Passion

When I was very young, I wanted to be an artist. I would be told that artists do not really make money until long after they are dead. My research at that time rather proved this theory. Artists become starving artists. I had a lot of trouble learning English. Although born in North America, English was not the language used in my home. I struggled to learn it. My parents in despair would hire private tutors and educators for me which helped.

I was teased a lot as a kid, I dressed differently, I spoke a different language, our culture was different, and I was socially awkward around the other kids. This cut me deeply. All I wanted was to go to school and learn. But the kids tormented me so that I hated it.

I started writing and reading. Since I had no friends, books became my constant companion. My readings started off as poems, and lyrics later as short stories.

I am half South American. Chilean. And my mother would always say that our people were known for passion. Indeed, Pablo Neruda comes from my country as well as Isabel Allende. My Mapuche music is filled with song and passion. Our men cry. Our women accept romance.

I got involved with a photography course in college, learned graphic design, my skills were challenged and I enjoyed every minute. Now I am back to writing. The passion in my words flow. I cry when I am hurt. I laugh hardheartedly when I am happy.

Praise Buddha.

RavenmoonCanada RavenmoonCanada
36-40, F
Sep 16, 2012