From March 3 to 5, I was granted the opportunity of attending Okeechobee Music & Arts Festival as a reporter for the Miami Herald. I wrote two pieces on the event, each with their own set of photographs. The first is very news-oriented while the second is a personal account…. Next up? Miami Ultra Music Festival!
There he was, standing before me after five years of wondering how he’s been, who he’s been with, and if I had ever crossed his mind.
His short haircut transformed to one similar to mine—long cascading waves. There was only one difference: he had pink highlights. His smile was the same though; it was the same smile that I wanted to kiss when I was merely 11 years old. But this time, his lips were coated in bright red lipstick. The t-shirts and khaki capris he wore when we were kids gave way to a tight mini-dress meant to accentuate his almost non-existent curves.
As I walked closer and closer to him, I watched him talk to a group of tall, flat-chested girls with abnormally broad shoulders. When he laughed, he bashfully hid his smile behind his hand. When he spoke, his voice strained as he tried to speak an octave higher. When he stood, he shifted his weight from one hip to the other.
I was so close now that I could narrow the distance between us with three wide steps, but I hesitated. They were all so beautiful: each carried themselves with class, elegance, and confidence. They were sure of themselves; their search for identity resolved long ago.
I took a deep breath and finally closed the distance between us.
“Alejandro,” I began. “Remember me?” My heart fluttered when the young boy I had once known and loved flipped his hair in my direction.
“Just call me Alex,” she said.
Growing up in South Florida opens a world of typical everyday stories to draw inspiration from–ranging from road rage to the abundance of culture. Miami Book Fair and WLRN realized this and teamed up to bring out these stories from South Floridians to share with Social Media; they encouraged people to write short stories that highlight what South Florida is all about on a sticky note. I wrote one story, but I’m compelled to write more. Perhaps, one South Floridian story per week?
Stepping into a car should be like stepping into a force field meant to keep out all outside distractions—particularly texting. The reason for this is simple: the prevention of unnecessary loss of life. The following video is the product of a group assignment from my journalism class, but nonetheless it depicts how fragile human life is. Why deprive someone of their right to live for the sake of a text?
Right before my sophomore year ended, my journalism teacher assigned us to interview a celebrity. I had no idea who I was going to interview, how I would get in contact with them, and if my nerves would take the best of me. I was aware of this assignment for months now but nothing came to mind–well nothing realistic, that is.
Then I got a follow on twitter.
Colombia is truly a beautiful country. I could go on and on with words how amazing it is, but sometimes words aren’t enough.
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Door.”
Some doors remind us
to always be humble
with dirt and rubble.
I am lost in time.
Since I’m no longer checking off the days of the calender, I have no clue what day it is nor how long I’ve been in Colombia. So I’m dropping the whole counting of the days in my post titles because, quite frankly, I like being lost in time. I like not caring what day it is, because I feel free from the shackles of daily routines dictated by the man-made calender.
As humans , our time here on earth is short. When we are gone, the earth continues to rotate; there will be an eternity of sunrises and sunsets. Why spend our lives counting them?
I say, screw the calender!
At least for now.
Sometimes there are moments when somebody says something so beautiful, shocking, or unexpected in a conversation that I am left speechless. I have these moments often and I’m grateful for them because I always leave the conversation a slightly different person—a wiser, more open-minded person. I had a short conversation like that with my mom today in the village where she was raised. Continue reading “Colombia Day 7: Enlightening Conversations”
I love to travel; I always have and always will.
I just find something so satisfying about immersing myself into an unknown land—a land that offers a different culture than mine, a land that offers a different history than mine, a land that offers different perspectives on life than mine.