Posted in Personal Blogging


Today I’m going to change the mood of this blog by talking about something big that’s happening in Chile.

Today we’re having demonstrations all through the country to denounce and raise awareness about Gender Violence, and also we’re taking to social media to talk about the issue with the hashtag #NiUnaMenos which roughly translates to “Not a single woman less”. Now, I say roughly because I don’t think there is an exact translation, but I add that is not a single woman less because I’ve seen people translating it to “No one less” which removes the gender problematic from the issue.

Anyone who has been keeping up with the news can tell that we’re getting killed, or hurt, or raped, or sold, or so many other horrifying shit and that we’re targets because we are women.

Thus, the matter is about gender.

Don’t get me wrong, I know that there are a million things wrong in the world. I know that people are getting killed, I know that black people in the US are not safe, that children are dying everywhere. I know about Flint.

And I understand that some people really care about those other things.

I just wish they’d care about that all the time and not only when it’s convinient for them to try to shut us up.

When people change #NiUnaMenos to #NiUnoMenos (uno in Spanish can be sort of gender inclusive Male+Female, but it is also a gendered word. The “o” at the end makes it a “male word”) or #NadieMenos (nadie meaning No One), they’re not saying that we care about All People (AllLivesMatter? Sound Familiar?) but that they want us to stop talking about gender violence.

When you tell me All Lives and No One Less, you’re not telling me you truly believe everyone is important, you’re just telling me that what I’m saying makes you uncomfortable. You want to draw attention away from what I’m saying.

But people claiming All Lives and NoOne can’t hide the truth.

In Argentina one woman is killed every 30 hours.

30 hours. Just think about that for a moment.

And if you took the time to look at the different shit that’s happened in the country in the last year, you’d be horrified.

Here in Chile a woman was brutally attacked outside her house by a guy (there are suspects but no veredict yet) who beat her up and plucked her eyes out of her skull.

A 9 year old girl was killed by her step father, burnt and buried in their house’s backyard.

That. Shit. Happened.

Girls everywhere go missing all the time.

When girls get raped you know what people ask?

What were they wearing? Why were they up so late? Why had they been drinking? Why were they alone?

You know what else people say: They were asking for it.

Think about that for a moment.

Who goes out at night “to have a good time” and thinks to themselves, “you know what? tonight I’m going to dress this way because I want to get raped. I want to get molested and/or attacked. I want my body to go missing and then found on a ditch somewhere.”


However I look, whatever I do, wherever, whenever I am, I am never seeking to be killed, to be harmed, to be robbed of something no one can give me back.

We are people. We exist.

We are not your sisters, mothers, daughters, aunts, or anyone related to you in any way. We are people.

My relation to you should have nothing to do with how you respect me.

And I cannot understand how people can’t see that.

#NiUnaMenos is about us.

#NiUnaMenos because when we get raped we get attacked by people telling us we’re lying or we deserved it.

#NiUnaMenos because chances are if I go out too late I’m going to get killed.

#NiUnaMenos because women are dying in clandestine clinics because people are too high up their horse to recognize that our body is none of their business and abortion should be legal.

#NiUnaMenos because everyday I’m taught ways not to get raped while men are told that “boys will be boys”.

#NiUnaMenos because my body has more laws and policies than this entire country.

#NiUnaMenos because my sexuality is punished whenever it is not for someone else’s consumption.

#NiUnaMenos because I deserve not to live in fear. Because I exist and being a woman is not a crime.

#NiUnaMenos because transgender violence is still an issue.

#NiUnaMenos because that’s what this fight is about.

I’m tired of being nice and saying, “yes, I see what you mean about others dying, so yes we can use #NadieMenos… maybe not today?”.

I am angry, because people tore and burnt every side of me that wasn’t.

You can say whatever you want about general violence but it’s a fact that gender violence is real and that some people don’t care about girls getting hurt.

Yes, people are dying but we’re getting slaughtered while some people just sit there and watch, while the ones that should protect us take the time to observe and ask “Why were you wearing that if you didn’t want to be molested? Why were you nice to him if you didn’t want to have sex with him?”.

We are getting killed because we’re too nice, or because we say no.

And people care more about a young man’s “bright future” than the fact that something vital was ripped from our hands. That man might have lost a bright future, but we have to re-learn how to breathe and function in a world where people are told that our bodies are for their amusement.

Tell me again who’s losing a future.


Posted in Personal Blogging, Writer's Block


Well, hello, hello, hello…

So in case some of you don’t know about this, NaNoWriMo or National Novel Writing Month is a period of time, namely the entirety of November, where people get together (online) to write 50,000 words (a novel length work) and share their effort in a community.

You can read more about NaNoWrimo here.

They don’t only do NaNo in November, they also have opportunities during the year called Camp NaNoWrimo, where you can pick your own word goal.

Camps are really fun because, unlike NaNo, you get to interact with other writers you don’t have in your “buddy list” without having to use social media (ie. Twitter). In Camp, writers are sorted into cabins (if you choose to. You can refuse this option if you prefer not talking to others, that’s okay too) with people with similar word counts or topics/genres.

I have done both… that is not to say I have finished/”won” both. I am extremely unreliable when I have to pick my own goals.

So, this year, I will be participating in the new NaNoWrimo.

I still don’t know what I’m writing and tbh I joined because one of my friends is doing it and we like suffering together 😀

If any of you, hypothetical readers, is going to do NaNoWriMo this year you can let me know and I can add you to my buddy list and/or have special instances in the blog where we can all cry together about it.

Or! we can share tips, prompts, progress, etc.

That’s all for today, I hope you have a lovely day.




Posted in Personal Blogging

A Cold Like None Other

Hello everyone!

I’m back with another sort of life update? I’m still not sure how to call these other than “Personal Blogging”… En fin, we’ll think about that later.

So, I’m currently having the mother of all colds…. and it’s fucking spring!

Now, the reason why this sucks so much is because I usually get super sick during winter time and, no joke, spend from one to two months moving from a mild cold to a huge one, but not this year.


This winter I was so messed up both physically and emotionally (See Why I Quit College as reference) that I guess my body just thought, “This bitch is clearly dying right now, best if we don’t mess with her immune system any more than necessary,” so other than a sore throat and a sometimes stuffy nose I was fiiiiiine.

I didn’t get sick for the entirety of winter and I thought, “well shit. I guess this means I’m safe for the rest of the year.” Yeah, hell no.

It seems that 1) My body realized I was in a better place (hell yes for good food and less stressing times) and 2) My mom’s a witch…

Okay, she’s not an actual witch (though she truly believes in witches, spells and the power of people’s ill intentions) but I like to joke about that because: Very catholic person who gets insulted when I say it but doesn’t really mind. And the only reason I’m saying it now, is because the other day she told me to wear a cozier pajama to bed since it started fucking raining again, and I didn’t listen.

I was like, “mooooom it’s spring! I have the right to wear shorts and a tank top.”

Yeah, I didn’t factor into this conversation the fact that we have a cat and we sleep (I’m sharing a room with my sister for the time being because we “need” to repaint my room) with the window open… oh, and I’m closest to the window.

So of course I caught a cold!

And it’s the mother of all colds.

My head hurts when I breathe. What’s up with that?

So now I’m sluggish and tired as all hell because guess what? Medication is a thing that happens when you’re sick and not living away from home where you’re your own doctor and decide that medicine can suck it.

That is to say, I took like four different pills and I have no idea what they’re for.

Wish me luck.



PS: The title for this post is a private joke between my sister and I from a time where I was obsessed with a Harry Potter fic titled “A Year Like None Other” and she got And Allergy Like None Other that modern medicine still hasn’t been able to explain…. I blame witches and litre.


Posted in Poetry



You suppose you knew you weren’t okay when you couldn’t breathe.

No. That’s not it.

You knew you couldn’t breathe when you weren’t okay.

Yes. That’s it.


You remember the first time you saw him,

He was standing there looking like fire had nothing on him,

Like even the ocean couldn’t soothe away his burns.

You thought your hands would bleed if they could only touch him.


Or, you thought of all the things you couldn’t feel.

You couldn’t feel the rain and the winds in his eyes,

You had long since forgotten how pain tasted and laughter burnt.

You were used to the punches, 

You had never been anything but sharp edges and turns.


You were a lake in the middle of a forest,

as unreachable as a monster and distant as a nightmare.

You had died with all the words you could not speak,

You thought you wouldn’t touch him.


But you did.

Or rather he did.


You never knew how much you could hurt until him,

until his words and kindness and eyes caught you.

You never wanted to look away, but staring felt like a challenge.

Like he would burn you alive if you’d only give him the chance.


You knew the moment you met that he would hold your heart in his hands.

You remember how fear tasted the first time you saw him fall.

That day you also remembered disgust.

You hated yourself for the weakness he brought back.


But then he touched you and the world went away,

He touched you and it was like something was pulling you away.

You would never be the same you once were.


In his lips you found salvation, and damnation, and fear.

You’d never been more afraid than you were that day.

Because in his lips you also remembered you had to walk away.


And who were you?

Who would you be if you went away?

You weren’t the lake or the forest anymore,

The roots of nearby trees had carved a path inside your body

That no amount of saltwater could ever hope to fill.

Your lungs were two bags of empty salt,

And your heart had turned into a withered seed.


Who were you if not the monster in the lake?

Who were you if not the nightmare of the forest?

Trees could not feel and water could not see.


You would never stop feeling and seeing him as you walked away.


Who were you if not saltwatered tears and lust?


Who were you if not a shadow of the night?


Posted in Personal Blogging


Hello everyone who for some reason keeps up with these silly updates!

I just wanted to update you guys on a couple of things going on in my life.



So, I will finally stop writing on my phone and I’ve successfully recovered the rest of my Secondary Sunday stories and some other things that I’d planned on using later on for the blog.

So yay for me!

Other things: We just celebrated two birthdays on a row in my family (we’re big on parties, okay?) and even though they were kids’ birthdays, there was still enough alcohol for the grownups to ensure I have a couple of funny stories to share later on.

I know, I know. I said I’d post something about 18 de Septiembre and then I never did.

To be honest I’m not sure what happened then was even funny enough to grant a mention anymore. But, what happened this weekend will definitely go on the oversharing part of this blog.

Finally, I’ve been thinking of what content to put here, maybe not periodically or even weekly like SS but just once in a while.

We already have the poems and the oversharing and the Secondary Sundays, so I guess I kind of want to maybe add other types of stories? maybe a long story shared every once in a while, or maybe finally use the “On the Table” part of the blog.

I don’t know…. If you have any ideas, please let me know!

Well, that’s all for today! I hope you’ve had a lovely weekend/week (long weekend here in Chile because of October 12th which is this Wednesday… they gave us Monday off because they couldn’t have a holiday fall in the middle of the week).




Posted in Personal Blogging

I’m More When I Speak…

I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Ever since I read The Raven Cycle and Maggie Stiefvater added a little description about Henry that said he Was somehow less when he spoke, that he was more in thought. That his language was thought and it always felt like he was less himself whenever he spoke because he had to somehow put into words the entire universe that was himself in his head into a couple of words..  Of course that something got lost in this process. He was less of himself. He had to decide what parts to use and what parts to keep inside. He was never truly himself.

And I feel that… But I feel it in another way. I feel like I am more when I speak and less when I write.

I can speak for hours on end about anything at all.

I’m one of those annoying people who love the sound of their own voice… Though not really because my voice is annoyingly high pitched.

I’m never honest when I write. I can always regret things. Correct. Hide.

I am less of myself but more of this creature that must be perfect at all times. The creature that is reliable.

I’m not reliable.

I’m always going in ten directions at the same time and I hardly ever arrive anywhere.

I’m a mess.

So I have to make myself smaller. Easier to hear and understand. I’m always lying when I write… Because I feel like I shouldn’t be anything else.

I rmemeber one time I used my real voice to wrote and someone told me it didn’t sound like me… That I was better.

I am really, really not.

I wish I could speak for days. And I wish I could scream for even longer.

I am so much more when I think and when I speak than what I am when I write.

And I’m a writer!

I’m a verified liar and no one cares!

I was born to lie my way through things.

I wish this post hadn’t been a mess but well… I just thought I’d share this.

I’ll probably talk about this again when I have more time.




Posted in Personal Blogging

I Got Too Excited… Oops!

Checking in again!!

Hello everyone, this is your not-really-scheduled update about my life.

First of all, I still haven’t gotten my computer back from the hopefully gentle hands that are fixing it. Aaaand I have actually sort of been working? I’ve been doing odd administrative jobs for my godfather for a couple of days now.

It’s funny. Like if someone were to ask me what I studied I’d have to say English Language and Literature, and if they were to ask what I’m doing with my major…. Well, not using it that’s for sure.

But well, the things we do for money, right?

On other unrelated news, I have a high school friend (yeah, shocking I know) that has been talking to me for a while…. Mostly to ask for things like translations and help with English stuff. Now, you may have realized already that I didn’t exactly have the best experience in school and therefore keeping anyone in my life from that time it’s kind of weird.

Well, I do actually have a small group of friends from school. We are a mismatched group of people, and our experiences were radically different from each other.

I must admit that for a while I did avoid them. I was very… Keen on forgetting everything about High school once I started college. It was like a fresh start and I didn’t want to think about the past.

And I also resented them a little about.. A lot of things that in reality neither of us could control at the time.

So I didn’t keep in touch.

If they hadn’t been the first ones to reach out I’m not sure if we would’ve managed to get back in each other’s lives.

Still, we’re very different from each other. And I don’t think we really trust each other the way my small but tight group of friends now do. Mostly I think we’re holding onto this thing so we can say that there was something good about school. To replace the bad memories or just pretend they weren’t there by using this bond.

I am never honest when I’m with them. There are parts of me that get cut or censored. There are a million things I wish we could tell each other. There are so many questions that hang over us in every heavy silence… I wish I could ask them if they knew. Could they tell? Can they tell now?

Do we even know each other really?

Can they see my scars? Do they understand them? Do they have scars as well?

I don’t think we will ever be able to discuss the important things. I don’t think my tongue will ever get unstuck long enough to ask her why she didn’t say anything…. Why did she share my secrets with others… Why did she pretend not to see me cry?

Why did I pretend not to see them?

Why were we hiding from each other at the same time we his from the others? Was it ever truly necessary?

There are so many things that will never make it past our lips. We are all trying to pretend to be the same people we were before. We’re carrying corpses the same way people drag costumes behind them. We are not honest. We cannot.

So whenever a small thing comes up, a bridge we didn’t have before, we hold onto it as strongly as possible because maybe this is it. Maybe this is the part where we introduce ourselves again.

Hi, my name is laly. I’m not straight, you know? I like poems and reading diverse books. I’m in love with The Foxhole Court because it gave me a story that wasn’t about coming out. Because it proved that I could be more than my issues… That depression and pansexuality didn’t have to be the defining features in my story. I am not a cautionary tale for others.

I was bullied in school but it didn’t break me.

But she was only asking me about pretty poems she could’ve used in a discussion with someone else. She wasn’t asking me to share the jagged pieces of myself that I’ve hidden in poems and stories. She didn’t need to get to know me again because to her I’m already someone. I will always be that someone.

So when she asked me about poems and I said BRENNA TWOHY IS THE BEST THING THAT’S HAPPENED TO ME HOLY SHIT READ HER POEMS she just nodded her head and told me “yes, but something prettier. Like Shakespeare but not old”. So I pointed her in the direction of Christina Rossetti and her poems about dying. And again they were not what she was looking for. So I sent her in the direction of Persimmons without explanation… But it was too long for her.

In the end I chose to give her a piece of myself that wasn’t myself anymore. So I sent her a short poem I read in freshmen year of college and told her I’d read it in Introduction to Literary Studies. It was good but it wasn’t me.

She told me it was too late for that… And yes… It was.

But not for the reasons she believed.

Still I laughed and said “Sorry. I got too excited.” And called it a day.

I realized that the pieces I could give her were the polished pieces she thought were the only part of me. The lie I held onto before.

No one wants the jagged pieces.

But still I try every time to give them away with different names.

Sometimes it works…. Sometimes it doesn’t.

Right now, these friends… The other friends from the group, they want to get together. They want to prolong the lie so we all have to pretend again.

“Let’s go away for the weekend! Let’s party and hang out for a while… We can stay at my place.”

And it doesn’t really sound like something I want to do. Something I can do now.

Not after knowing that I have at least one side that can be honest.

In all truth I just don’t want to have to give someone plastic pieces of myself when I know I’m made of twisted silver and spotted bronze.

But well… I’ve never been good at saying no to others… Just to myself.

I’ll let you guys know more about this as it develops.