Of copper women and irrefutable truths

Of copper women and irrefutable truths By naicha

Below, I watch how your eyes linger while the crowd cheers a toast to the man you love most and your dearest sister; how your hand trembles as you raise the glass, the flute clutched to your chest as you rewind the past.

The moment eldest daughters were born, we were taught this: we are the house’s breadwinners, molded to rebuke with iron fists. We were raised not to live, but to survive— to claw our way to the top so long as we stay alive.

It’s funny how he views himself as sly when his pocket is lined with dreams and dust— his charm laden with lies. From his immaculate reflection, flaws were bound to show. The moment fissures ruptured to fragments, you knew it was time to go.

Eliza, bless her heart; there she is! Suddenly, you understood: he is yours, but you will never be his.

The moment we were born, we were taught to share: our food, our bed, our love. Life as the eldest was never meant to be fair. Putting others eventually became a reflex, an art style we have perfected after decades of duty breathing down our necks.

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Of copper women and irrefutable truths By naicha

Eliza as the first priority, Peggy as the second. “But where does that leave me?” A third, defiant voice reckoned. Greed was quick to rear its ugly head; a wound was cut open, then we bled, and bled, and bled.

The moment we were born, we were taught to keep mum, to tuck our agony neatly behind the hems of our dresses, ‘til we are forced to succumb. Yet late at night, left with no one but our thoughts, the apples present themselves to our feet: dollops of rubies—tempting us to ponder which ones we would keep.

As I shine brighter while you begin to fade, Life began to reveal a secret closely guarded for decades: Women like us— of bronze, copper, and stardust— need not be vilified simply because the world failed to leave us satisfied.

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Photo by Kyle Jobe B. De Guzman