"Régula".
My mother came in my room today and gave me a book of short stories. She had put a kleenex (not used, of course) as a bookmark to one particular story. "I want you to read this one," my mother said, and then left.
Like my mother, I feel the need to share it; though not for the same reasons. This book is a series of short stories in French, so this is good practice for translation, for one. The one she wanted me to read is a somewhat metaphorical story about a woman's period. This book is written by a man.
I'd like to play a game called "spot the trainwreck before it happens", here. Can you spot the trainwreck? I can assure you all I did. Still, I decided to read it, in case it wasn't that bad.
Perioda is an odd phenomenon, with an unpredictable character. I'd even call it 'lunatic'.
She led a very curious life; four to five days per month only she would show herself, with hesitation and sometimes inconvenient, or sometimes even in a plentiful way-- plentiful being the right word for it indeed.
The rest of the month, Perioda did not show herself. Nothing. Not even a sign of life. The deepest of silences. She stayed inside.
Perioda had heard everything about herself. They treated her with contempt, with shame... Other's behaviour, women in particular, was ambivalent.
No one ever really wanted her to visit, and they either worried or, in some cases, celebrated if she did not.
You guessed it, Perioda's life was a true puzzle. First, her birth. She came without warning, a Sunday or a Monday, any day at all. And when she came for the first time, a lot of feelings came up in the little girl that welcomed her. Because Perioda was only born from young girls, whose ages varied from eleven to sixteen, sometimes seventeen, years.
I told you. She came without any warning, installing and spreading herself for three, four, five days. Her favourite colour was red -- blood red -- which should tell you everything.
A long time ago, she was welcomed with towels. In those days she had a lot of space.
Now, most women tried to trap Perioda with small tampons that restrained her, compressed her and absorbed her all at once.
I can tell you, she would have loved to be able to flow freely, without restraint, in fresh air. Perioda did not understand the mystery, the shame or the very contradictory feelings that surrounded her.
She would have liked to be accepted for what she was; a honest worker, doing or accomplishing her cleaning job with courage, punctuality and rigour. Perioda knew her essential role in the lives of women.
Most of them owed her a lot without knowing it, damn it! (Translator's note: The French expression used here is "bon sang", which is the equivalent of dammit and literally translates to 'good blood'. Isn't that hilarious.)
Perioda would have deserved to have a party.... a testimony of gratitude that would finally show the world her essential role.
At the end of her life, when Perioda disappears definitively, a lot of women were relieved, and yet even more regretted her. Perioda's dream would've been to find a woman's body that would welcome her unconditionally, without hesitation, secret or ambiguity.
Oh! don't think she believed she could have been one day loved; that, she never could admit it to herself, in her deepest silence, in her most secret distress.
If you truly listened to me, you must have heard that Perioda's existence is the symbol of the most poignant of solitudes, the solitude of not having given birth.
When a woman carries life within her, Perioda disappears for months, without hesitation, with no claim, she then hides herself in the Milky Way. When she comes back, triumphant, and the cycle of her existence starts again, she boils with impatience to be respected, recognized and even glorified!
I would like, personally, that Perioda be given a personalized name. I would invite each little girl, in the three months that follow her arrival in this world, to give her a name, a small familiar name that would identify her as an important character, unique and respectable.
I know a little girl who used to say: "Theresa came back" or even "Theresa will be coming soon". There was a lot of affection between Theresa and her!
Because Perioda's devotion will be limitless during forty years of a woman's life.
What I did not tell you yet, is that Perioda is a true barometer for the moods of a woman. She's capable of hurting, torturing the stomach the day of her return, when she can feel that the woman carrying her cannot take her role as a woman or doesn't accept herself in her femininity. She's like that, Perioda.
I truly hope Jacques Salomé was punted for this by at least one woman, because that was the stupidest tripe of shit I have ever been told to read by my mother, and she's made me read the Da Vinci Code.
Dear men everywhere: If another one of you feels like writing to me to tell me to accept and rejoice my period, I will personally make sure you get to bleed out of your penis each month. I'm sure you'll love it.
/throws book out windo
Like my mother, I feel the need to share it; though not for the same reasons. This book is a series of short stories in French, so this is good practice for translation, for one. The one she wanted me to read is a somewhat metaphorical story about a woman's period. This book is written by a man.
I'd like to play a game called "spot the trainwreck before it happens", here. Can you spot the trainwreck? I can assure you all I did. Still, I decided to read it, in case it wasn't that bad.
Perioda is an odd phenomenon, with an unpredictable character. I'd even call it 'lunatic'.
She led a very curious life; four to five days per month only she would show herself, with hesitation and sometimes inconvenient, or sometimes even in a plentiful way-- plentiful being the right word for it indeed.
The rest of the month, Perioda did not show herself. Nothing. Not even a sign of life. The deepest of silences. She stayed inside.
Perioda had heard everything about herself. They treated her with contempt, with shame... Other's behaviour, women in particular, was ambivalent.
No one ever really wanted her to visit, and they either worried or, in some cases, celebrated if she did not.
You guessed it, Perioda's life was a true puzzle. First, her birth. She came without warning, a Sunday or a Monday, any day at all. And when she came for the first time, a lot of feelings came up in the little girl that welcomed her. Because Perioda was only born from young girls, whose ages varied from eleven to sixteen, sometimes seventeen, years.
I told you. She came without any warning, installing and spreading herself for three, four, five days. Her favourite colour was red -- blood red -- which should tell you everything.
A long time ago, she was welcomed with towels. In those days she had a lot of space.
Now, most women tried to trap Perioda with small tampons that restrained her, compressed her and absorbed her all at once.
I can tell you, she would have loved to be able to flow freely, without restraint, in fresh air. Perioda did not understand the mystery, the shame or the very contradictory feelings that surrounded her.
She would have liked to be accepted for what she was; a honest worker, doing or accomplishing her cleaning job with courage, punctuality and rigour. Perioda knew her essential role in the lives of women.
Most of them owed her a lot without knowing it, damn it! (Translator's note: The French expression used here is "bon sang", which is the equivalent of dammit and literally translates to 'good blood'. Isn't that hilarious.)
Perioda would have deserved to have a party.... a testimony of gratitude that would finally show the world her essential role.
At the end of her life, when Perioda disappears definitively, a lot of women were relieved, and yet even more regretted her. Perioda's dream would've been to find a woman's body that would welcome her unconditionally, without hesitation, secret or ambiguity.
Oh! don't think she believed she could have been one day loved; that, she never could admit it to herself, in her deepest silence, in her most secret distress.
If you truly listened to me, you must have heard that Perioda's existence is the symbol of the most poignant of solitudes, the solitude of not having given birth.
When a woman carries life within her, Perioda disappears for months, without hesitation, with no claim, she then hides herself in the Milky Way. When she comes back, triumphant, and the cycle of her existence starts again, she boils with impatience to be respected, recognized and even glorified!
I would like, personally, that Perioda be given a personalized name. I would invite each little girl, in the three months that follow her arrival in this world, to give her a name, a small familiar name that would identify her as an important character, unique and respectable.
I know a little girl who used to say: "Theresa came back" or even "Theresa will be coming soon". There was a lot of affection between Theresa and her!
Because Perioda's devotion will be limitless during forty years of a woman's life.
What I did not tell you yet, is that Perioda is a true barometer for the moods of a woman. She's capable of hurting, torturing the stomach the day of her return, when she can feel that the woman carrying her cannot take her role as a woman or doesn't accept herself in her femininity. She's like that, Perioda.
I truly hope Jacques Salomé was punted for this by at least one woman, because that was the stupidest tripe of shit I have ever been told to read by my mother, and she's made me read the Da Vinci Code.
Dear men everywhere: If another one of you feels like writing to me to tell me to accept and rejoice my period, I will personally make sure you get to bleed out of your penis each month. I'm sure you'll love it.
/throws book out windo