Right now I live in kind of a rural place. Fields, mountains, a lot of sky. At night it gets dark enough that you can actually see the stars, which is not something I had for a while.

My days are small on purpose. I draw, I write code, I take walks, I cook when I feel like it, I sit with my cats. That's it, honestly. People hear that and think it sounds boring, and yeah, maybe it is. But after everything, boring feels like a gift.

Simone Weil wrote that really paying attention to someone is the rarest kind of generosity. I think about that a lot when I'm just, uh, I guess, looking at things.

My mom is Venezuelan with Colombian roots. My dad is even more complex than that. I spent seven years of my life in the United States and went to school there, so I grew up switching between languages and never fully belonging to either place.

I carry small things from both. Aguapanela and chicha from my grandmother's kitchen. Autumn in the US, the cold air, the leaves, the whole thing. A telescope my mom gave me when I was a kid, back when we lived in the woods and the sky was clear enough to actually use it. I am the youngest daughter among my siblings.

My grandpa died when I was eight. My nana taught me watercolor and old music. A lot of who I am is just people I loved leaving pieces behind.

I should say this plainly, since it's part of me and I don't like hiding it. I live with severe problems. I was hospitalized, a long stay. I've been on medication for about four years now and I'm stable, which is a word that used to sound impossible and now just sounds like a Tuesday.

My memory is bad. Genuinely bad. Half the reason this site exists is that I need somewhere to put things so they stop disappearing.

Where I am now is calm, and a lot of silence, with moments of happiness in it. That's the honest version.