A wink to Patricia Piccinini and her amazing speculative fiction
While writing the previous essay, I looked out the window, and from a hill and a second floor I had a good bird’s-eye view of plenty of houses. I had to imagine myself being the very same Eve. Looking out the window and saying, “These are all my descendants.” I felt (and still feel while I write this) a strong sense of disgust and repulsion. Something similar to, “Ew, please find yourself another mother.”
Something like, “It can’t be only me, give me a break, get out of my breast.”
I love my mom so much (and maybe that’s why I took that flight in the first place).
It helps a lot to know that she is not the only mother in the world.
I’d have to see what she thinks about this, but I’d say that I had at least three other mothers.