When I was in third grade I was suspended from school for telling my teacher that the president of our country was a “motherfucking piece of shit.” I was 8 years old, and I remember that year specially well because it was the year my boobies started to grow. Days before getting suspended, my boobies had gone from being flapjacks with nipples on them, to being tiny little limes that hurt like hell whenever I would touch them. It was also the year I learned that the word “porn” didn't mean “chicken” like my mother had told me when I asked her, but instead was a really scary horror movie where a man would sit on a chair, and a naked woman would tug on his penis until it fell off.
I still remember the expression on my teacher's face when she heard me, a little girl, use the words “motherfucking piece of shit,” not only because I was her student, but because I was using them to describe the man she had voted for. The president I was talking about was Mr. Carlos Menem, the twice elected president of Argentina from 89' to 99'. This is not a political piece, and I don't plan on going into what Menem did wrong or what he did right because, frankly, at 8 years old I didn't know a fucking thing about the state of my country, all I was doing was repeating the words my parents were saying, and also putting a blame on someone for why we were soon going to leave the country. Earlier that week, mom and dad had sat me down and told me that they had lost all their money because Mr Carlos Menem had made the “middle class disappear,” and that we were the middle class. I was 8 years old and had no fucking idea what being middle class meant, but the word “disappear” made me think that we were all going to die soon and be thrown into the ocean in bags. Mom and dad told me we were going to move in with grandma and save money for a while so we could move to a new country. A country where the middle class could afford to go to Disneyland and Universal Studios every day, but it meant we were going to have to say goodbye to all the family for a while. During this conversation I remember doing what I always did whenever I was upset or uncomfortable, which was knock on my vagina as if it was a door and recite the number 857-2072 in my head as I knocked.
My last day in Argentina I remember sitting on my grandma's sofa, doing crossword puzzles. Everyone was saying goodbye to us as we were about to head for the airport and everyone was crying. I remember it was a specially painful boobie day for me. I wanted to rip them out that day. As my cousins hugged me goodbye, I could see them holding the toys and Madonna posters that had, until then, belonged to me. Once everyone was gone, mom screamed that the car that was going to take us to the airport had arrived. I looked down at my crossword puzzle, and quickly filled out all the squares, in tiny little writing, with the words “Motherfucking piece of shit.”