Naked and Vulnerable

There are between 500,000 and 2,000,000 words in the English language, depending on who you ask. And yet, there is not one single word that can adequately express the profound rage I’ve been feeling for the last couple of weeks. Furious, angry, incensed, enraged, infuriated, and livid do not even come close to this emotion. This is a deep-rooted rage that begins in the tips of my toes and travels all the way to my fingertips and into the split ends in my hair. It has overtaken my entire body and, if I’m truly honest, it began growing quite slowly around fourteen years ago and has finally culminated in an intense and complicated emotional state that I’m at a total loss to describe. To say that I’m feeling “mad and sad” is a gross understatement.

I’m deeply hurt and I want to hurt the people who hurt me so badly that my teeth are in danger of breaking. I’ve (probably too frequently) mentioned having shitty neighbors in my stories. On three sides of my house, live the worst ten people I’ve ever encountered in all my travels around the world. On the fourth side, there are iguanas. They are my favorite neighbors. They’re quiet and respectful. They harm no one. They damage nothing. I love living next door to the iguanas.

The Terrible Ten take great delight is causing me harm, stress, and distress. Whether it’s throwing their cigarette packets into my plants, stealing fruit from my garden, yelling at me because they’re upset about something that has nothing to do with me, playing music at top volume in the middle of the night, tearing holes in the bamboo fences (the reason I finally built a huge brick fence), or attacking me with a machete because someone said that I said something I didn’t say and no one bothered to ask if it was true before they started swinging machetes. They’ve even beaten me up with fists and sticks outside my front gate on a few occasions. Very rarely, do I fight back when someone irrationally decides to take it out on the Mariposa Street gringa. For the most part, I’ve preferred to stay calm and keep the peace.

The Terrible Ten seems to believe they have the right to be bullies so they can feel better about their own dull and miserable lives. Their jealousy consumes them. Their latest act of soulless assholery was to destroy my entire front garden with a grader. Their poor excuse was some gaslighting bullshit that they’re rebuilding all the roads. However, a quick stroll around the village will show you that everyone else still has a front fence garden alongside their brand new road. Only mine was destroyed. The Terrible Ten hooted with glee, cheered, and laughed as the unforgiving machine ripped through twelve year old Adam's Needle (Yucca filamentosa) plants, five year old chirimoya trees fruiting for the first time, and uprooted the entire gorgeous garden of snake plant, elephant ear, and strelitzia I had just replanted after rebuilding the wall. The “street food” I showed you last week—gone. I’m done with these people. I’m done with this bullshit. I’m done with the bullying. Its time to strap on the gloves and get scrappy in the mud with these nasty bitches.

For fourteen years, my lack of response has been perceived as weakness. It’s not weakness. It’s based on one simple desire: to live in peace. The Terrible Ten will never leave me in peace. They believe they can attack at anytime and do whatever they like because they assume I have no defenses. “You need a husband to protect you,” they often laugh together after one of their mindless onslaughts and high-five each other at another “victory” over killing an innocent plant. A bunch of sniveling cowards, this pack of unruly street dogs think they have picked a soft target. They know nothing of what I’ve already endured alone up to this point and the sheer strength it took just to survive. They don’t know me. They don’t know my strength. They have no idea what they just unleashed. They don’t know I’ve been to hell and back so many times I’m qualified to take them on the tour.

Part of my home security was in that garden; tall spiky yucca plants that prevented thieves from climbing my fences. The thieves here are known addicts who stop at nothing to steal whatever they can get their hands on to sell for their next hit. I’ve spent many years and thousands of dollars securing my house against these bastards. Now, they can just leap right over the front fence to get in. I’ve been in an anxious state of hyper-vigilance for over a week. My privacy was in that garden too; tall bushy hibiscus trees covered with beautiful bright red flowers that kept prying eyes out of my open plan jungle house. That tree was planted inside the fence and they poisoned it. They took away my privacy and security with evil delight and zero consideration, and they took even more. They left me feeling naked and vulnerable. They have taken any shred of respect I ever showed them and trashed it. They have completely dissolved my resolve to not engage them in conflict. They have unleashed a ferocious beast who will bring them to their knees when they least expect it.

All those old well-worn adages didn’t work at all. “Ignore them and they’ll stop.” “Show them love and they’ll change.” “Treat them with kindness and they’ll be kind too.” “Lead by example.” “Their respect is earned.” Nope. It’s all bullshit. This is just a game to the Terrible Ten. They think it’s funny. They’re entertained by my stress and suffering. These ten cruel and ignorant philistines have been getting away with their abuses for fourteen years with zero consequences and it’s all about to come to a grinding halt. They think messing with my life is a game? Okay, mofos, let’s play! I have a plan. No, I’m not going to rip out their plants, harm their animals, or beat them up in revenge. Their only strength is in their numbers. Each of them can easily be separated from the pack. I’ve been here long enough to have spotted all their weaknesses. I know exactly what makes each one buckle. And now, I’m going to go after them individually in ways they’ve never even imagined. Game on.

“But… Peace!” I hear you call out nervously, hoping I’ll change my mind. I tried peace. I tried love. I tried respect. I tried really hard for a really long time. Nothing worked. I have always been a loner. I’ve always kept to myself and never bothered anyone. I’m the best neighbor they have and they either don’t know it or don’t care. And I have always had one simple desire in Mompiche: to live in peace. If I have to tear the Terrible Ten into minuscule shreds to force them leave me alone, then so be it. “But they’re just plants. You can replant them,” I’ve heard countless times. I know this. Of course, I’ll replant. It’s not about the plants. It’s about the decade and a half of endless cruel abuse that won’t ever be over unless I end it now.

Don’t worry, reader, I’m not going to hurt anyone or anything. Not physically anyway. I’m going to do the one thing that all abusers least expect from their victims: take back my power and keep it. Yesterday was my 59th birthday. Today is the beginning of my sixtieth year on earth. The Terrible Ten messed with the wrong cranky old bitch. This year, I will crush them into dust with six decades of experience. Let the games begin…