Bitches Don't Cry

Alright. This isn't mine. I took this from our school publication, won the first prize for the creative writing contest. I so damn liked this essay (read it a hundred times, actually) that i couldn't help but cut it from the paper and posted in my scrap book. And now here in my blog. Hope the real author won't mind. hehehe.. Wherever you may be today, hat's off to you. You totally rock!


Water drips from my hair. I clutch my towel tight. Life sucks. Curling in my room's corner, i heard this fuckin' song in the radio and i have no idea why i suddenly get upset. It's starting to get into my nerves. Me, the drama queen. I Just discovered this talent underneath my bitchy facade. It embarrasses me whenever I unintentionally exhibit my waterworks in front of my friends. I stand and look myself in the mirror. Tada! Holy shit, I've been looking like a goldfish these days. My eyes are swollen, inflated like it's about to burst. And it feels heavy and sore. I am the perfect picture of a boxer who just had a rough fight in the ring. Only, I have no bruises, just a battered heart.

I have always thought that i was made of tougher stuff than he rest of the female species. Being the black sheep of the family, getting the highest number of beatings and the never-ending troubles i get myself into, not to mention the other outrageous follies, certainly qualifies me for the title 'most stubborn'. I thought I could handle anything and everything without making so much fuss; it never occurred to me that I'm as capable as anyone else to make such splendid mess of myself and of my life.

I'm tough, they say. And true enough, I've remained as bratty as can be. But although I'm innately mean, I can also tremble from certain pains. I have enough courage to admit some things could actually twist me this much.

I went to class that day. I dreaded the moment. I walked past many faces. I am hurt. I flinch through moist eyes. People didn't notice. They never felt anything. I sat and stared at the chair in front. The names stared back at me, the Marks and the Ryans. Like me, perhaps they too wanted to have a place in this world. They write anywhere, hoping someone would care.

I found myself writing Mrs. Von Tyler. This is me. I wonder how many other dummies are doing exactly what I'm doing. I know all this scribbling are simply letters written hopelessly and out of frustrations. And it frustrates me more, for i know it will remain engraved in that slab of wood, forever unread and unheard.

A small unknown drop of liquid blotted the ink of my precious Mrs. Von Tyler. Hell, I was actually crying in the classroom! Am i nuts? My eyes felt heavier each minute. My head longed to rest on my desk but i kept scribbling the silly Mrs. Von Tyler thing to keep me from drowning to nowhere. I waited achingly for the goddamn bell to ring; the waiting seems endless. I'm not really fond of crying, never been a big fan 'til now. I tried hard to be nonchalant at everything but this time, i failed. Since the tragic ending of my so-called fairy tale, I've been a little soft. It took me a lot of willpower to laugh those days. My face felt like cement. It cracks every time i try to smile. But then it hit me after some time. I'm a bitch and feeling sorry for myself won't do my beautiful fangs any good. People miss my evil grins. They miss my snide wisecracks.

You see, we bitches don't cry. We refuse to conform with the norms. But this goddamn thing called love, so much like a rose, sweet and lovely, beckons to me. I cannot resist even its thorns and its pain.

That is why I'm afraid I'm losing my touch. Whenever some asshole decides to tell me the famous "I love you" line, i usually say "I love you, my ass!" And they all stay out of my hair. I guess Mr. Von Tyler was the sole exemption. He was somehow a different story. He knew I was bitchy and came to love the lousy darn life I had. Then, he realized one morning that he is actually in love with somebody else. It doesn't get any crazier than that.

You see, the world is crazy. And so am I. But at least I'm beautiful. I keep telling myself this until I'm brain dead. Bitches don't cry. But that month, I did.

Hey, there are always exemptions. TC