I was born curious, my mom read to me a lot when I was in her belly and she asked me for fashion advice, that’s why I was born with a passion for fashion and practically reading. After that I became a nerd, one of my first memories is my kindergarden teacher praising me for saying ‘sharpener’ in my english class. In the same day a little girl broke my arm with the bathroom door, I don’t even remember her name now, I just remember she was crying out of guilt and I wanted her to cry more.
In elementary school, mi ears and my hunger to learn grew more than me, maybe you didn’t know me back then but you know the archetype- scrawny, thick glasses, and footballs hitting my face during playtime. The kid sitting in the second row who knew all the answers and got straight A’s but what too shy to sit on the first row. I remember three things from elementary school: great teachers, good grades and some girls ducking to see my socks but they were mocking my leg hairs.
In middle school, my boobs grew bigger than my street-smarts and before I realized I was getting those imposible to hide faces from my pre pubescent schoolmates, with one of them jacking off next to me in computer class. There were also unfortunate circumstances, my city became the most dangerous in the world, people hanging from bridges on the way to school, my mom asking us to play ‘close your eyes’. It was impossible to hide when me and my sister went to the park and there was a dead man laying next to the tree. After that, my life became a bubble, we changed schools and houses, both for the better. My dad started having more money, which translated into cars, quinceañeras, One Direction tickets and many many privileges. While my city was burning, my family started to tear apart and I started puking everything I ate.
I decided to take a break, in spite of the money, there was always someone who had more, in spite of me starting to get pretty, there was always someone prettier.In spite of everything, I still felt like a social pariah. Like Eat, Pray, Love I ended up in India as a 16-year-old tadpole for a sabbatical, it was the best decision that I could have taken, even if now it seems completely irrational. This insanity led to good things, India is an undeniably beautiful and intricate country and incredibly hard to adapt to. I learned who I am outside of my social context, I became more cultured and also more street-smart. I jumped off a train and was drugged at a restaurant, but that’s another story for another beer.
Coming back from India, allegedly zen and without seeing my family or friends for a whole year, I decided to move to Mexico City for college, I don’t regret it, despite that city spitting on my face every chance it got. I did my best to stay there, but even a month after I moved there, an earthquake kicked me out, I was going home and coming back each time more exhausted and hopeless and anxious.
It did had its nice moments too, I had good friends, none of them who I speak with nowadays, I had good dates but overall, that city is not a good memory. I am terrified about how much I tried to stay, how gargantuan that city is, and the ghosts I left there. It was ugly, the eras of my life I had, I hated them, every decision I took was made out of fear and not conscience.
I came home with a broken heart and shattered dreams, so I traveled myself back to health and get to know myself again, go to my favorite beaches and places, make new friends and reconnect with others. Once I rediscovered that happinness within myself I never let it go, I began an introspective process harder than anything I’ve ever done in India.
One more time, my life changed, I don’t have family wounds, but I do have a boyfriend who loves me and a dog that follows me around everywhere, I lost my job where I was nothing more of an ink cartridge,I wrote without talking. I didn’t like it. Now I am doing the same, but I do like it. Oh well, I am here now, writing, living and moving forward, waiting to see what the next few paragraphs of my life I’m supposed to write now.
