I hate my period. 

I hate it being called ‘monthly visitor’.

I hate the word ‘virginity’.

And I most especially hate the word ‘menstruation’.

Growing up my whole life revolved around some things.

Virginity.

Menstruation.

Marriage.

Homeliness.

Religion.

Manners.

And how can I ever forget character development.

They came bundled with expectations of what I was supposed to be.

And how I was supposed to behave.

Trust me it wasn’t fun.

‘If I wasn’t homely enough I would be a bad wife to the man I’d marry’.

I’m already a bad person so I don’t think there’s changing that.

‘If I didn’t learn to cook what and how would my future family eat’.

Regardless of the fact that I hate cooking and cleaning.

I’d rather starve than cook.

It’s tiring.

If I am to cook I have to clean.

And I hate both activities.

Cleaning especially.

It’s frustrating.

So I came to attribute anything related to it as that.

Now I hate them.

Most especially ‘menstruation and virginity’.

I think the words are cringe.

I can’t even pronounce virginity .

I hate the pad wearing.

The never-ending anxiety of hoping there are no blood stains on my clothes everywhere I go.

The pain.

And most especially people making stupid jokes about it.

It’s unbearable.

But of recent I’ve come to embrace it.

Something about the whole process just amazes me.

Growing up I used to think it was just blood.

Something I was shamed for.

Something I had to hide.

But there’s so much more to it than that.

A never ending process happening inside my body quietly and constantly.

Something so strong it can influence my looks, my moods, my sleeping pattern, my eating patterns.

And to be honest I like it.

It makes me feel whole and funny and beautiful.

I still hate the words though.

They feel weird on my tongue.

Maybe it was because I was used to them being pronounced sacredly.

And honestly I don’t think I can get over it.