Last year I picked up a novel in Mexico City by a Mexican writer named Guadalupe Nettel, called The Body Where I Was Born. This piece of fiction was about the author herself as a young girl, one who was a natural born writer and who had a disability in the form of having no sight in one eye. Writing was her everything. Her escape. Her process of seeing and understanding the world. She reminded me so much of myself when I was that exact age, that reading this book made me feel like I was looking into a mirror. I was a non-stop reader and writer as a child, and I had a physical spinal disorder that brought a lot of emotional pain into my life, especially that of my self-image. I was quite grasped by the similarities between my younger self and this character, and it made me realize that I have fell out of the routine of putting down my thoughts into tangles of sentences, both sensical and nonsensical, and it has left a part of me feeling unfulfilled.
Getting into the work of Nettel, I went on to finish a book of short stories by her called Bezoar: And Other Unsettling Stories, and her most recent novel called Still Born. I felt so connected with her writing, the topics of choice, and the rhythm of her ways of pulling me into both familiar and unfamiliar worlds in a way that felt rare. All of a sudden I felt this determination inside of me pushing me to get back to my roots sooner than later. I finished Still Born feeling nostalgic, inspired, curious and motivated to bring some density back to a part of my creative life that was starting to feel lacking. The part of me that finds comfort in the structure of words, but also in the hidden worlds between them.
So I thought to myself, maybe I need to push myself harder to be more consistent with my writing, not for others, but purely for myself. I never considered myself a true writer, even though it was always my strong point in school and I have always been nudged to do more with it. I mostly liked it because I enjoyed being alone with words in my head as opposed to speaking them aloud in class. Now that I think about it, I’ve been writing since elementary school. It started with making up stories with my fellow classmates as characters that I passed around class and let my friends read and add to. I kept a diary all throughout my junior high and high school years which had many comedic moments documented. As I got more into fashion, I started as a freelance writer for TheFashionSpot.com and I churned out articles as if my life depended on it each week. Yes, I wanted to make money writing about fashion, but a big part of why I was so good at it was because I had a lot of fun webbing words together into phrases and painting a beautiful picture with it, even if it was just to describe something as simple 5 ways to style a t-shirt. During my last year of college, I started my Blogspot page that was purely fashion-focused, and that eventually gave way to diary-like inserts that were actually more like mini therapy sessions for myself. When I moved east coast in 2011 I was a copywriter for a fashion brand and I laugh today about how even tag lines for email blasts became a form of expression for me. And then Instagram came about, where image became the main focus, but whenever inspiration struck, my feelings came out in the form of a long-winded captions giving insight into myself that one would maybe never know about me if they only looked at my photos.
And then gradually, in these past few years, I started writing less and less, and I allowed my need to connect through words to become swallowed by social media’s standards of what is and what is not relevant. And I feel okay about this. Life happens. I’m human and far from perfect, and sometimes I just need that extra time to really understand why I wanted to get back to doing this in the first place, why I got sidetracked, and how I can adjust some things in my life to make room for a much loved hobby from the not so far distant past.
Anyways, it just feels nice to be here, writing without a set purpose in mind except to feel good, to feel relief, to feel nostalgic, to feel excited about creating again, to feel like I’m not forgetting to breathe and to feel connected with souls like you all. And hopefully this new routine can help me navigate some parts of my life that sometimes I feel like my job as a content creator doesn’t leave me much time for. And in turn, I hope I can at least in some ways help others who happen to stumble here find a place where they can form a connection or take something away positively. There are many of you guys who have followed me since the beginning, who remind me that my words and thoughts have left a profound impact on them. And this drives my sense of community.
This past year, for me personally, has already been quite a soul searching one, especially as I am nearing a place in my life where some life changing decisions are bound to be decided upon sooner than later. As I get closer and closer to that late-30’s adulthood, to that place of kind of starting to think about family and motherhood, and thinking about where home will be for Gabi (my husband) and I will be in the next few years as I have already surpassed my 10 years in NYC mark. I’ve always been the type to never rush into things, but at the same time have always been open to change and new experiences without too much fear holding me back. At the same time, there are things about growing up that scare me. I’ve always wanted to do things on my own terms, without the validation of others. I’ve never wanted my life at this stage of my life to be decided by anyone other than myself. This is all something worth writing about and sharing.
Maybe this page here, aside from fashion and all those fun loving musings that come and go so easily on the fleeting landscape of Instagram, there will be room for a place where some of these ideas, on my own terms, can be explored and discussed. This post is dedicated to a hopeful 2024. May this year be as soul serving and thought provoking as it can be. And to be honest, if it’s not, then that is completely okay, too. Let’s just talk about it.