Frida Kahlo Week

A broken heart can still fly.

Dear Corazones,

Do you know those questions they ask beauty queens in the final round, when there are only five finalists left?

(I’m not a fan, but I’m Colombian, so I grew up cheering for Nuestra Belleza Nacional.)

The classic question is always something like:

“What historical figure would you have liked to meet?”

Most people say the Pope, some important president, Mother Teresa…

Today I would only say one thing:

Frida.
Frida.
Frida.

I’ve read and reread her quotes.
I follow her art.
I’ve read her writings.
I admire her style.

And today — especially today — when I’ve felt a little broken, I have a long list of questions for her.

Most of them would start the same way:

How did you manage to…?
Where did you find…?

The spirit.
The motivation.
The strength.
The will.

Although I have to confess...

In our imaginary meeting, besides asking her all those questions… I probably would have plucked her eyebrows.

And taken care of the mustache too.

I picture her waiting for Diego when he doesn’t show up.

(I hate him… and I hate all the Diegos I’ve run into along the way.)

And despite the pain, I imagine her putting flowers in her hair.

In my painting I added sequins,
to honor her sparkle.

I see her in bed… literally broken, telling her feet she doesn’t need them because she has wings to fly.

Even twisted in pain, Frida invented an easel so she could keep painting, keep creating while lying in bed.

And from there she touched lives, inspired people, motivated others… and made history.

Frida was unique. And surely, if we had existed in the same time and place, we probably would have disliked each other.

In the Wild West, or in the middle of a civil war, we probably would have been on opposite sides and shot at each other.

She would have won.
I would have lost.

And I would have admired her anyway.

Because every woman carries a little bit of Frida inside.

A fierce spirit.
Willing to give everything.
To lose when it must be lost.
To defend what matters for as long as we can.

And to start all over again.

I don’t want to sound dramatic, because my imaginary Frida would probably have despised this little spectacle — the same way I sometimes despise myself when I indulge in self-pity that could probably be fixed by running a couple of miles… and a long bath.

And that’s not the point.

The point is to celebrate Women’s Day — Women’s Week, Women’s Year — with the words Frida left us.

Because in the end, even when we break inside, women have a dangerous habit:

Decorating ourselves with flowers.
Writing fantastic stories.
Painting mythical figures.
Inventing wings.
Sending those who deserve it to hell
and beginning again.

For today, one of the quotes that accompanies her image:

“You’re not that big a deal, and I’m not that small.”

— Frida