Since I was five yearls my dad used to tell me the following every birthday, “the magic will come”. I am not sure what he meant when he said that, but five to twenty minutes after a beautiful unique gift will appear. One time there was a unicorn lion with wheels as bag legs, another time there was a monkey bird with reptile skin, and then my favorite a fuit fish with the body of an orange, gills, and fins that had a birthday hat on. And every year, until he passed I used to wish this sort of blessing, never anything different, just the same phrase over and over and then picture my fruit fish with hat toy.

Today is my 28th birthday, its been so many years since he is gone. And still today, one of my friends got me a birthday cake, and instead of silently reciting my little prayer in my head, I said it outloud. Closing my eyes, and them opening them to see my group if three friends staring back a me with a sweet smile. Its a fine thing to have friends who look at you with love. I remember a similar look in my dad’s face. Its like time wants to pass by but everyday I remember you. Mom called me today too, and I told her about the incident with the birthday candle. Only to hear her giggle at me, and then she surprised me. You know what she said dad? That it was her that told you that when you guys first met, but why does that seem even more painful now? How come I have never asked you really what this meant?

A wonderful part of being human is understanding that a part of life is to forget as time passes, but somehow I am still stuck on my birthday being the happiest time of my life. That birthday with you. The day I truly did believe in magic, because at the other side of my eyes, when I opened them, it was you there. I sometimes feel that I am overly emotional, that I keep on sharing too much, maybe that I still have to regulate my feeling, and not be so damn scared of them, not let my thoughts drown me. But how can I not be like this when my life has been magical… because of you. I am so gratefuk to be surrounded with amazing people, but I still want to go home and see you. That I still feel bad that there is something wrong with me not being able to forget your love, the magic you brought. That I can’t properly go into mom’s house, your house, our house, because I can’t comprehend you don’t exist anymore.

And then looking back at the pictures I realize, there was never a you dad. Its always been me and mom.

My novel is about two women, who are part of the same family but different generations. They “find each other” through writing. Lourdes is the main character, she is a 40 year old woman who is about to start going through a divorce. She has always felt very close to her grandma who died years before, and therefore decides to keep boxes of her stuff. One day after a big fight with her husband Otto, Lourdes goes to the attic to cry when she finds two boxes of journals belonging to “Loli” or Eloisa, her grandmother’s older sister. Lourdes starts reading Eloisa’s journals and feels a strong connection with her. Eloisa, also a strong woman, narrates different parts of her life all surrounding her love story with Alonso. As the book progresses, Lourdes finds herself again and saves her marriage by reading and gaining support from her long distance relative.

Then, right there, in front of me, he totally folds and falls. The big muscular guy who I thought was absolutely perfect and invincible takes off the masks he carried and the long cape protecting him, and he looks at me.

-Its just me Vicky, just me

I gasp in shock, tears overwhelming my eyes and I run to him. It must be the adrenaline and the shock, I cannot speak. I feel flustered and I can only think of trying to recognize his eyes. And then…

-STOP! Let’s do it again, from the beginning.

The voice of the director interrumpts me mid-sentence. I brush off the tears from my eyes, my colleague Ben, playing the muscular superhero, gets up walks towards his water and puts the mask on again. I don’t know why the director’s voice bothers me so much. Its like he has a cigarette stuck on his nose, and the “stop” feels like an unexpected fire alarm that completely takes me out of the scene. I work hard for this you know? Ugh. Only if he wasn’t so damn hot would I say something, maybe even quit. I swear this man has to be a 70 year old dude trapped in this toned, perfectly shaved, elegant theater director. He is such a perfectionist that puts my color-coded, weekly planner to shame. Plus, I am good you know? I am! Like really good, like top of my class, straight As, award winning good. And what does he say “stop” ugh.

-Sabrina? SABRINA? Hello?

I quickly, come back to reality, looking at him directly.

-Are you going to gives us the pleasure of watching you interpret that scene again? Or would you like us to wait some more?

I roll my eyes, turn around quickly, shake my arms and do a quick little jump as I get to my place. I start blinking multiple times, put some drops and get into character. I see Ben in his place, he smiles at me signaling he is ready. Here I go again.

-Its just me Vicky, just me. I run to his arms, holding back my tears, completely overwhelmed by shock and adrenaline. And say

-How I stutter -How can this be? You have been protecting me this whole time? -Yes, Vicky. How can you not know? I care for you

And then I throw myself into Ben’s arms crying, looking at his eyes, closing them to finish with a…

-STOP! -says the director

-Come on! - I say - Are you serious dude? -Dude? -he says

I caught him off guard, he clearly was not expecting me to reply back. In fact, I don’t know how I did. Dude? What is wrong with me. It takes him a second to regain his composure.

-Sabrina, my office.

“He adjusted the wire to sit comfortably on his chest. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he prepared to infiltrate the gang he’d been following for years …and then he saw her.” Clara drops the book on her coffee table and runs quickly to get her vibrator. Her bear legs, now uncovered by the blanket laying on the sofa, feel the cold chill of the night. She just sat down a couple of minutes ago and now she realized she can’t read her novel without her vibrator. She had to use her only peaceful night while her party-girl roommate was out.

It was the best plan ever, she thought to herself. Tucked in her short pijamas underneath a furry blanket with a cup of tea reading her naughty book. As she was coming back she hit her toe in the corner of the coffee table, cursed at it and jumped in the couch grabbing her book swiftly with her free hand.

She continued. “It was the girl he had seen in the bar last week, the one with the sexy arm tattoo and the long semi curly hair. Milena. That was her name. What was she doing there? He thought, could it be possible she was a wolfclaw member too?.

As he continued walking, he regained his confidence and pretended not to picture the sexy lingerie he took off her curves a couple of nights before. She was hungry and mad, not ar him but at something. Life maybe.”

Falling feels like flying until the moment that you land Landing is what my mom said it was the warning sign Sign is just a brief tale of what is to come Come to me she said because i want to hold you You are my world and you can be afraid Afraid is what i am when i am learning how to fly Flying is so difficult to understand Understand the difference between falling and being graceful Graceful is knowing you will never make a mistake Mistake is when no growth ever happens Happening all day around us people not trying Trying is not enough without falling

Falling feels like flying until the moment that you land Land is so nice and safe, nothing ever changes Change is scary and uncertain when life is on the line Lines is what society has given me to “help” me understand myself Myself is the only thing i got at the end End is never certain, because life has always new beginnings Beginnings are cyclical and hard to point at At the door of fear there is always an edge Edge is being able to see on the bottom not realizing there is no limit above Above is where we should aim at so we dont fall

Falling feels like flying until you realize that you are flying

There is no such thing as leaving someone you love. Its not like you picked something over them or like you stopped loving them. Its more like it hurts too much, definitely more to love them, than not to love them. And then its time to go.

Let me tell you my story, years ago i found my true love. It was an unexpected evening, i had no idea that this day in particular, that this evening to remember was going to be the moment to fall in love. Previous days, i was reading a quote that said the “you shouldnt want to find love and chace it, instead you must become love”. I truly belive that and with thr tranquility that only good measures and self-love can provide, i was blindly walking towards him. At the moment when we met, there were other handsome men around, but i remember very distinctly knowing that i chose him. The one with thr glasses, the curly brownish red hair. I knew there was something about him. And after talking the entire night, i couldn’t stop loving him. When love comes to you, you follow it. And i did, oh i really did.

Like any couple we had our ups and downs, hut understanding each other’s depthnes because our mastery. There was so much to tell to the person who you were waiting your entore life. Is like catching up a long time friend, something so thrilling that it does not care about the mere minutes passing by. Our love is measured in centuries. Centuries of people who have loved in the past, honoring the stories of others with our touch. Honoring beauty and all that makes art beautiful -yes, the most powerful force of the world.

And there was me. Years later, changing her all life upside down to accomodate to a love that represents to me the closest thing to magic. Thinking to myself, comparing myself to the biggest feminist philosophers, and picturing them mocking me for even contemplating smiling to a man i love. Filled with fears driven by phrases such as “you need to pur yourself first”, “make sure you are not sacrificing everything”, “marriage is the biggest decision you’ll ever make”. And i, i go and say FUCK OFF. Fuck off because you dont know what the love i am feeling feels like. Fuck off because you don’t understand that i live for this love. Fuck off because i am not dumb and dont treat me like i am. I am not sacrificing “too much”, what does that even mean? I am not wanting to cancel myself completely, becaue I know the day i dont have my own back and love myself i cannot be the best person i can, and therefore the partner I want to be for him. Fuck off brain, because yes, I CANT PLAN FOR EVERY HORRIBLE SCENARIO YOU CAN COME UP WITH. And fuck off the evening that i met him, because if i had known how hard it is to love somebody, i would have never experienced it.

But thank you, because all worries means there is care love and something important there.

She knew how to win. She always did. She knew that those final words, were that, final. And the moment she let herself express them she knew exactly how it would end. It was almost a routine. The routine that ended with her not feeling enough; not stopping her from saying more, not being able to contain her damn emotions. And this pissed her off. So she went, walking in the street, taking her joirnal with her, breaking his heart in pieces, and in the process hating herself. How can she be so dumb? She would say to herself, but she was not dumb. She knew exactly what she said, how she said it, and now she is walking at a fast pace, now 3 blocks away from his house. Its been 15 minutes, of course its raining and of course there is a happy couple under an umbrella dancing in love in the rain. A fucking movie. A fucking movie is what she felt before. A damn movie. But 20 minutes ago it was less than dreamy. It was her walking, completely soaked, thinking she would go back for just one more minute. And then 25 minutes before that, she was completely blinded by rage that it was hard to keep a pace that didnt lead to her hiperventilating. It was now the third time this discussion happned, and as she remembered her night, she could not comprehend why it was so hard for him to understand her. Were they too different? Were they not meant to be together? Was this effort totally useless? That was the tiping point, the last questions she asked before he replied with a tired and frustrated “maybe”. And 35 minutes ago she pondered that “maybe”, glanced at thr door, that always was so conviently close. And that was the end. What once was her greatest love story, it was not anymore. It was just her now former life. One she thought would never end. But 50 minutes ago, she knew either way.

No sabiamos como pero volamos. Hpy volamos, despues de unos momentos de indecision y decisiones dificiles, volamos. Un día, creímos en un sueño pero hoy volamos. Volamos a nuestros sueños y a estar juntos. Volamos a querenos. Volamos a confiar en nosotros mismo. Volamos a vivir por nuestras vidas, por el futuro determinado por nosotros. Volamos a querernos. A ver que nos trae la vida. Juntos a nosotros.

En esos momentos ella tenia demasiado miedo. No estaba segura de como sucedio pero habia terminado en un bosque oscuro. La mente a veces despues de un trauma se protege a si misma y deja que las cosas se olviden. Cuando los suceso pasan tan rapido e inesperados que se pierde la habilidad de respirar profundo. Entonces fue ahi unos instantes despues de ese momento que ella estaba sentada con la espalda en el espejo.

Al abrir los ojos de nuevo sentia que la había cambiado fundamentalmente para ella. Y cuando tuvo la valientia para verse a sí misma de nuevo en el espejo y terminar de esconder los ultimos recuerdos de la persona que creía haber visto lo vio de nuevo. Ahí, frente a ella. La mujer del espejo, la que espera. Que espera hasta despues de la muerte para atraparla. Paralizada, contuvo su respiración, para tratar de forzar sus ojos cerrados. Teniendo la oportunidad oara quitar sus manos de encima del espejo y correr. Seguro ella estaba atrapada ahí, no podría seguirla. Seguro que sí, trató de convencerse. Así que movio su cara hacia un lado despacio, y después hacia el otro. Al darse cuenta que la figura, la mujer del espejo, seguía sus movimientos se dió cuenta que era ella. ¿Cómo podría serlo? ¿Cómo sería posible?

Entonces muerta del miedo decidió peliar con su mente, coger a la mujer del espejo y golpearla, agarrarla por el cuello, dejarla caer al piso. Fue inútil… Cada vez que ella peleaba la mujer del espejo crecía más fuerte. Sus palabras eran más asustadoras, sus movimientos más fuertes, y su risa le cortaba más profundo su piel. ¿Cómo podría ella ser la misma? Pero, la mujer del espejo era tan convincente que ella le creía todo lo que decía. Le repetía con burla los errores que había comerido, se encendía con furia al recontar lo que había dicho antes, lo boba que había sido, y cuando lo había intentado y no lo había logrado. Usaba frases con falta de amor, frases que describían sus inseguridades, y ella solo podía seguirse sorprendo de cómo había llegado aquí. ¿Cómo era posible que esta mujer, ya un monstruo, supiera todo de ella?

Entonces la mujer del espejo salió del espejo y fue con furia creciendo en su risa, soltando un humo negro que empezaba a cubrir todo el espacio. El bosque, antes un lugar encantado, se marchitó y la luciernagas se escondieron. Y ella, aún más aterrorizada, tirada en el piso, escondió sus ojos con sus brazos, queriendo desaparecer. Este monstruo al verla tan destruida se abalanzó hacia ella y con rapidez la consumió, destrozandola con sus garras.

Y ahí. Detrás de las sombras. Cortada por el miedo. Hecha pedazos. Notó entre las plantas del bosque que una pequeña flor respandecía en la oscuridad de la noche, absorbiendo el último rayo de luz que había en el espacio. Valiente, pensó ella. Como yo, respondió algo dentro de ella. Y se acordó de su nombre, Valentina. Valiente… Entonces miro los pedazos de su cuerpo por todas partes y enfocó toda su fuerza a traerlos a ella. Cada pedazo, con un amor infinito se iba uniendo, llenándola de más fuerza. Cada vez que uno se unía, ella recordaba algo que amaba y admiraba de sí misma y esto le daba más fuerza para atraer al otro. Y así se reconstruyó. Se vio entera. Entera después del miedo. Se paró, hizo con el aire una ráfaga de abrazo, de esas que llegan cuando alguien que te ama las manda en la distancia. Este cayó en cuenta ella wue fue mandado por ella misma, del futuro. Entonces, en vuelta en ese abrazo, salió volando con el aire, llevada cargada como pluma. Y así fue como viajó y supero al miedo. Se dió cuenta que al otro lado del miedo, estaba ella y su habilidad de controlar el viento. Entonces, recargada de amor, reclamo el poder que tenía y ahora es ella la mujer que se encarga de mandar impulsos de viento a los soñadores que crean y creen.