Bye Old Feminine Script

Hello, my dear readers 😘

Serving up another week of words sizzling in a hot skillet—I didn’t send out invites, but you know dropping by my blog is like friends showing up unannounced at your apartment. 😉

Lately, I’ve been spinning between half-finished voice notes, a third espresso, and the quiet pressure that… 

In LatAm, sometimes makes being a woman with initiative feel as scandalous as walking into a church without a veil 😮‍💨

You know my vibe: one foot in poetry, the other in noir drama. 

If life’s gotta be a movie, at least let it have the right subtitles haha

I’m exhausted by those expired-film reels where the picture and sound never let you fully see those old masterpieces that etch themselves into your skin..

 I’ve always been a fan of good cinema… and I hope you catch that I’m not just talking about movies haha

Being real—as always—sometimes I feel trapped in a lost reel of “La Fille du Saint Rosaire”, a film that never got released because the hero refused to be misunderstood just to move the plot along..

**Cut to:

A dimly lit café, my hands scribbling letters as fast as ideas fly through my mind, and across the table? Some guy staring at me like I’m on the menu. 

He doesn’t care about the ingredients—he thinks I’m the dish.

Listen, a girl knowing what she wants, or in modern lingo, a “woman who gets things done,” doesn’t mean she’s stealing “masculine” vibes. 

God! 

That idea lingers in the minds of those still shooting Greek tragedies with thinkers who had tiny lenses..

Seriously, don’t aestheticize me. 

I’m just amplifying the thoughts so many women wish they could voice, without waving any flags.

I’m not saying this for clout—it’s rooted in philosophy. 

This isn’t some trendy rage.. it’s centuries of ideas that shaped how women are seen today 😒

I swear, sometimes I feel like I’m walking through a foggy forest, the path shrouded, a chill creeping up my spine. But still, I write. And still, I’d keep walking  ✨

So there I was, sipping coffee, scribbling lines, while being eyed like the exotic dish on the menu.. (No, this is not Jeanne Dielman hehe) 

I couldn’t help but think how sad it is—how many centuries we’ve been tied to these ideas, all while embracing the biological role nature gave me, which I love like the nymph of this forest..

You know the deal: Aristotle thought women were “a sort of incomplete man,” a “failed form.” From there, so much Western philosophy kept treating the female body as something without logos, without a full soul, without legitimate will..

**A flawless cut, no cluttered behind-the-scenes chaos..**

Making decisions, taking action, having clarity and direction—these aren’t exclusive to guys. 

There’s no contract saying this planet was bequeathed to them. 😮‍💨 

Actually—no, better yet: obviously—they’re not exclusive to any “side.” 

We’re human. 

It’s just that, for centuries, society labeled those traits as “male” because they hogged the stage while we were stuck in the wings.

But here’s the thing: that’s just a cultural mirage. 

Today, a woman is a human who shines with her own worth, no price tag needed 💍

A woman can:  

💋 Make decisions with confidence that captivates.  

💋 Know what she wants and wink at the universe while chasing it.  

💋 Care for her body and mind like the masterpiece she is.

And still stay tethered to her intuition, sensitivity, receptivity, sensuality and that nurturing strength that holds it all together.

That’s feminine energy at its peak: the kind that mesmerizes.

A soft wisdom with a firm edge that says, “I’m in charge here, their body, their life” No dichotomies—just a woman who has it all and flaunts it with a wink. 😏 

Whoever said having it all was greedy was just scared of us. 😉

I don’t raise a flag to be respected as a woman; I raise one for the species. We’re all human.

**Gossip Sesh:**

Babe, in a world that’s been rigged for men forever, a woman who carves her own path, takes her steps, and still glows with confidence?

That’s not just goals—it’s a revolution in heels. It takes guts to meet a man at his intellectual level—often surpassing it—and push through the chaos without unzipping your dress 😒

This week, I realized no man can truly be your friend. You can’t bare your soul to them—they’re not real. For some reason, they always end up seeing you as an object. 

For most guys, sharing your soul or a thought is just a trade for stares that linger on your hips.

This week, I was having breakfast with a “friend” from Costa Rica.

Ugh, just thinking about it gives me chills. You’re there, maybe opening your heart or just explaining something to yourself, sharing a vision, getting vulnerable in that macho logic—and it’s so symbolic. 

While I’m spilling my ideas, this guy’s eyeing my body, down to my hands, with a desire practically spilling out of him. 

He’s looking at me like I’m a precious sculpture or a vibe to aestheticize. 

I swear, it felt like he saw me but made my brain invisible.. I got up and left. 

I’m not a frame of celluloid art!

Look, I’ve told you before: I’m not your next obsession. 

I read people like their intentions are written in a book, catch messages between the lines of their expressions, and above all, I’ve got an intuition that whispers in my ear. 

Trust me, if I’m having breakfast with you, it’s for one of two reasons: I lost my senses the day before (something that happened when I was younger) or I’m keeping things strictly platonic, so I’d rather have sunlight as my witness (something I do now).

I’m not exaggerating, my dears. It felt gross, sad—I don’t even know how to put it. My body was screaming, “This is disrespect, even if it’s dressed up as admiration for the body you see.”

In a world that’s always trying to box us in, shining as a brilliant, whole human—thoughts, feelings, and all—takes fire. 

But earning respect, my readers? That’s why I play in a different league 🧠

So, sorry, I get that some opaque souls need my light to see in their darkness, but without respect, you didn’t even catch a glimpse of me passing through your coordinates, darling.

**Feminine Energy Isn’t Feminized Energy.**

Living in a female body makes me vulnerable, but baring my friendship or soul only to be reduced to a pretty accessory? That’s a slap you didn’t see coming.

I think this is the only post where you’ve glimpsed my vulnerability. 

But just bc I don’t write it doesn’t mean it’s not there or that I hide it.

It means I accept it, but I don’t play the victim for being a woman.

Flowing in my feminine energy doesn’t mean I’m here to be your cute little object. 

I won’t be your favorite toy. 

If I choose to be a doll, it’s bc you see life through the same lens as me.

When a woman dares to embrace her feminine side—all that nurturing, soft, fluid magic—people try to shove her into a passive, decorative box. 

Feminine energy isn’t about being submissive, manipulative, or some delicate thing that “lets things happen.” 

It’s fierce, it’s creative, it’s intuitive as hell. 

I’m a real, radiant human, not something for you to sexualize.

Remember, no girl needs someone to give her worth. 

If she knows it, she’ll never be the muse in some mediocre medieval play’s script..

Bye now! 💋