hudson, milagros m.

[Deleted]

full name: milagros marisa hudson nickname(s): mia, mi date of birth: june 21, 1991 (24) hometown: boston, massachusetts current city: new york city, new york education: graduate student at columbia university occupation: columnist, brand embassador, & model .................... .................... "I think you thought what you were doing was right. That you were a foreward thinker, even. I imagine that when they asked you that your face lit up and that you felt no hesitation, and if you did, they couldn't see it. Being the feminist that you are, the woman's woman that you are, maybe you didn't think we'd have a connection, that maybe women are capable of giving up their children without any remorse at all. Maybe you felt nothing for us. Maybe you felt everything you were supposed to feel and then it disappeared when we were gone. Maybe you forgot about us. Maybe you didn't. I did not forget. Everytime I burn a candle that smells of marshmallows I think that's what you might have smelled like. Everytime I see a woman with dark hair I think that it might be you. While I never met you, not really, I think that if I ever saw you I would know it. I would be absolutely certain that you were my mother. I often wonder if you've moved on to have other children, and why we were the ones that were meant for my fathers. Is it because we were born first? Is it because they asked? Is it because you saw a cute, fashionable gay couple that would never conceive and you felt bad? Deep down inside, did you know somehow that Desmond and I were a bad batch? Were we not what you wanted? Was it circumstance? Was it that there was two of us? These are the questions I ask you all the time. I pretend you're sitting in front of me. I pretend you say nothing and that I interpret your silence in a way that suits me the best, because that's the way it hurts the least. I'm a vagina in a bag of dicks, no matter how effeminate that bag of dicks might be. It would have been cool to have you around. Desmond doesn't know I know but I'm aware that he's met you. I'm torn between wanting to know you and wanting to never know you. I hate you out of spite and love you out of my inherent nature, one that I thought you would have exhibited for your children by now. I hope that we never meet. I hope that we do. I love you and I don't. xoxo, MIA. .................... .................... If you've been reading my column for long enough, you know that I hate children. I don't hate them in any malicious way, I don't wish bad things would happen to other people's kids, and of course I think babies are cute. I just know that they aren't for me. Being a woman in 2015, I shouldn't have to justify that. I shouldn't feel that I have to justify it, but I still am and I still do. Writing about this might be hard for some women. For some, it is a personal failure. For some it is an experience they are forced into. For some, it is the last chance means of survival. Abortion is different for every single woman that is pregnant. I hesitated to write about this because I know that it can be triggering and because it is deeply personal. I am not one of those women who is terribly affected by my abortion because I never had any desire to have children in the first place. I don't have maternal feelings of any kind. Even my dog is just a dog, and while I love Rob Kardashian I have never referred to him as my fur baby and I never plan on doing such. If I brought a baby into the world, it would have been well cared for. I'm not sitting on millions over here, but I make enough to support myself and another person if necessary. I didn't abort my child because I wanted more material things, because I couldn't bear to give up buying whatever I want, whenever I want. I like finery and luxury and excess but I can go without it and would give it up in place of something that was more important to me. Being a mother just wasn't. I didn't give up my unborn child because I'm single (I know, hard to believe, right?), or because the father is a guy I'm on top of off and on, or because I'm afraid that his slight drinking habit is genetic. I didn't give up my child because of a whole plethora of emotional issues and obsessive tendencies his half of the genetics might bring to the table, I didn't give up my child because I didn't want to be linked to a private detective for the next eighteen years (face it, linked for life), or because I don't love this guy (it's debatable). I gave up my child because I didn't want it. No excuses or explanation. I don't want to be a mother. And that doesn't make me a bad woman. Or any less of one.

holly, olivia, student (coding @ rae)