Fourteen

Nearly eight years ago I made one of the biggest decisions of my life. One of my best friends, Emily, and I sat near the edge of a table at lunch in school. It was my second or third week of high school and Emily and I were just starting our blossoming friendship. Yet, even as young and naive as we were back then we knew the strength of our decision.

London.

It seemed so far away back then. As though it were some far off dream that would never become a reality. A sort of torture that would never end. As though I had insomnia and all that stopped me from achieving my dream was sleep. Despite knowing that I wanted to be a writer, I had no clue as to how to start the process of getting myself to London. How would I get there? For school? For work? For a person?

It never seemed to matter how, the only thing that I truly cared about back then was reaching this place. A place I’d fantasied about since I was so small.

The dreary skies. The large puddles. Umbrellas galore. Not to mention the birth place of Harry Potter. (Seriously J.K. Rowling is goals as fuck).

At fourteen, what seemed so far away, always felt as though it would stay far away. As I grew up I noticed that the dream seemed stagnant. Always too far out of reach. I was young, disheartened that high school held me back from where I wanted to be. Disappointed by my terrible test taking skills and how I would never be able to achieve anything near my dreams.

Then, I took a creative writing course with Professor Enzu Castellano. It would be extremely cliche of me to say a single professor changed my entire outlook on life but it would also be a lie if I didn’t. I remember his class rather vividly, long talks regarding many fictitious happenings. Mostly importantly I remember the last time I saw Enzu as my professor, the day he returned to me my portfolio. He told me I had talent I should pursue but that was nothing new.

Until he asked, “you’re a junior right? Got any plans for grad school?”

The look I gave him caused him to chuckle softly, and now I understand why. A year and a half ago when I took his class I knew very well I would not go to grad school. How could I? The GRE was practically a necessity and I seriously don’t test well. When I relaid my worried thoughts to him, he explained that for Creative Writing most schools didn’t require a GRE score. He handed me the portfolio and said, “consider it. I know you would enjoy grad school greatly.” Just like that he sent me on my merry way, with a mind full of what ifs and a heart weary of failure.

That night I went home and thought long about his words. Then I thought about my dreams and what I hoped to achieve in life.

London.

Quick as a rabbit, I googled universities in the UK, opened ever so slightly at options outside of my dream city. I clicked on 6 random schools, including the one that I am going to be attending in the fall. It was when I saw Kingston University’s page and their Creative Writing MFA program that I knew everything I’d ever hoped for was possible. It was within my grasp, within my sight. I could see it, feel it as I scrolled through page and page of the schools program.

I was determined. My goal set. This was it. I could do this, and while I wish I could say this was the moment that propelled me to grad school, it wasn’t.

It was the moment I told my soulmate and other best friend, Montese. The moment I sat her down, and I told her directly of what I was planning (after months and months of hiding it from her). I was terrified she wouldn’t like the plan, wouldn’t want me to leave her and honestly if she’d asked me to stay in that moment I would have. Without another thought. Without another word.

But she didn’t.

She smiled and told me how proud she was of me, and how exciting it would be that I was moving forward with my life, moving into a brand new chapter unafraid and relentless. Then she told me she’d joined me, eventually, and I swear I’d never felt happier than I was in that moment. Leaving her behind in Miami was undoubtedly the hardest thing I’d ever had to do (it trumped the Calc AP test that wrecked me senior year), but knowing that it’s temporary keeps me stronger than I could ever describe. It’s her voice that drives me, and her soul that fills mine. I couldn’t have written a trilogy without her pushing me to finish it. Couldn’t have rambled on for hours about characters without her listening. Couldn’t have given her eternal heartbreak for having to kill her favorite character. Couldn’t be half the person that I am today without her. Wouldn’t be taking this step if she didn’t support me.

My grad school journey has been far too long already, with school not even starting for another month and a half. From always telling myself I could never amount to grad school, that I wasn’t smart enough or good enough, to actually be going, well it’s quite a shock to that fourteen year old I used to be. In a way, this is a letter to that little girl, who dreamed so large but hoped so small in case it all came crashing down.

Well I have news for you, it didn’t come crashing down.

You did it, ya high school freshman, you’re actually going to grad school and more importantly you’re gonna be living in London. You were so hard on yourself back then, tried hard to keep yourself protected by holding back. Not anymore. You did it, Ale, you pushed and were pushed and you fucking did it.

No one can take this away from you.

The First

August! August! August!

Woah. Honestly I’m still in shock that this month has finally gotten here. I’m finally moving. I’m finally taking a step in the right direction. Or what I hope is something close in the right direction.

I can’t help but feel entirely bittersweet that this month has finally come. As packing came to a close and I realize that the only thing I have left is myself and a few tshirts, it’s come to dawn on me. I’m moving this week. Moving across the pond. Across the world from friends I’d made, and relationships I’ve built. (Seriously they’re the best! They got me the pen below and gave me the coolest Darth Vader card! In Spanish!!). I’ve come to realize that moving of my own accord is the hardest part about moving. Plus the actual moving portion.

I don’t want to leave behind the life I’ve built in Miami but I’m more than thrilled to see what awaits me in London. An adventure I’m not sure I’m ready to launch into but I’m more than ready to try. This has been a long time planning and a long time coming. It’s a shock it’s here but hey, time moves on without our consent, even with the social construct behind it.

My suitcase is packed to the brim, first time in my life I’ve traveled with this many things. I even have to leave stuff behind for my mother to bring me later. Packed to the brim as I am, and as nerve racking this flight might be, still I strive to look forward to it. As close as it is, this move has still not felt real, but instead as though it’s some hollow dream too far away for me to really grasp.

I know the moment I’m moved in and everything is settled that I’ll be able to feel as though it’s real. When I start earning money and paying rent. When I start contributing to things more it’ll feel as though I belong, as though this wasn’t all for shits. For now though, without things really glueing to me to one place, I feel lost in a state of limbo. Which way to do I go? How to manage what’s around me? What if I fail? What if I disappoint everyone around me? I feel a struggle to find who am I while not burning the bridges around me.

Yet, I can feel the voices of my friends cheering me on. I can hear them telling me they know I’ll become something. That I’ll make something of myself. These friends that I can start thinking about without crying about how much I’ll miss each and everyone of them. The friends around me this evening. The friends I’ll snapchat and eventually see when they visit or when I visit. These friends, they’re friends for life. I won’t lose contact with people as great as they are.

With their cheers I know I can accomplish anything. I can’t fail the ones I love. I won’t fail you guys I promise!

Here I go!

Forty-Three Days

Woah. I honestly can not believe that a day like this has already gotten here. Before I get started I want to refer to this picture below.

I was in France when I took this picture, and I wasn’t enjoying my time there. I was more than excited to return home, to Miami where I knew I had more fun than I ever have before. Now, it’s the same amount of days before I leave, and now I’m going back to France. It’s just a step though before the ride becomes to London, and then suddenly London becomes home.

As the countdown nears, I find that I am not at all prepared for this trip. I still have no idea what I should pack and what I should not. I am in awe of what I am supposed to plan ahead for. Yet, the closer it gets, the farther I want it to be. I know it’s coming, and that in itself is exciting beyond belief. I want to treasure the time I have left here, however, and that has made me think about the house that I’m leaving behind.

I’ve lived in the same house since I was 11, and for the last 11 years, it’s been a rollercoaster of a ride. My room has gone through almost as many changes as I have, and I love looking back at those changes. There’s a specific mark I’m fond of,

I made this when I was around 12, and we were repainting the room. All the walls were that color, and the entire room except this one spot is perfect. This is my favorite spot. I made it on purpose, letting the roller with paint get away from me. I wanted some clear point that I would remember forever, something that made this room more of our own. By our I mean my sister and I’s.

It’s sad letting this room go, especially for an unstable room with a new bed and an uncomfortable environment. Yet, I’m happy to be leaving this place behind. I’m going to miss the hell of it for a very long time and probably look rather fondly on it back when I’m older, but I can’t deny that I am ready to leave this part of my life behind. I am ready for this countdown to hit zero, even if it means having to start over.

I know who will be staying in my life and those who I will never see again. Just as I know that I will see this mark again, it’s not the end. Only a see you later.

And I will see you later.

100 days to go

It’s an hour before 2pm and as always my heart picks up a bit. It’s a blend of nervous and excitement, a distinct sort of thrills that pass through every inch of my body. In exactly 100 days, at this time, I’ll be sitting in an airport waiting to board a plane into Europe.

A plane trip that will leave my life back in the United States a memory. With the exceptions of family matters (like my sister’s wedding in ’17), I don’t plan on returning here ever again. I’ve got different life plans than those of Americans, and I’m hoping to achieve what I can around the world, not just from one location.

As of the moment though, as I wait for the 100 days to run out, I’ve thought about my situation. In moving, I have to plan what I will take and what will have to stay. It’s a lot to think about, not to mention stress about. I haven’t found a room to stay in when I move and that’s a problem in it of itself. Yet, it’s more than planning or stressing, it’s also a life change that I made completely on my own free will.

When applying to Graduate Schools there was not a single person who told me where I should apply. There was no one to guide me, no one to relate too. This isn’t because no one would give me advice if I asked, on the contrary, my sister and best friend where quick to let me know I should pursue whatever I chose. This left me to only myself and what I wanted. When I found my school it’s been a complete accident, even by some random show of fade. Whatever the reason was, I was more than thrilled in finding where I wanted to go. I remember stressing over applications, with an absolute need to get in. Others would tell me I could always apply other places but that’s not I wanted. I only wanted to go there, I was dedicated and focused and eventually I was given an unconditional offer, which I accepted promptly. Despite my excitement, I wasn’t ready for the amount of nervous once applying was out of the way. Once moving became a reality.

I’ve moved before, twice in my childhood and twice in adulthood. This will be my third move, fifth overall, that I’ve done but the first one that I do because I want to not because of any other reasons. The first two I was underage, which meant lugging along with family. The first one in adulthood, l’d had no other choice as only got accepted into that school. The second was to help my family with their move overseas, this one was voluntary to an extend. This move will be completely of my own doing. I chose the country. I chose the school. I’m choosing where I will stay. It’s a lot of things for my to handle and I’m not entirely sure if I’m ready.

But I’m excited. I’m more than excited. Im thrilled to live where I’ve wanted too. There’s few things that stand in my way, primarily money but I’m working past that and if you wanna help me in that you can donate at the bottom of this article!

That’s basically all I have to say about my move. Like I stated I’m nervous but I’m also excited. I can’t wait to start my life over there but I also long for a bit more time with those who I’m leaving behind. It’s a mixture of emotions I’m learning to handle but I will work past it.

There’s more to come with this addition in my life and it’s a step I was never really sure I would take. It’s an adventure of sorts, an adventure that didn’t seem possible a few years ago but now it’s within my grasp and I’m ready to tear through it. I’m ready to have my adventure in London. There’s still 100 days to go, however, and I’ve got to pack them with loads of unforgettable moments with the people I love.

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