He gave me my voice back.

For a loud and rowdy girl like me, I can be awfully silent. I'm not talking about the stewing, awkward dead air in between conversations. I'm not talking about the unspeaking, deafening, is-she-okay kind of noiselessness of someone in the backseat during a long night drive. The silence I'm talking about is the kind that kills a part of my spirit every time I choose to succumb to it; the kind that makes me lose myself in the process, the kind that shuts me up in a way that torments my insides.

The idea of Cool Girl is both subtly and aggressively shoved down our throats.

You shouldn’t have said that, that's humiliating for him!
Laugh at his jokes, even if they're not funny. Guys like women who laugh at their jokes.
That’s okay, he just did that 'cause he likes you.

I'm sure you know Cool Girl. I'm pretty certain you'll remember her once I describe her to you, in the concise, exact, and poignant words of Gillian Flynn:

“Men always say that as the defining compliment, don’t they? She’s a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and anal sex, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she’s hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang bang while somehow maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding. Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl. Men actually think this girl exists. Maybe they’re fooled because so many women are willing to pretend to be this girl. For a long time Cool Girl offended me. I used to see men – friends, coworkers, strangers – giddy over these awful pretender women, and I’d want to sit these men down and calmly say: You are not dating a woman, you are dating a woman who has watched too many movies written by socially awkward men who’d like to believe that this kind of woman exists and might kiss them. I’d want to grab the poor guy by his lapels or messenger bag and say: The bitch doesn’t really love chili dogs that much – no one loves chili dogs that much! And the Cool Girls are even more pathetic: They’re not even pretending to be the woman they want to be, they’re pretending to be the woman a man wants them to be. Oh, and if you’re not a Cool Girl, I beg you not to believe that your man doesn’t want the Cool Girl. It may be a slightly different version – maybe he’s a vegetarian, so Cool Girl loves seitan and is great with dogs; or maybe he’s a hipster artist, so Cool Girl is a tattooed, bespectacled nerd who loves comics. There are variations to the window dressing, but believe me, he wants Cool Girl, who is basically the girl who likes every fucking thing he likes and doesn’t ever complain. How do you know you’re not Cool Girl? Because he says things like: ‘I like strong women.’ If he says that to you, he will, at some point, fuck someone else. Because ‘I like strong women’ is code for ‘I hate strong women.’”

Do you remember her now? It’s okay to say yes, because honestly, I do.

She’s this annoyingly, desperately insecure, self-doubting girl in me, a second persona if you may. Think Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and the stark, contrasting characteristics between the two. If Danah is the strong, outspoken, won’t-take-shit-from-a man type of woman, then Cool Girl is the complete, polar opposite. She's the voice who tells me to laugh even if I don’t want to, simply because she doesn’t want his interest towards me cut off. She’s the girl who chooses to faintly pout at a disgusting, derogatory, and distasteful remark, instead of snarly calling him out and walking off. She doesn’t want him thinking she’s a stuck up prude. She’s the girl who puts his needs and wants first no matter how exhausted she is, because she’s afraid to lose his attention, regardless of her knowledge of how elusive it is.

I don’t even know how I got to have Cool Girl living with me. I don’t even know how we became friends, because frankly, I don’t like her. She’s a phoney; a pretentious, it's-okay-step-on-me man-pleaser who doesn’t acknowledge the infinite vastness of her value and worth. Maybe Cool Girl is the sum of the collection of all the countless bad advice and suggestions I got from women who believed that Cool Girl is a champion, simply because she got the man she desired; not the man necessarily good for her, but maybe just the man who she thought is. Cool Girl is delusional. She is out of touch with reality and lives in a fantasy that is killing her slowly. She is a candle that burns herself to light up another’s life. It sounds like a beautiful metaphor, but underneath its profoundness is a dangerous and murderous dogma.

What you put up with is what you end up with. What you keep feeding will eventually grow bigger. The more I gave in to the shushing reprimands of Cool Girl, the softer my voice became. And the softer my voice became, when I finally began speaking in whispers, the more I died inside. My lush spirit became this barren, dry land—a desert with minimal life. I was bound to seek for water, because my throat is parched and my thirst has intensified.

Even before I reached halfway through my journey as I sought for water, God stretches out His hand with a cupful. Not only does he make me drink from His cup, He takes me to His fountain where the supply is an overflow. Being the Father of generous providence, He knows exactly when to meet my needs, and He only required me to start seeking, to start asking (Matthew 7:7).

In John 4:13-18, Jesus tells the thirsty woman from Samaria, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I will not be thirsty or have to come here to draw water.” Jesus said to her, “Go, call your husband, and come here.” The woman answered him, “I have no husband.” Jesus said to her, “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband’; for you have had five husbands, and the one you now have is not your husband. What you have said is true.”

I’m sure the woman from Samaria had Cool Girl in her. I’m sure she was shocked at the all-knowing revelation Jesus pointed out to her (especially since it's her first time encountering the Son of God), but at the same time comforted that someone can see right through her and still embrace her as she is. I'm sure she felt both relieved and scared when Jesus called her to go to her "husband", because He knows the truth about her and she no longer had to hide under the constricting lie that her value is found in a man. That’s the glory of Jesus. He knows the hefty weight of the baggage we sometimes choose to carry, and He wants us to loosen our grips to drop them. He wants us to find rest and comfort and quenching in Him.

As for me, He didn’t just satiate my emotional and spiritual dehydration; He also soothed my arid, dried up, and aching throat. He gave me my voice back. The small, soft voice is slowly increasing in volume as the booming sound of Truth, authenticity, and honesty; the voice I missed using, the voice that was once mine. Even in my writing, He gave me my voice back.

As I enjoy the gift of sound that is coming out of my soul’s mouth, I am owning my story, and I will let it be heard. I will use my voice to prod and encourage women to reclaim theirs. I will talk when necessary and will no longer allow Cool Girl to silence me. It’s my turn to shut her up. I will hush her down with the courage to bang on my heart’s drum in the middle of the quiet and put her in her place. I’m done with her. I’m done being the Cool Girl. So what if he stops liking me? What matters is He likes me; that I LIKE ME.

For now, I will continue to speak in Truth, in Love, and in Grace, even if my voice cracks and shakes. Besides, after all those years of being shushed, having a voice will take some getting used to, and I don't think I'll stop talking anytime soon.




Tama na tayo sa pacool ate girl,
—D

(photos' credits rightfully belong to owners, all images aren't mine)