Menstruation: A Documentation of Sorts
The first day of my cycle is always a rollercoaster of emotions.
A note from the writer: I became extremely inspired to write this letter after reading ’s latest piece on one of my favorite sites: Unsupervised.
Within the post, Fusco talks about the alienation of having her period, the universal and normal experience that having a cycle is, and thoughts on the uncontrollable emotions that take place during different stages of a cycle.
I highly suggest giving it a read, then coming back and enjoying this log.
TW: vomit
The smell of bittersweet citrus and hibiscus flows through my kitchen. I peel a room-temperature grapefruit as the kettle whistles, waiting for me to acknowledge the boiling water within it. Grabbing the handle, I pour the water into a mug, saturating my tea leaves.
Cycle-inducing hibiscus tea recipe:
1 teaspoon of hibiscus petals
Sprinkle of ginger
Sprinkle of cinnamon
1 tablespoon of local honey
All day I sat waiting on my period. I counted the days on my calendar and it was supposed to be here today. All day it didn’t come.
That night I sobbed privately about nobody loving me (which is a lie) and about the death of my favorite aunt (the one that I’m named after—whom I’ve never met). Then I proceeded to walk to the bathroom and vomit up my dinner.
Tues. Feb 27, 2024
It’s not a surprise to anyone that my cycle started this morning and had to make a grand entrance. Cramps bore down on my body and the sweaty, feverish feeling settled in for a few hours. I paced the hallway trying to relieve cramps, which it did, but it also unsettled my stomach. It caused me to vomit again.
A large part of me was extremely frustrated. I did everything right. I did yoga everyday the week before my cycle. I ate foods dedicated to the Luteal stage of my cycle.
I prayed, I journaled, I cried.
The entire process was exhausting: this trying to outsmart my body. It was a necessary one and something I didn’t resent. But it. Was. Tiring.
After vomiting four times (I counted), I decided that I needed to get out of the house, go for a car ride, and get some fresh air. My mom was driving and we went to go drop off a gift to my little cousin. In order to do that, we had to pass my old elementary school.
I sat straight up as we passed it. It felt like time slowed. The school was gone. The whole thing. Gone. In its place was the start to a new, hideous, “modern” design of a school. On a normal day, I would’ve taken a picture of it and maybe wrote a short journal entry about it. But today, it was the tip of the iceberg for me.
Internally, I started sobbing. Though I guess wailing would be a better and more accurate adjective to describe what I was feeling. Externally, a few tears fell down my face.
Why did the few things I love have to be continuously be tampered with? There are new book bans every other week. The library is still consistently fighting for its right to stay in the community. Now the elementary school was gone.
I could’ve told myself that “it’s just a school” and calmed myself down. But I had no energy to lie to myself. The few years I spent at that specific school were some of my fondest, most nostalgic memories. Taking place during a time in which I didn’t keep a diary and I didn’t use my phone to its fullest potential and take photos or videos. The only proof I had of those memories — other than the memories themselves — was the building and the few photos that my grandmother printed out for my fifth grade graduation.
And now the building was gone.
The proof of the friendships I once had, field trips I went on, and memories I made at that time. Were all gone.
This led to me falling asleep in the car, waking up 20 minutes later to order a pomegranate smoothie in the drive through of a local cafe, and stopping at some random neighborhood park with my windows rolled down and my seat laid back.
I’ve been grappling with this: Life evolves. People change. Things change. We see it all the time. Rather than seeing that as a threat to my happiness, I am trying to indulge in my love for those places, people, and things. Document what I can. Live fully within the moment. And grieve the loss of it. Then find new experiences and places to spread my love.
My favorite cafe won’t be here one day. But maybe in its place will be a bakery.
All my love,
Yulani S.