things to get ugly because I feel stuck in my own cocoon of perfectionism, and I’m done with that because it is so not worth it. I guess I’m left with the question: do I keep rebelling and challenging the status quo, or do I give in like most people do and just don’t give a fuck anymore? Do the bare minimum, just work, get paid, and do the same thing over and over again, but I’m no rodent.

Diary, You should know I curse a lot (another coping strategy, maybe?), so I hope I don’t offend you. Then again, I want things to get ugly; I want to liberate myself from the social norms and conditions that society has put on me, which I’ve followed like a good girl for years. Do you want to hear another funny thing before I go? Remember those love songs I used to and still love to hear because I’m romantic? They don’t make me think about boys anymore, just mean “bosses,” pretenders, and hypocrites of society. Fifteen years ago, a broken heart sounded terrifying, but it’s nothing compared to feeling stuck somewhere and unable to move fast enough. I wish I’d left you on a more happy and positive note. Right now, I just need to be in my feelings, and I might pierce my belly button this weekend; we’ll see. 

P.s. For those two individuals who held me this week, thank you. My heart needed those hugs.

Talk

soon, bye.