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The nipple on the poster of Almodóvar’s new film is pinned to my mother’s. I still remember perfectly how her boobs were. Small, pretty, perfect, generous. Mine look a bit like him, but they don’t reach that perfection.
We have a problem when a woman’s breast is censored by default. That happens on social media. They eliminate ours and theirs, no. I do not understand it, especially because when choosing, I prefer to see a woman’s breasts, without a doubt. Those of them, living in Palma (Mallorca), I see them every day on the street, because they go without a shirt with all their meat hanging in the middle of the Ramblas or Jaime III. It’s downright disgusting, but someone free me to censor that rudeness. The issue comes when they shut us up.
Pedro Almodóvar and his perfect nipple dripping milk. Let’s get into trouble. Mine is a little bit, just a little bit, bigger. So when I saw it I thought it was the nipple of a nursing man. Overcome that first shock, I remembered my boobs. I have two children and if I add the years of breastfeeding I get almost five. I don’t like being pregnant, nor do I enjoy having babies. My thing is to have grown children, as I have them. I love that.
All that, which is now so far away, I lived. I gave so much time to suck, everything was so screwed up, that I never expected that that’s the only thing I miss. I don’t care about a cuddly baby, but that nightmare of feeding my children, that will always be with me. That’s why I wanted to delay the end and even negotiated with them loudly that we had to stop. Mom a little more (they told me while they ate croquettes). And I told them, my darling, I can’t take it anymore. I give up.
You only get to breastfeeding on demand and for a long time because you want to, because you feel like it, you want it with all your guts. I had no help although it would have been great, I think they now have more. But if you don’t want it, if you don’t feel like it: bottle. And nothing happens either. Do not ask for forgiveness as I did not ask for it either, although they gave me (a lot) the pain. Whatever you do, it will always be wrong. Do what you want.
I have remembered the tit as the only thing I miss and, all these lines later since I started writing this column, I realize that it is not true. There is another thing that sometimes I remember with a love that kidnaps me: childbirth. Every now and then, I miss those two animal moments, without epidurals, shitting myself and screaming like a whale. I have already told it this way many times. It is unmatched. Nothing is like those two moments of mine when I thought I was dying and it turned out not.
We were talking about Almodóvar and his tit. Of censorship in social networks. Facebook has had to muddle through and apologize for removing the poster. That intonation is fine, but the absurd censorship will still be there. I have shared men’s breasts many times in networks without any problem. When I have wanted to do it for women, they have been erased. I’m talking about art, about photographs by great photographers. I was pissed off, it was impossible to share something beautiful just because it was a woman’s body. It wasn’t pornography, it was never, always art or something like that. They never let me. They won’t let me even though it’s beautiful and cool.
Last year, for World Breast Cancer Day, it occurred to me to photograph a breast. It was a close-up of my left breast, the one that was removed from my mother. I wanted to send a message, I don’t care about pink, here’s my tit, let’s see how long it lasts here. It goes for the dead. It was a radiant and imperfect tit and, against all odds, it has been on my Instagram account until a week ago, when I deleted it for reasons that I will not tell here today. There are still people who ask me about my tit, they want to keep seeing it. I consider that it is not necessary, that has already happened. But if I can say it, even if it’s short, I’ll say it: I posted my entire boob on Instagram for 10 months. It will seem silly to you, but nonsense sometimes interviews Messi, exclusively. While others cry.
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