Downloaded from YTS.MX
I am Liss Pereira.
Official YIFY movies site: YTS.MX
A truck driver trapped inside a woman's body.
I don't know if I'm a really ugly pretty girl or a really pretty ugly girl.
Crass yet elegant.
With a poor man's salary and expensive tastes.
Very thin for some (few)
and very fat for others (most).
Not too tall, not too short.
If you're like me and are right there in the middle,
come with me, for you…
LISS PEREIRA IN…
…are adulting.
Good afternoon, ladies, gentlemen, non-gender people.
Everyone, my mom.
Good evening to all of you who are here and those watching me on Netflix.
Thank you.
But where are all the women who came unaccompanied tonight?
I know.
You learn a lot from people when you hear them participate.
There is a passion there.
"Here I am, ovulating! Fuck, here I am."
There's a commitment.
There's a disposition to life. Openness.
"Universe, pour all your blessings on me."
Where are the people who came with a group of friends?
You see? You get to know a lot about people by listening to them.
I mean, a freaking mess!
You don't get it. Some are thinking, "What are we? I don't know."
Listen to this instead. Where are the people who came as a couple?
There's no room for doubt. "As a couple? Me. Here. I love her."
Here, there's no room for doubt. There's already been an argument,
an adjustment process.
It's like an old shoe that's been adjusted to your foot.
It no longer causes corns. It's been in battle.
You get to know people you love and will always love by talking,
but it's consolidated by arguing.
Don't look for someone to pamper you or who's attentive.
That shit is over within two years and only if you're hot!
Look for someone who says nice things, who pleases you…
That's over soon too.
And who argues well.
With whom you can start an argument,
and you can say, "Hey, I respect you."
There's nothing worse than someone who always lets you win.
An idiot that's like, "Yes, I love you."
And you go, "Oh."
"What a shame!"
The last time I was on Netflix, I was pregnant.
Very pregnant!
I swear I'm not anymore.
The time has ended where I have an excuse
and people can say, "Oh, she just had a baby."
He can speak now. He's three.
Now it's all on me.
And I love it. I love being my son's mom.
What I don't love so much or need to get used to
is all the stuff that comes with it.
I never knew how to count my son's age in months.
I know nothing about that silly stuff.
I don't like chatting on those WhatsApp groups or anything.
All those classes…
I never took him to crawling classes or to any of that shit.
Being a mother in this generation is three times as stressful.
Moms in previous generations
had the chance to give birth and be moms
in private.
Period.
Not us.
We do the same things, but we get to be moms in public.
Because now we live as if we were influencers.
You have seven followers and share a story by writing, "For all of you."
Because that's how we are.
Right?
And one of the most important decisions I had to make when I had my son
was posting his picture.
That's a decision this generation must make.
And I decided not to.
"He must be a hideous child. Why won't she post his picture?"
"I'm sure he doesn't look like his dad."
"#slut."
You'll say, "Fine, let's share."
"Moms build a community when they share."
"So, let's post a picture breastfeeding the child, right?"
Lactation… lactation is so beautiful.
"Damn exhibitionist woman,
who uses breastfeeding her child as an excuse to show her tits."
"Slut, slut, slut, #SLUT."
"Exploiting that innocent child to be a flasher."
"Her boobs are ugly. They're cross-eyed, marginal."
"Blessings."
You just can't win.
There's no way you can win.
Right?
Then, you say, "They're right about the tit. We all have our opinion."
"I'll post one bottle-feeding my son."
"Damn woman, insufferable bitch,
you're hurting society
by depriving that beautiful being from the unique nipple-mouth connection
that'll make him a good person."
"You're raising a future criminal."
"Blessings to your family and home."
No!
There's no way you can win.
We're in a very strange, very difficult generation.
There isn't a lonelier time for a woman than right after giving birth.
Because she does not identify with the reality others show on networks.
You're there, and you're crazy.
After giving birth, we're crazier than usual.
Our hormones are all over the place,
our tits are cracked,
our body's all patched up.
You don't know what or who you are, how, why.
You've been told, "When a baby is born, so is a mom."
Bullshit!
And you're feeling like shit while lactating.
It's 45 minutes.
You have a lot of time to think about a lot of shit.
"Lola the cow…"
"Lola the cow has a head and an ass"
"She still has an ass because she hasn't given birth"
"Lola the cow isn't married"
You…
You are so tired.
And when you don't sleep and don't eat well, you go crazy.
You're not doing anyone a favor visiting us at the hospital after labor.
Wait until we've recovered a bit.
Don't be nosy. Don't drop by. You've no business being there.
Right? And don't tell a pregnant woman any jokes.
Friends come and make us laugh, and we're…
No!
"God, help me."
"How nice…"
"Jesus Christ resurrected, right?"
"On the third day."
"Being dead three days sounds nice."
"Three days."
If you look good after your eight-hour beauty sleep,
imagine after being dead three days.
"Give people the time to value you."
"She was such a good person."
"Give them time to say, 'She was the woman of my life.'"
"If she were still alive, I would've asked her to marry me."
"Three days."
"Then come back with your hair done, dressed in white."
You go mad!
Your hormones are all over the place, and so is your body and your brain.
No clothes fit. When you just had a child, you look for clothes.
For in the legal system of Colombia,
you must register the child right after giving birth, right?
And give them a name they'll hate for the rest of their lives.
They'll change it. They won't use Lisseth Johana, too long.
Lisseth Johana Pereira Ordóñez is too long.
You find a shorter name, more commercial. Bing, bang.
Boom.
Girl. Someone laughing back there has a horrible name.
Because we're Latin, and Latins have bad taste, we can't have enough.
Look at me. I think, "I've got six rings, I'll put them on 'cause it's my show."
Braid, etcetera, I mean…
With this side, I can invade a Viking village with my friends.
And with this side, I can chase after Marimar.
I mean… you want it all.
So, we're in a moment in history
in which I believe we're overstimulated, like a child when you do too much
"Let's draw cartoons," and I paint with him.
I paint faces, balloons, water, and whatever.
And at midnight, the kid…
We're an overly stimulated generation.
We're the middle generation.
We were raised by parents who had no love and owed us more love.
We're screwed.
We had good parents, so we must be good children.
And our parents know it.
So, with the pandemic, the quarantine, the lockdown,
we realized they're our new children.
Folks from this generation are the new kids.
They don't behave as parents. They had to grow up fast.
I mean, too soon, too young.
They married in their 20s, didn't have a life.
So, after they're 40, 50, they behave like teenagers.
They grow up so fast…
Parents are the new children.
Because we make a huge effort
to teach them what they must know to defend themselves in the modern world.
You save money, buy them a state-of-the-art cellphone.
You invest time and money in making them a tutorial,
a slow-motion video, slow,
for them to understand, right?
And why do we make all this effort? For them not to pick up our calls.
Because if there's anyone…
You have an emergency.
They tell you, "You know, I'll always be there for you."
Bullshit!
When you leave their home, parents want nothing to do with you.
They're sick and tired, and you understand.
But they never pick up our calls.
The excuse is, "Sweetie, I don't know about technology."
That's a lie, woman!
I've seen you send Tweety stickers.
I mean…
We get them.
Now I understand many things.
For, as you grow older, as you become an adult…
Or like my generation, we aren't completely adults.
We're adults of a grown-up age,
but aren't mature.
Really.
I'm 35 and have a son. What is this bullshit, right?
I know. We're in denial.
That's what it is.
Modern adults aren't adults as in the previous generation.
Because, when I was little, a 35-year-old woman was old.
When you're little and see someone who's 35, "She'll die in 15 days."
Not anymore. "I'm not old."
You're of age, but you're not mature.
We lead an adult's life, do an adult's job, have an adult's wages.
What for? To spend it on teenage bullshit.
Because that's what we are.
We are immature.
We're people who refuse to grow up. It's so hard for us.
We're "adultescents" in heart, man.
And I understand us, growing up isn't easy.
And since you're little, they pester you to grow up.
A must-have conversation of an adult with a child,
one who doesn't know how to interact with a child,
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
If we knew back then what we know now, we'd say,
"Hell no, I don't wanna grow up!"
Right?
All the time they're pushing us to make hasty decisions about our lives.
We adults nowadays have so much anxiety, depression, acceleration, and immediacy.
Everything's so fast, and everything's growing all the time.
You can't stand the 16 seconds you need to wait between episodes.
And you're there, everything's fast, everything's now.
But we want it to be good quality and to last forever.
We're at a time in history
where there's too much motivation, an excess of positivism.
It's, "What do you want? Ask the universe for it."
"If you ask for it hard enough,
with perseverance and discipline, you'll have it."
We're the "walk away, let it go, let it flow" generation.
Who teaches us "stay, it takes a year"?
No one tells us that.
If I don't like a relationship, "Let it go."
"If he makes you cry, he doesn't deserve your tears."
Bullshit!
Because the people we love the most are the people who make us the maddest.
Those we love the most make us cry harder.
Starting with our kids.
Those we love the most are the ones we hate the most
one, two, three times a week.
For instance, if you have a loving relationship,
and don't ask yourself once or twice a week,
"Fuck, what have I done with my life?"
Then you don't love him.
And people, right? We live with an excess of positivism.
"What do you want to achieve? You can do everything you want."
Yes, but no.
Sounds lovely, I know. And you need those motivational phrases.
But actually, you can't do everything you wanna do.
'Cause some things we're not good at.
We're good at one thing or another. The neighbor's good at this or that.
"The power of your dreams. If you can dream it, it's possible."
Yes, but it's kind of harder in Latin America.
Here's my childhood dream.
I wanted to be a figure skater when I was a little girl.
In Cúcuta, man!
For those who don't know it, it's a city…
I mean…
Most of our countries don't know about seasons.
In my town, my city, we do. It's summer all fucking year round.
A cold day for us
is standing under a mango branch at 100 degrees, I mean…
Okay. "Don't blame external stuff. Everything you want is up to you."
Let's say it's true. We shouldn't blame external stuff.
We must assume our responsibility.
Figure skater, me!
Short-legged.
Figure skating is a high-performance sports discipline.
We should know ourselves.
I mean, dream, but know yourself a bit before you do
so you don't waste time in an unreachable dream.
I mean, me? A high-performance sportswoman?
Their life is 100% sacrifice.
If anyone deserves respect and admiration, it's athletes.
Especially Latin ones.
It's a lot of fucking sacrifice, right?
Those people eat boiled chicken breast all their lives.
I…
I don't do drugs or alcohol, but my passion is eating, I mean…
And with a bit of salsa.
No, really.
We should dream and all, but we should know ourselves.
If someone made us get real since we're little,
less adjacent leg, hypotenuse,
and more, "What are you good at? Come, I'll teach you."
There's no vocational focus at schools.
It's either "dream it" or "what a shame."
Know yourself.
Since I was little, I did, and I thank God for that.
I knew my path since I was little.
In whatever class I was at in school,
they'd always tell me, "Pereira, back there. Pereira."
In college, "Pereira. Share it with the class." And look.
I mean it, it's difficult to be at peace,
especially now that being happy is an obligation.
Yes, now we all have someone to compare ourselves with,
and that's really toxic.
We follow celebrities that make us think anything's possible. Bullshit!
If you're single, there's always someone who's better at it.
"She's single, but she's hot."
"She works out and doesn't eat at much as I do."
"Not that image is everything, but she has more fun."
"She gets drunk and goes out with Australians."
You say, "It can happen." You're at a positive moment. "Go for it!"
I won't settle for the office weirdo, no ma'am.
"It can happen. It can."
I celebrate my birthday with my friends at the area where foreigners hang out.
We sit, I take the ugliest friends I have.
There's always an Australian remotely related to the Hemsworths.
I'll settle for a drop of their DNA.
"It could happen."
The guy is in Colombia
'cause he manufactures the machine that pierces holes in coffee paper cups.
That's how people from developed countries get rich.
And legally.
"It could happen." He speaks English.
I'm drunk, I speak English. "Could happen."
We're talking about dreams,
about asking the universe and all.
And I definitely believe we should dream a lot,
wish a lot, yearn a lot, project and set goals, right?
You'll say, "No, he's not a keeper, I want more."
"I want my Australian."
"Or Colombian, but that looks like an Australian."
You can have the man of your dreams.
Dreaming isn't the problem. The problem is how we dream it.
"Project yourself."
That's the goal. The man of your dreams. You can have it.
Maybe you won't be his first wife.
Maybe you'll be his second or third wife,
or his mistress a year and a half.
But it could happen. You could have it.
"Project yourself."
The man of your dreams is there.
Maybe he's out of cash
because divorces are expensive.
Maybe he won't be too healthy, since he partied a lot when he was young.
Maybe…
he'll be all fucked up.
But that's when they're more grateful. A sick and tired man is faithful.
"Project yourself."
We're the middle generation.
And by "generation," I don't mean age because it isn't even clear.
I wanted to be old. An old woman who talks to plants.
I wanted that.
And you can't be old anymore, every day they extend youth.
"The fifteens are the new eights."
"The 20s are the new 12s."
"The 25s are the new…"
Why do you want to be in your 20s if the 20s are the worst age?
You're anguished.
You're hot, and you don't know it. You're free, and you don't know it.
I made a lot of mistakes in my 20s. One was being a hard worker.
I spent my 20s working for my 30s.
Great, but I wasted time.
I didn't travel with my friends.
I wasn't a slut, I…
I was very well-behaved.
And the bad thing about it is time is unforgiving.
We're all heading to the same place.
I have no evidence. My advice to youth is…
Forgive me, parents,
but if someone asks you for a naked picture, send it.
In five or six years, you can use that person as reference.
"Do me a favor. I sent you a naked picture of me six years ago."
"My husband doesn't believe I was hot. Can you send it to me?"
"Project yourself." Right?
We're the ones in the middle, a generation of transition.
We've lived through a lot of weird stuff. The pandemic was one of them.
But we also endured difficult, strange transitions.
We went from analog to digital.
We had to win battles we'd forgotten,
and now we're softer than before.
We, who endured
those times when our cousins could kick our asses and it wasn't wrong.
I don't know about you, a bunch of aristocrats,
filthy rich since the day you were born…
but people like me, for instance,
we couldn't afford a Baldor Álgebra textbook for math.
You get a hand-me-down.
And if you don't, you buy it second-hand.
And it comes with heritage, with DNA, with a history.
From people who were 13, 14 years old, people who…
It had boobs, dicks, gossip, stuff.
To solve an equation, you had to go through…
"What the fuck is under that, an X or a Y?" You're there…
We're in the middle.
And I analyzed myself, since I'm the only one entitled to judge myself
because I think we're at a time in history where opinion is misused.
"I have my opinion. How you take it is on you."
"I'm super straightforward." Hey, you're super bitchy.
No.
That's unfair.
You can't use your personality as an excuse to hurt people.
So, other people's feelings don't count?
But our generation is to blame for our excess of positivism and empowerment.
Not women empowerment.
We're always, "Who are you? You're the greatest, you deserve everything."
"Who deserves you? No one."
Shit.
So, who's normal, who's basic, who's average? No one, right?
I consider myself average.
I'm an average adult. I called this show Adulting.
I'm in the middle.
I'm not too tall. They don't see me and say, "That giraffe!"
I'm not too short either for people to say, "That midget!" No.
I'm not too ugly so as for Netflix to say,
"Let's make a soap opera based on her life."
"Dub her to 37 languages."
"Let's keep it perpetually in the top 10."
"Rewatch it every fortnight."
No.
Neither am I too pretty nor hot
for your girlfriend to say, "We won't go see that fucking slut."
Girls like me, which means I'm not that pretty.
No one has doubted about my successes.
Everyone knows I've earned what I have with hard work.
So, I'm not that hot.
We're in a world of extremes, extreme opposites.
And either you fit in, or you don't.
It's happened to me all my life, I don't fit in.
I don't fit in the pants I like or…
'Cause there are really two extreme opposites for universal stuff.
Take education, there's the extreme of excellence.
We're told, "You must get there, project yourself."
The extreme where that kid…
In Colombia, the highest grade is five, right?
The kid that got an excellent note or five.
"The highest grade, Sandra."
"Your kid got a five, of course."
"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
"Just like his dad."
"What are we to do with the kid, Sandra, my kid?"
"Mortgage the house, take him to Disney. The kid deserves it, Sandra."
And there's the opposite extreme, the kid that got "unsatisfactory," zero.
"Zero, Sandra, zero."
How stupid do you have to be in life
to get a zero?
Not a decimal point, not even for personality.
He's this presence in class, a wandering soul.
He's felt but cannot be seen.
"Sandra, the apple definitely doesn't fall far from the tree."
"The kid is just like his mother."
And I wonder, if those are the two extremes,
what about the kid that passes with a 3.1?
Isn't his shitty achievement worth a damn?
Is his effort worthless?
Yes, laugh at him.
Are we so excellent that in school we never said,
pronounced, or heard the following phrase?
"Teacher."
"Sir, we don't take anything when we die."
"Sir, what's a decimal point to you? Nothing."
"What's a decimal point to me? My future, professor."
Right? Nothing but five in all subjects.
Because that's today's motto, "You can do anything."
Bullshit!
There are things you simply won't be able to do.
There are skills and talents we don't have.
The sooner you know them and focus on the talents you do have,
the less frustrated you lead your fucking life, right?
That thing, "You're excellent, you can do anything."
As a parent, we pass that generational anxiety to our kid.
I discovered myself.
You see the kid clapping with rhythm, so…
"Drum lessons for genius two-and-a-half-year old."
It happens.
Right?
Opposite to the previous generation.
It went unnoticed. "Oh, son, you play the saxophone."
Nothing.
This next generation, you can't say it to cats or plants, so…
We're the middle generation.
Our blood isn't blue, but it's O+.
Where are my O+ people?
Yes, we're cheaper.
We're more common.
But in an accident, who wins, guys?
You'll never see us, "Oh, please!"
"Please, donate blood, ours is scarce."
Hell no! We've got plenty of blood to go around.
That's why we can get face treatments, platelet-rich plasma, all that shit.
Cheap blood.
Plebs.
A fucking poor, but honest legacy.
As a generation, we are very immature compared to our parents.
But we're much more responsible.
We idolize the past, "The parents from before were better people."
Bullshit. They were irresponsible.
The nerve! To have 13 kids earning a minimum wage.
But for instance, our relationship with plants. We, the ones in the middle.
People used to have a perfect relationship with plants, emotional, responsible.
Our grandmothers knew the names of plants and what each was used for.
And all the gibberish. They knew all the names, right?
They watered them and pruned them at the right time.
This generation, "I don't own plants. Let's save the Amazon."
Another huge responsibility.
And us, people in the middle.
Three point one.
We think we have plants because we have what?
Help me, what do you have at home?
A cactus, right?
And people say, "A cactus? I have a succulent."
Girl…
Five years ago, it was a weed.
The reason we learned to like it isn't because it's pretty,
it makes us feel better about ourselves.
It gives us the weird sensation that a live being won't die in our hands.
That we're not dead inside because these plants reflect the energy.
Owning a succulent or a cactus isn't owning a plant.
They just need three drops of water, which could be tears, every three months.
And they're ugly!
That's why the previous generation had lovely plants in paint cans.
Our generation has very ugly plants in very pretty pots.
I mean, the pot is a golden skull.
It's a portrait of Princess Diana, and her hair is…
And the plant, an ugly motherfucker.
We're in the middle.
We're the generation in the middle. Three point one.
Look, for example, the extremeness of beauty.
Beauty also has two extremes.
The classical beauty extreme, which is evident beauty.
Of course, now we say we're all beautiful.
Yes…
But it's more evident in some.
There's classical beauty, undisputable.
People you see and go, "You're a beautiful man or woman."
Men who are beautiful even after shaving.
I mean, that kind of beauty.
Women who are beautiful, who have beautiful legs, a pretty face.
They lose all their money, go bankrupt,
buy clothes at a thrift shop,
a one-dollar T-shirt that looks like a Versace on them,
tie a knot, tear it, looks great and fashionable.
That kind of people.
And it's not envy speaking.
But I want to make a morphological observation,
anatomical, about proportions.
How can an abdomen like that be possible? And it's effortless, like this.
Damn, like this.
How can an abdomen like this
accommodate everything that has to fit in there?
A pancreas, innards,
eight feet of intestine, and its contents must fit there.
A stomach, a liver,
a gallbladder, kidneys have to fit there…
How the hell does it fit?
That's not godly, it's not human.
They're reptilians!
Right?
And that's classical beauty.
But there's the other extreme of beauty, modern beauty, right?
Current beauty.
"Unlabeled" beauty, which would be a label in itself.
It reads "real women." We go, "I don't look like her either."
"I don't exist."
It's a different beauty.
It's a beauty one looks at and says, "Are you…?"
"Are you…? What are you?"
I don't know, people with style, flair, who look good.
With blemishes on their faces, but they look pretty.
They're in the shape of the Milky Way, something crazy.
Looks good on them.
Wearing stripes, plaid, polka dots, sneakers with a tuxedo, it looks good.
People like that.
They have flair. New beauty, modern beauty.
And then, my question is, if I don't fit here,
for obvious reasons…
Not judging myself for today.
Because you welcome me today
and kick me out tomorrow when you see me just out of bed.
And if I don't belong to that extreme, then where do I belong?
In the middle, man. Beauty 3.1.
We, the ones who are beautiful and ugly, all in the same week.
Normal people.
Standard men, standard bodies.
Who sometimes have a chubby fat, who have flat asses.
Standard.
Women with standard bodies. Women who are size 38 C.
I mean our back size, our cup is 34.
But it can be useful. We can put stuff in there.
What I find funny
is our body laughs at us.
We do so many things to it.
We complain, we throw so much shit at it.
So much squeezing, so much suffering.
Fuck, girdles are living proof.
There's nothing more ironic than our aging body
because we can do anything.
We can do everything to gain a few years of youth,
but our body will age no matter what, right?
And we've been aging since forever.
The funniest thing for me is the moment we became aware of our body
and started feeling insecurities and securities.
The stage of adolescence, preadolescence, when we were in puberty, right?
This stage hits men particularly hard.
Because they're ugly at that age, damn it, ugly.
With big noses, kind of weird. With a big head and a small body.
Right? And all men at that age wished they had…
Because they had that budding mustache…
That masculine mustache they wanted, that thick beard, those thick sideburns,
that broad back, those masculine arms,
those masculine legs, that chest hair…
What men wanted to have, who gets it over the years?
Us women!
Aging is ironic.
For women at that age, we wanted to grow…
That's why we stuffed cotton, our father's socks, anything to…
Most of us, right?
Of course, there are more evolved women who wanted books, but I wanted boobs.
And the funny thing is those boobs we wanted,
perky, round, beautiful, who gets them as years go by?
There are no better-looking boobs
than those of a 62-year-old man or older.
They're such a beautiful thing.
Beautiful.
They're perky, round, that lovely nipple.
They're cute, like newborn boobs. They're brand new. So cool.
We're standard people, spot in the middle for many things.
But we also live in denial. We feel like misfits.
We're always buying into those universal truths, those phrases,
"Excel yourself, you can do it, you're amazing, wonderful."
"Who deserves you? No one. It's not loneliness, it's knowledge."
I don't want to get to know myself anymore.
We're in the middle.
And in this extreme, there's always someone who makes a mistake,
and from that mistake, an opportunity.
From that mistake, a tattoo, "resilience."
And from that mistake, a book, a conference.
"For I made that mistake once and learned a lesson,
the lesson that took me one step higher in the world of success."
People from that extreme, right?
And the other extreme, those who make a mistake,
"I can't overcome it because I was going to be a soccer player."
"I was good at school. The principal screwed me."
And when it comes to mistakes, us in the middle.
Us in the middle, the 3.1s, the O+.
We make a mistake, and what do we do?
We do it again.
Once, twice, we make that mistake.
As many times as necessary until we wear it out.
"Stop calling, bitch." You make those mistakes.
And there's love, the concepts of extremes.
There's classical love.
The love of a stage play that expresses in the most romantic way.
Visceral love between two young lovebirds.
Romantic love, written by Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet.
If you didn't read it, neither did I, but here's a summary.
It's like, "Juliet…
I saw you on a balcony."
"I love you."
"I don't know you as a person, what your feelings or values are."
"I don't know shit about you, but I choose to love you 'cause you're pretty."
"Juliet, I love you so much,
our families can kill each other, they can stab my mom, who cares?"
"For I love you though I don't know you."
"If I go bankrupt, will you give me cash?"
"If I fall ill, will you clean my butt? I love you."
"And if they don't let us love each other, we'll kill ourselves, Juliet!"
It's romantic, visceral love.
Classical love, right?
And on the other end is modern love, mindful love,
the love of two thinking beings that,
from their individuality, decide to share a path with each other.
People you ask, "Do you still have that feeling for him?"
"Look…"
"I'm reading about a neuropsychiatric sociologist."
"She's German."
"She explains whenever you feel 'butterflies,'
it's actually anxiety."
"That true love makes you feel peace."
"I mean, to answer your question, he doesn't disturb my peace."
What kind of shitty love is that?
A fucking pensioner boring love.
A love that was born retired,
that has always kissed like a married couple.
A love without risk of contagion.
That…
The best part of love for us people in the middle…
is that jumpy love, anxious, that makes you feel, "Damn!"
Love that makes you skinny, that makes you a worse person, a liar.
That makes you come back from work early to suck love out of that mouth.
Juicy love is toxic.
Right?
Most love relationships we idolize and say,
"That's a nice relationship. It lasted a lifetime,"
isn't people who've loved each other constantly all their lives.
Those "we've been married 80 years" relationships.
How many screw-ups have they overcome?
Because I believe that true love,
and I've even done research,
is between two people--
I hope it's two. I mean it, from the bottom of my heart.
One of those two was always the one who fell in love first,
was more in love than the other,
did nice gestures for the other, codependent of the other,
did things the other wouldn't do on their own,
until they convinced the other loving one another was a good idea.
Then the other one fell in love.
Once they've fallen in love, it starts rotating, your turn, my turn.
Right?
"I love you." "I don't love you this month. You love me."
Ping-pong. Ping-pong, bam! "Asshole!" "I love you." "Asshole."
It kind of comes and goes, it's…
No one says this because we all want a cute version of love,
a romantic version of love,
a version we are proud to talk about and flaunt.
We all want love to be like floating on a cloud,
like the movies we grew up with,
like a…
"Good morning, beloved."
"Wake up, sweetie. The sun is up."
"I'm lying. Go back to sleep, love."
"I'll pick up some of the mess we left with our passion."
"Oh my God, what is this?"
"These are my loved one's dirty boxer shorts."
I dreamed with a kiss of love
And of a prince giving it to me.
In a stable and lasting relationship.
Because I didn't put out
Until we had dated for a month.
Most likely, it won't happen that way.
And I'm not being negative.
We spend a lot of time looking at other relationships.
And most of the things we compare ourselves with are unfair to us.
Because people on this end aren't to blame for being on this end.
For some things they don't tell us about, like genes.
We have different genetics.
His family and mine come from different places.
I'm from the Andes, man. I have an Indigenous ancestry, right?
Muisca, Aztec, Inca, Taíno, Motilon.
Who had to climb up and down these mountains.
That's why Latin girls have big asses.
And we have short legs, 'cause when you walk a lot, they don't grow anymore.
Everything's inherited. It has an origin, right?
We should be fairer about whom we face and judge ourselves against.
And I think sometimes other people's pictures
make us have doubts about ourselves.
And behind a picture, for example, of a woman.
A mom, you'd say, "She has teenage daughters and a little boy,
and she has a rich husband who loves her."
"How does she do it?" You're there, "How does she do it?"
I believe behind that picture there's a story.
For I know the stories behind my pictures.
And I like to think that behind that happy picture
there may be a…
"Andrea! Camila!"
"Come here! What happened?"
"I'm waiting for you. Where are you?"
"Are you dressed?"
"What is that shit? Take it off! Are you doing a casting for OnlyFans?"
"What's that shit on your hair? You look like a troll."
"Green hair? You're Latin! No one's born with hair like that."
"Grow up, idiot! You're old enough."
"Come here right now!"
"Jaime."
"And Daniel?"
"Drop that fucking console!"
"You're the dad!"
"You were supposed to help me with the boy, not sit and play FIFA!"
"You were bad playing soccer, and you're bad at FIFA!"
"I'm glad the game's Argentine referees insult you for being an idiot!"
"I've been awake since 4:00 a.m."
"I did yoga, wrote in my gratitude journal,
my decrees."
"Everything, shit! Four different breakfasts 'cause the girl's vegan."
"Vegan! And she eats chicken, beef, and sausages!"
"That shit has dead animals! Being vegan is not killing animals, idiot!"
"The man is lactose intolerant."
"Now, right? At home, right?"
"For, in the street I've seen you eat pizza, double-cheese burger."
"It has lactose in it!"
"I went back 15 years in women's social evolution
because of you four bastards!"
"And I can't have a family picture on my fucking 35th birthday?"
"Come here now!"
"Smile, you idiot,
we couldn't afford a trip to Cartagena thanks to those braces."
"My family, my greatest blessing."
You never know how hungry others are.
You never know how others are.
You never know, right?
Although we grew up and are now "adultescents,"
what identifies my generation is that we miss our mothers.
Now that I'm a mom, I understand.
When you're young, you're always on that extreme,
saying, "Look, Mom, don't interfere in my life."
"You don't get to decide for me. I know what I'm doing."
"Don't interfere with my decisions. Respect my personal space."
And you grow up, and you have a child,
"Mom, please, Mommy,
I don't know what to do with my life."
"Tell me, I don't know what to do."
"Mommy, the hell with personal space."
"Come live with me."
And most adults in my generation want a substitute mom.
We all feel we need a few years more.
That's why we buy a watch that's like a mom.
"Breathe, sleep, wake up."
"Sit straight, you'll grow a hump."
You're there…
And we are raised repeatedly.
And you are not only raised by your family or school,
you are raised by your tastes, everything you consume.
Everything shapes us. We should be careful what we consume.
We should be selective.
We are raised by our friends,
the transcendental conversations we had on a sidewalk at 4:00 a.m.
Lots of things raise us, right?
We're raised by the people we've been with and we let go.
People who let us go raised us.
"Thanks. God reward you for not wanting me."
And we're raised by our tastes.
And movies always have underlying messages.
And I like the role women have today,
strong women characters, etcetera, etcetera.
What I don't like is it's the same.
So, for women to shine, they cast an asshole co-protagonist.
There are female characters that have shaped us, at least shaped me
and many people.
And I don't like how they've handled them
because I feel they give us the wrong message.
One of them is Hermione Granger from the Harry Potter saga.
To me, the coolest in the saga.
It should be called the Hermione Granger saga.
Why?
Simply because without her, there would be no Harry Potter, only half a book.
He wouldn't have survived without her. It's not feminism talking. It's for real.
The girl was the coolest of all.
And she represents us know-it-all girls with bad hair
and that are rejected.
And I loved that character. She's a woman that empowers us.
And we think, "Hermione's so cool." "I'm Hermione."
You get that pleated skirt.
"I dress up as Hermione at my 35 years of age."
"I don't care, I admire her."
And the final scene they show us in Hermione films, what is it?
It's the subtitle, the subtext, the toxic message, hidden.
Hermione taking her kids to the school bus,
with her husband, who's fat…
And it's Ron!
She married Ron. The subtext, she fucked up.
Hermione, fucked up, messed up hair, bags under her eyes, wearing an old skirt.
As if to say, "Who told the girl to marry?"
She fucked up. She screwed up her career as a witch.
That's the punishment society gives women.
If we choose to have kids, the message is, "She was bound to screw up."
"What's she gonna do now? Tell me."
That's wrong, just wrong.
We have female characters who inspire us and then screw it up.
For instance, Daenerys Targaryen, from Game of Thrones.
Doesn't matter if you didn't watch it.
It's a series about intrigue, injustice, discord, dirty business.
You can kind of
watch any Latin American newscast, that's it.
They dub them in Latin Spanish, which is Mexican.
They really screwed this one up. Should've been dubbed in Cali, Colombia.
The girl is called Daenerys Targaryen.
"Who am I? What do they call me? What's my name?"
"The queen of fire, you know? The queen of first men."
"I don't burn. I am fire."
Right? I mean, it would've been cooler.
And this woman is the main character in the series, in the saga.
And what's the problem?
She's an innate leader, a strong woman, powerful, indestructible.
But what we want to focus on in the series
is who she's gonna choose as her romantic interest.
And she has lots of options. That's the problem.
Such a huge problem.
First man, an arranged marriage.
With that man, in that case, we don't mind.
I mean, "Dad, Mom, seal the deal. Let's negotiate this now."
Right?
"Shit, they married me to Khal Drogo."
She became a widow at 16, loaded with cash.
Explain it to whoever doesn't know.
Second man, 'cause she has a few.
A hit man that makes her troubles go away. He brings her the heads of her enemies.
"Your body, take it." And she takes it. But she's empowered, gets bored.
"Bye, good luck, too much passion for me."
Third option, an old man.
And not a nasty old geezer
like the neighbor with a store who you gave the coins and did like this.
Grinch.
A cool old man who's hot and loves her.
Third man, a man one should choose.
With our heads, hearts, and gut.
A cool guy, who loves and empowers her.
He doesn't compete with her, isn't mad if she has more power or wins.
A guy who loves her, who's funny, that reads, who's fun, but…
"The guy's too short, isn't he?"
"His hands are small. If he cups my boob, it feels strange."
That's how we are.
And last option, Jon Snow.
And we like him and all, but he's dumb.
He switches ideology every 15 days.
"Oh, I'm the son of whats-his-name."
"Oh, I'm not his son, right? So, now I'm a monk."
"I fucked a wildling. Now I'm a wildling."
A guy that keeps changing his mind.
If you haven't watched it, you've a cousin who hooked up with a guy like that.
And the message here is you can achieve anything,
but what matters the most is who you end up with.
Who, by the way, kills you.
And my last woman, such a badass woman, Black Widow.
If you don't know who she is, she's a woman we all know.
A badass woman.
She's got a shitty, dark past, but she said, "I'll leave this behind."
And she managed to get to the top of her career.
She said, "I'll make it big."
And how? Without superpowers in a world of superheroes.
She made it with kicks, punches, and street smarts.
That girl is street smart, period.
And as most of the women they show us,
if you have a great career, you have a shitty life.
She doesn't have a life, not even a home.
It's been 14 movies, and we've never seen her in her apartment.
Always in the office or someone else's place.
"Hi, I'm Aunt Natalia, do you have any soup?"
It's unfair.
It's like, if you fulfill your potential, you'll end up alone.
You'll die, and there'll be no one to bury you at your funeral.
Nothing.
You'll have to eat whatever there is in the office
for food and food for the soul.
"So, who's single around here?" Number one, Captain America.
Yes, I know, the actor…
That meat on the grill sound…
Kinky woman.
Yes, the actor, but not the character.
The character, if you look closely, is a boring guy.
He doesn't swear. He can do no wrong.
He's all good, clean, wears gel.
He's…
He's kind of too clean.
He's like a physical trainer, but Mormon, who doesn't…
I don't know, he's too good.
Suspicious!
We're Latin Americans.
We were taught not to trust whatever is too easy.
When something is too easy, you think, "I'm going to jail." That's it.
So, a guy who's too good, too…
It's even toxic, think about it.
A chick smiled at him 80 years ago, and he can't get over her.
She only said, "Let's dance."
They didn't even dance.
And the other option the Black Widow has is Hulk.
If you didn't see the movie, we all have a cousin that's with a guy like that.
A toxic guy.
He disappears for days, years. Comes back. She has to go find him.
"Oh, come on, relax."
And the guy even hit her in the face. He was green, so we didn't say anything.
"That's normal. Doesn't count 'cause he was green."
He hit her in the face.
Because deep inside, when we see a guy like that,
all women have a thought, and it's that filthy inner thing we deny.
The fantasy 99.9% of women have, which even now, no one knew about.
And it's a man of that size.
"He can carry me. He'll make me feel thin, malleable."
It's a perversion.
But he'll be useless. If he gets mad, he'll squash you.
"Squash."
And the message is, "You can make it in your career, but you'll die alone."
What kind of shitty messages are those?
You never see a woman with a family and successful.
I've never seen a pregnant super heroine
breastfeeding her child while she fights evil.
And that's what we do. We tell people there are only two extremes.
If you're in the middle, with your normal decisions, you screwed up.
Right?
And sometimes you need to screw up. If that's screwing up, it's great.
Right? Because…
Because we talk a lot about balance.
We talk a lot about inner peace.
We talk a lot about many things that don't adjust to our reality,
or to our origin, or to our possibilities, right?
We judge ourselves all the time.
For what we lack, didn't do, did wrong.
Because someone did more, did it faster, whatever.
We can't even have inner peace when we eat.
Our generation doesn't eat peacefully.
We're the generation with the most reflux, the most gastritis.
We eat in a hurry.
Especially if we were born in a big family,
with lots of siblings and little respect.
You had to eat fast, 'cause "dibs." Right?
We have reflux. We eat fast. We don't enjoy food.
Yet we want it to nourish us, be organic, healthy, non-fattening.
We're a bit of everything, of strengths and flaws.
We're diverse within us, around us.
Our relationship with clothes, with food, it all counts. It all hurts, breaks us.
That's why we're so fucked up.
And more so in adult life where we don't have uninteresting friends.
We have friends for one reason. We have to have friends.
Because an adult has friends not to have a good time,
we adults get together to complain.
We have no time or money to go to therapy. We need friends.
And it's a competition.
"Picture this, I got COVID three times."
"But you have a gallbladder, they removed mine." It's…
And not even eating makes us happy.
Adult life is hard,
and we can no longer make those insignificant decisions.
There are too many options, and they stress us out.
In the past, people had no options for love, food, everything.
For love, we had three options,
our neighbor, schoolmate or third cousin, which isn't a sin.
That was it.
Now people have many options,
"people, friends, trees, yourself, whatever."
"A wall, graffiti. I married that graffiti."
Everything, I mean…
And here we are, the ones in the middle.
And in adult life, food sometimes isn't just food.
Sometimes you had a shitty week and want an arepa
because it's Sunday, 'cause your boss is an asshole.
You want to forget you're an adult and eat that arepa.
In that arepa, you want to feel your mom's embrace.
You want the arepa experience.
An arepa you didn't have to pay for.
You want that arepa.
You want that smell of arepa, or taco, or whatever they eat in your region.
You want that smell of homey arepa.
The memory of your mom cooking that arepa with love, giving it to you
and saying, "It's toasted, not burned. Eat it up." Right?
You want that.
Sometimes you…
Sometimes you've tried it all and behaved well all week.
You were a vegan Monday to Tuesday, a carnivore Wednesday to Thursday,
and a fan of quinoa Friday to Saturday.
But it's Sunday, and you wanna eat a hamburger.
Right?
Look, the day that-- No, sorry, not the day.
The night, 'cause a burger
is something you wish for in the morning, discuss with yourself all day
and decide at night.
Because that's how stupid we are, right?
If the night that you ate that burger,
you don't wake up with deep regret in the form of gastric acid
in the pylorus, on fire…
If you don't wake up around 1:00 a.m.
with deep regret in the form of gastric flames,
fantasizing the antacid commercial firemen coming in
and spraying you in the face,
you didn't eat a burger.
If the night you ate the burger,
you don't wake up and have an out-of-body experience…
If you don't find yourself around 3:00 a.m. outside your own body,
looking down and judging yourself,
humiliated in underpants, panties, boxer shorts,
in the kitchen, humiliated, like this,
measuring bicarbonate with the little vital energy you have
in order to survive,
you did not eat a hamburger.
And let me tell you, if life is a balance, look for the balance that suits you.
You wanna eat a burger? Eat it, gobble it up.
But make it worth it. Make it a special day.
Make it burger day.
Order it and make it the most profane, most ordinary,
and noxious burger you can get.
That burger you've seen on the menu a thousand times thinking,
"Who eats this?"
You'll eat it today!
Eat it. With every topping. Say yes to everything.
"A mini burger inside the burger?" Yes, wolf it down.
Make it seven stories high. Make it ordinary, greasy.
Let it unlock childhood memories,
that drop of vanilla ice cream that…
Eat it!
So big, you have to use your elbow to squash it enough
so it fits your mouth.
Wolf down that burger because life is balance.
And what do we balance it with?
With water.
Thank you very much!
Thank you very much! Thank you!
Thank you very much!