Posted in Secondary Sundays

SS: For You.

I wanted to talk about you. I wanted to talk about who you are and who you were. That’s what is about to happen. Just me. Talking.

I am going to talk about you and not about me or about anyone else.

I think I, at least, owe you that.

This isn’t a story. Don’t worry there will be more.

This is a one sided conversation.

Did you like the story from before? The one after I… went too far with the lies?

I hope you did. I really tried for that one but you should know by now that I am horrible at making up stories. I am better at relaying them to you.

It’s kind of creepy, isn’t it? Me, sharing people’s private thoughts and lives?

Except for Mr. Fluffkins III, I totally made that up. I don’t even know your cat’s name! I know who you were so I think you might be a person who calls their cat something as ridiculous as that. And to be honest if I were a cat and was named to be the third of something I’d be concerned about what happened to the rest of my kin.

I know you don’t like beginnings so you always act like you’re in the middle of something. People used to hate that, remember? You were altogether too familiar and too distant.

You were always two contradicting things at the same time. I was scared I would never understand you.

And then you left, and then I left.

We both left.

Though by the time I left there wasn’t much left of what it had been.

Remember the About Me? That wasn’t about me at all.

I made that up. I mean, there is someone out there who feels all that and I borrowed their memories to talk to you like I didn’t know you, like my life and your life were completely unrelated to one another. I needed to interest you in something that you wouldn’t understand otherwise.

I remember that you too wanted to die after it all happened.

I wanted to die too. But unlike you, I didn’t forget.

I couldn’t forget.

I saw you many times after that, always with a different look in your face, and I laughed. I laughed because it’s the only thing people can do not to cry at life’s injustice.

I cannot cry because I am being observed the same way you’re being observed.

I wish Daisy had been more careful. Oh, don’t worry she is fine. She just got involved… with the wrong person.

He won’t ever call, you know that right? She knows that, but she won’t admit it.

She could move on and make things easier for the person observing you guys but she won’t. She wants her life to be just like the movies, but I’m afraid that if she doesn’t stop her constant search she’s going to end up in the wrong genre.

I’m sorry. I promised this would be about you. For you.

I guess I was able to keep the last part.

You don’t remember me. You may not even remember half the things I want to tell you.

But that’s okay. Not everyone remembers everyone in their lives.

That’d be weird.

I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help you. I’m sorry I didn’t want to help you. I’m sorry I thought this would be easier this way.

It is easier, but also complicated.

I wish things weren’t so complicated for you.

you left the fridge door open the other day. Thankfully your cat bumped into the door and closed it before the food could spoil or something bad could happen, like that time you forgot to turn the stove off.

That was a disaster.

I know you’ve been having thoughts lately.

Please stop.

Everything’s fine.

Everyone’s fine.

We are all fine.

Stop wondering about the past you cannot remember.

Just… be the way you’ve always been. Act like you are in the middle of the whole thing. Who cares about the beginning and the future when you are already busy living through a story.

Please, live through this story.


Posted in Secondary Sundays

SS: A Ghost Story.

A quick message from the author:

Hi, yeah, I know I left a note in the other SS, but I wanted to tell you that this is something I wrote during the week, two days after I wrote the first SS. That’s why I waited so long before I posted this one (and the third story) instead of posting them all together like at first I thought I should. For the full effect.

I think you will understand a little more once you read them all, oh, and also the next one will probably explain why the tone in the stories has been so strange lately.


Continue reading “SS: A Ghost Story.”

Posted in Secondary Sundays

SS: Bobby and Louise

Quick Message from the author:

Hiya! This time I did schedule this post but I hijacked it because while I was on the shower this morning I had a sort of… epiphany.

So, I’ve been pretty disappointed at myself because I totally missed the chance to share a ton of ghost/scary stories throughout the month and I had come to a decision about it… but I just thought better of it.

Basically what I was going to do was share two Secondary Sundays with you all today: The scheduled one about Bobby and Louise and another one that was supposed to be a little scary. But now I thought, why do two if I can do three, right?

So, now I’m going to share three Secondary Sundays with you: this one and two extras. One of the bonus stories will be a scary one a little less involved with the overall plot of the series and the other one is a truly bonus one that I’d thought of doing for a while but didn’t have an exact date in mind for when to do it.

So, thank you for your patience (because the three pieces will go up one after the other with an hour or so between them, so… sorry about that!) and I hope you enjoy this week’s Secondary Sunday… With a Twist.

Now back to the story.

Continue reading “SS: Bobby and Louise”

Posted in Secondary Sundays

SS: You’re not Good at Names

Hello, and welcome to an all new Secondary Sunday!

Today we’re focusing on your past… the distant one. I know we’ve said you’re not good at looking back and that things from that far back don’t affect your narrative. And we’re right about that.

This in no way affects your narrative, only your mental state which has been… troubled for the last couple of weeks.

It’s okay.

No one’s judging you.

Even if it feels like they are.

So, today’s story is brought to you by your sketchy memory… the details might be a little off and you can’t fully convince yourself that what you remember is what truly happened. But that’s life for you.

I wish I could give you more details about this story and who I’m talking about but…

You’re Not Good at Names

Before we talk about her, I think we should talk about you. Not the you from right now, but the you from the past.

You probably don’t remember much about the person you used to be, who you thought you were, who others saw, and how you truly were inside. That’s not bad, don’t worry about it. No one every truly remembers every version they have been to others and to themselves.

Losing memories is an important part of growing up, and growing apart from who you once were but closer to who you will be.

Don’t be afraid to grow up.

In fact, after we’re done remembering her it’d be best if you forgot all about the past version of yourself.

It’s not hard if you focus.

So let’s focus….



You remember that you used to live far away from where you are now. It was noisier and wetter than it’s ever been in your home. You often find yourself missing this old home of yours, but you don’t know it.

Your room was smaller than most rooms are and you were never a messy person so it smelled almost clinical, or like one of those model houses Mrs. Fierro talks about with Jung-Shin whenever you go downstairs to pick up your monthly assigned stack of mail. You believe that there must be some truth to those articles going around about smell taking the longest to leave your consciousness, because if there’s one thing you remember from back then, it’s smell.

It’s not that you’ve forgotten everything in its entirety, it’s just that some memories seem to be lost in the haze of time and work and distractions.

You still remember sounds and some relevant faces.

You remember your parents, and your siblings, you remember your dog Palmer and that your neighbor Steve had only one arm and one eye.

You don’t remember where your old house was, or what color it was painted. You only remember your old school name because it’s printed in one of the many official documents they make you sign at the start of every semester.

You remember the muffled sounds of people talking through thinned walls and the constant hum of air conditioning in a house with no air conditioning.

What you do or don’t remember is not relevant in the long run. So let’s just focus on the things we need you to remember for now.

You need to remember that you weren’t always as tall as you are now. You hair wasn’t always as dark or as light as it is now. You used to have long fingers that would grasp onto things as if they had never been taught how to, like every second they ran the risk of slipping off your hands.

You had pudgy cheeks and a single dimple that formed whenever you smiled.

You often wore large clothes that you specifically bought in one of the thrift stores near your home. You didn’t need to buy in thrift stores, your family was fairly well off and your siblings all preferred to buy more standardized clothing. But you always felt most comfortable wearing the weight of other people’s stories.

Cotton and denim were often softer after they had already lived through someone else’s life.

I think you remember thinking how similar to that worn cotton fabric you were back then.

Deep down you always felt like you had already lived too many stories to be able to inhabit a single body.

That is so silly of you. Of course you can inhabit a single body, everybody does.

But that’s not the point right now.

The point is that you remember. Are you remembering?


You were a simple creature in simple clothes walking through a complicated world.

You need to know that. Please remember that.

We’re all simple and powerless creatures in the long run.

She was a bit like you, but also a bit like everyone else. You only remember her now because you’re feeling… nostalgic.

Today you looked at Daisy for a long stretch of time while she tried to give you back a blanket she had taken from your couch the other night. She had circles under her eyes and you both opened your mouth to speak at the same time… you both fell silent at the same time.

She thought it was just like one of those awkward scenes in movies. She smiled and shook her head to herself, used to not being noticed around the building and then said goodbye to you and moved back to her apartment.

You noticed all of this, but said nothing. You were used to not notice things.

And that’s how it started. The remembering.

You remember not noticing her as she drifted through the hallways. You remember seeing her from the corner of your eye as she talked to strangers.

You remember her, sitting by herself just outside of school grounds, humming under her breath and looking for something in her bag. You almost talked to her, but something stopped you.

She looked up at you and smiled.

She smiled in the way people smile out of politeness, because they’ve been taught to do it. There was no invitation in her eyes or relaxed stance. She was merely acknowledging your presence, a simple “I see you there” and nothing else.

You nodded your head, but didn’t smile. Unlike her, you had not been taught to smile at people upon sight and you thought it was a little weird to do it.

You walked into the building not once asking yourself why she didn’t go in even after the bell rang. By then you were used to noticing and keeping quiet.

You had been taught to be silent the same way she had been taught to always smile at people.

She remembers you.

She’s far away from where she was and where she’s always been. She is not the same person she used to be but she remembers all the versions she has been. She actually enjoys looking back at how things used to be: not simpler but easier.

She’s one of those people that never forgets.

She remembers the exact shade of pastel yellow the walls in her room used to be, and the smell of brand new books filling up slightly old shelves. She also remembers the vibrations of air conditioning through plaster walls and the thumping sound of distinct footsteps in a small house.

She was never a tidy person, so the smells she remembers most are those of thick perfume, day old laundry and too strong coffee.

She remembers the name of the school she attended not because it’s important to her life now but because her brain refuses to throw away any kind of memory.

Sometimes it’s exhausting, remembering everything. She really doesn’t need to remember what the best pop was fifteen years ago or the exact lyrics to every single song her little brother used to play non-stop in his room.

She doesn’t need to remember that the Biology teacher had been having an affair with the Music teacher around the same time that Mr. Ellis discovered he had prostate cancer.

She does like remembering how a long skirt felt when it brushed against her legs as she laid on her back yard and counted ladybugs. She likes remembering how warm it was back there. It’s not warm where she is and sometimes, as she’s bundled up in a fluffy jacket, she needs to think back to the old days to feel a little better about the biting cold.

She never wore long skirts to school. You remember her wearing soft, washed out colors similar to your own attire, but hers was newer, well kept and chosen carefully in a popular store.

If you had chosen to share the reason behind your preference she would have told you that carrying that much history around would scare her. She was already carrying around all of her memories, she didn’t need someone else’s.

Of course that you never told her because you never really talked to her. But you should know that the option was there.

You two could’ve been great friends, if you had only not missed your chance.

If you had only turned to ask her about the pen she had dropped at the beginning of the lesson all those years ago, instead of asking Brock, the guy who made you stop believing in friendship, you would’ve become friends.

Like all friends you would’ve fought, and cried, and laughed, and made mistakes. In some paths, you two even date -a huge mistake that almost costs you your friendship but that you two always manage to salvage. You would’ve been one of the few things she doesn’t mind remembering all of the time, and she would’ve been the one thing you would’ve never pushed away from your mind.

But you never talked.

You were a guy wearing other people’s stories walking around a town that was too small, too complicated and too forgetful to even think of looking backwards instead of onward. She was the girl that often talked to strangers and bought second hand jewelry even though all her clothes were expensive and carefully picked.

She was always there, in the far reaches of your vision… until she wasn’t.

You don’t remember how or when or why, but at some point you stopped seeing her.

She didn’t vanish or went away. She just because background noise the same way others were.

You stopped seeing her, even though she saw you.

She saw you looking away when others bumped into her on purpose, or when someone asked her out as a joke. She saw you laughing that time she was the punchline instead of the spectator.

She resented you, but she still smiled at you when she saw you outside of school.

She looked up and there you were, looking at her like she had never really left -she never did- and she smiled, because that’s the polite thing to do. Her hands were shaking inside her backpack and her legs were numb from how long she’d been there already looking for something she already knew she didn’t have.


She needed someone to talk to her and ask if she was okay.

But no one did.

She blamed the smile, and her parents for teaching her that. And the she stopped and blamed the people who walked on by, ignoring her until it was convenient to laugh at her.

She smiled at you that day, not like an invitation because she had nothing left to ask for or offer, but an acknowledgment “You’re there and I see you, and you’re doing nothing, just like everybody else.” She dropped her eyes and you carried on your way.

You notice she didn’t follow but you didn’t question it.

She took a deep breath, clenched her cold hands inside her bag and then prepared herself to go back to the grind of school life.

She thought that if she could forget it would all be better.

She knew people were idiots to her because they could afford it, because they would forget and she wouldn’t matter to them once they all grew up and apart from who they were at that moment. She knew she would never be able to grow apart from any version of herself and that they would always matter to her.

She knew you’d forget her as soon as you set foot inside the school.

She knew she would never be granted that level of kindness.

At that age she had already understood a simple truth that you are only now beginning to grasp: The world is unforgiving and unkind, and for some it is unforgettable.

But not for you.

You will forget, you are powerless to the passing of time.

After this is over, after you’ve stopped thinking about a girl in washed out colors and a boy keen on wearing someone else’s memories you will forget all about them.

Once this story is over you will wonder about your own silliness, about the innacuracy of thinking that you are too complex to inhabit your own body.

You will stop.

And then you will move on.

You will pet Mr. Fluffkins III and knock on Daisy’s door to ask her if she wants to watch a Doctor Who marathon with you. She will politely decline but still show up right after Rose and the Doctor have first held hands, the way she always does.

You will fall asleep on the couch.

Her phone will ring and she will wake up.

You will be awake too, but your consciousness is of no relevance to Daisy’s story.

You will see her look at her phone with half-moon eyes and blink tiredly once Mr. Fluffkins III jumps into your lap asking for cuddles.

Inexplicably, you will think back to a girl you barely met and don’t quite remember anymore. You will wonder where she is and what she is doing. You will feel a shiver run down your spine as you think of cold weather and ineffective jackets.

You will smile, and all thoughts about this girl will leave your mind.

You will smile and Daisy will apologize for being over so late. She will smile at you, a question about whether it’s okay for her to stay.

You will smile and offer her the guest room.

She will smile and set her phone down.

You will smile and continue to sleep on the couch even after she’s gone.

You will smile and a nameless girl wearing a fluffy jacket far away from where you are will smile with you. She will think about warm nights and quiet evenings, and the purring of a cat.

She will smile and carry on with her life.

You will smile and forget you ever met her.

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.