This Is What We Call A Tragedy

Back in the days when MySpace was the king of the internet, I used to own a Canon digital camera and take a lot of pictures in front of the mirror, like everyone else in those days. 

I was an emo girl from Mexico and with the limited resources I had, since I lived in a small town where things as basic as skinny jeans were almost impossible to get, I tried to imitate the style of the Scene Queens, Hanna Beth, Kiki Kannibal, Audrey Kitching, etc. Spoiler Alert: I never succeeded, but somehow I ended up getting my own style, something I would now call "Emo low-resources" and I say that without shame. I remember making my own Hello Kitty accessories,  sewing my black jeans so that they were narrower in the legs, etc.

The emo/scene style attracted a lot of attention, even in big cosmopolitan cities like Mexico City, but in my small town it was something really really strange, people would watch us from their cars, they would point at us or laugh at us, some old people even prayed to god whit fear. And that kind of attention was wonderful, we felt super different from the others, misunderstood but at the same time part of a great group. I think about it now and frankly it makes me laugh, most of us had no problems at home and no reason to feel sad or rejected, but when Gerard Way said: "Son, when you grow up would you be the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned?" we really thought he was talking about us.

Well, the point of this whole trip back in time was to mention that all those photos, all those low quality videos taken with some Motorla on the streets of my small town, all those memories of one of the best times of my life now only exist in the void of the internet thanks to a virus that attacked the family PC in 2009, I'm sure that me and my addiction to downloading mp3 songs from limewire were the reason. Which makes it even more frustrating because as time goes by I'm slowly forgetting every detail of my outfits, my face, even my voice and it makes me very sad to think that at some point it will all be almost a fantasy a tale of a time when I used to dream of the future while clinging to a 20gb black iPod, full of illegally downloaded songs, skinny jeans and worn out vans.