One light. That’s all it takes. One tiny, little light, to illuminate the deep darkness that depression engulfs entire souls in. A spark, so you can better understand me, is the glimpse of hope that another human being can give you.
Amidst the sadness and hopelessness that characteristically come with depression; a tiny spark suffices to light up your world. Like candlelight magic, it allows you to better see your surroundings. Suddenly, you can see that you are not alone. Better yet, that you shouldn’t feel ashamed of being in so much pain. More often than not, this light is very compassionate and loving.
If you are going through depression, you really, really are not alone. Don’t impose shame on yourself, and do your best to share with one person whom you deeply trust. Allow someone who loves you to be your little spark of light!
Crumpled napkins are said to hold truer truths than entire novels.
Like, JK’s words before they were hard-covered.
Like, the red lipstick he wiped off before getting home.
Like, the bucket list she wrote after graduation.
Like, the binky his daughter threw after a tantrum.
Crumpled napkins hold truer truths than entire novels.
His countenance called me with a strange urgency; almost with the same urgency his legs pedaled that bike forward with one goal in mind: don’t stop. Perhaps, he was in a rush to drop off his son at daycare, just before his afternoon meeting. Maybe, he just really needed to pee.
Hoping for a hint of who he is and where he might be going, I snapped this picture on Thursday May 28, 2015 at exactly 2:47pm in Amsterdam. Unable to find answers, this is what my imagination has conjured up bout this man, based on his guise: Continue reading
Dad, what is it like to be a killer?
Let me tell you what it’s like to be your daughter.
I hate you.
And I mean it.
Depriving your own wife
of her own life.
Depriving your own children
of their mother’s love.
Depriving the world of a dazzling light.
I hate you.
And I mean it.
It took Him seven days to create the world,
and you, one, to destroy your children’s.
Your ungodly powers brought your offspring
to their knees, forced to burry their own heart.
A red rose and a handful of dirt as a goodbye.
I hate you.
And I mean it.
Your children wear sadness like stains in a table cloth.
Stains in the form of lost childhoods.
Stains in the form of unsent letters to heaven.
Disguised stains only detectible to those
keen eyes able to decipher them.
I don’t know what it’s like to be a killer,
but this is what being your daughter is like.
I love you, dad.
And I mean it.
Water can burn too. I’d encinerate my writing under cold water to make the ink bleed and dissipate into obliteration. Afterall, burning is less hazardous than judgement. Until a friend’s soft whisper said, “never burn after writing.” What resulted from those words, is this blog and a children’s novel in the making. My writing process has since evolved:
I spent the better part of my childhood practicing: Skip likes to hop. Hip, hop, hip, hop. As an ESL student, my focus was mastering these simple words and sounds. Once I mastered English, I explored all the great stories I had missed out on during my earlier years and developed a special affinity for children’s books. My favorite book is the children’s classic 1908 story of Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery.
Anne Shirley is an 11-year-old orphan who is unintentionally, but fortunately, adopted by two siblings, Marilla and Mathew. Anne is a witty, smart and chatty girl whose good intentions are often misconstrued as mischievous. The silver lining is that she often finds herself in adventurous diversions.
The story is brilliantly told from the third person omniscient point of view, allowing the reader into the characters’ introspective reflections. This writing style makes the novel great in character development, as the reader can easily understand and, therefore, relate to Anne. The author has a way with words, keeping the whimsical plot lighthearted and fun! In the line, “Dear old world,’ she murmured, ‘you are very lovely, and I am glad to be alive in you,” L.M. Montgomery uses simple language that inevitably elicits feel-good emotions. Simply put, I love Anne of Green Gables because it makes me feel good!
Un lápiz y una mano cruzaron su camino, sobre un escritorio amarillo. Como no se conocían muy bien, se observaban intensamente. Así como fríamente se calculan el color negro y el blanco en el ajedrez.
El lápiz, siendo el más firme, hizo el primer movimiento. Con mucho cuidado, se arrimo a la mano. Apenas rozó contra sus dedos, y ella saltó de miedo! Lo que el lápiz no sabía es que la mano no confiaba en sí misma. Que si no me muevo bien? Que si no me sale bien? Pues ella temía al fracaso de sus propios dedos.
El lápiz, también siendo el más intuitivo, presintió esa inseguridad. Se le volvió a arrimar a la mano, pero esta vez, con su gomita roja. Ella entendió ese gesto, y lo abrazo muy fuerte entre sus dedos. Y, sin decirse nada, se pusieron a bailar sobre la pista de líneas de un cuaderno. Con cada paso que la mano guió, el zapato del lápiz fue dejando huellas hechas de carbón.
Con cada paso, se sintió más segura de sí misma. Pues ella sabía que ahí estaba esa gomita roja, quién la protegería. No de sus errores; sino, contra su auto juicio y contra sus inseguridades.
Y lo que resultó de ese gran vals entre ese lápiz y esa mano son estas palabras, las cuales tus ojitos están leyendo.
Pepe, around the age he started doing my hair.
It was 1995 in Celaya, Mexico. I lived with my mom, three older brothers, twin sister y de vez en cuando with my dad.
With the sunrise, came routine. Mi Ama trabajaba bien y con orgullo; so, she was the first to leave the house. Next, were Carlos and Gera; they worked to help with the gastos. Which meant that my brother Pepe was left responsible for my sister and me.
We went to la escuela de la tarde. To get ready for school, Pepe used a trastecito with water, a comb, and a sliced lime cut in half. After many enigmatic twists, he managed to fasten the ponytail and tame my unruly baby hair with lime as the stylizing balm. It was no easy feat for either of us; and, more often than not, we ended mad at each other.
Fast-forward to 2011 Continue reading
Estas hojas son mis favoritas!
Mi cuaderno contiene hojas llenas de relatos cotidianos.
Mis libros, hojas llenas de cuentos de fantasía.
Más mi pasaporte, guarda hojas mágicas.
Hojas disfrazadas en estampas que ocultan
Y aunque cotidianas,
yo diría que casi de cuento de hadas!