Respira

Tag: grief

  • New York City Through My Senses.

    Like every cheesy movie, one would think it’d be cool in New York City during late late summer. You’d imagine couples in sweaters and oversized scarfs practically engulfing their faces early September. You’d sense the coffee in the air almost tasting it in the corners of Manhattan. You’d picture red, yellow, orange, and purple leaves…

  • A job for free?

    What job would you do for free? Well, jobs aren’t done for free. Not in the world we live in. Maybe in another? My response is that I would take care of as many of the elderly as I can. We live in a world that is not patient or kind to the vulnerable population.…

  • Melancholy?

    I do not wish to say much about my brother Juan’s love story. Just that he only loved one person in his lifetime. And even though she did not love him like he did, his feelings were enough. His feelings were enough and valid and I am glad that he felt love and was able…

  • Roots

     I was born mid-autumn in a sleepy old Southern town in Mexico. My mom says I was a very quiet child. I never really cried unless my inner love of food came out. Mom said I spent days as a child just constantly looking at the stars. “Que ves mija?” (What are you looking at?)…

  • Memories

    I still remember that stomach-dropping sensation after the doctor told us my brother was probably not going to make it through the night. I was in shock and in disbelief, because “that was not my brother.” That was not him. All I heard next were the shouts and cries of my sister. My mom kept…

  • Time & Space Part 2

    Juan and I had a very cliche sibling relationship. When I would fall, he would soothe me with gentle words and pick me right back up. “It’s going to be okay Diana” he would say. He always said that for some reason. If the car broke down. It will be okay. If I lost something…

  • Time & Space Part 1

    Our old house used to have a huge backyard and all the way to the back edge of our fence we could see miles and miles of haystacks stacked next to each other. My brother Juan used to jump over that fence and play in the haystacks till dawn. Once, I decided to brave up…

  • Anxiety the Great Puppeteer

    Does what I put on here even matter? Will it matter in a few years after I’ve deviated from my current thoughts and beliefs? I am no writer, and I will probably make many mistakes throughout my storytelling, but I want to tell you something. At least attempt to. I have never been good with…

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