The other day I was thinking: "What is the one thing that has defined me throughout the years, since I was little?" It didn’t take long to answer. It’s my ability to stand up against fear and swim toward it, even while being terrified of every possibility.
"Caring?"—he replied, confused. It wasn’t a word most people used to describe him. "Yes. Caring and loving," said the man, legs wide open as he pushed himself in.
I feel most like an impostor when I have to exist in an environment where I must speak English for a prolonged period. I feel a part of me is paused, a fraction of myself almost unable to breathe or fully exist in the Anglosphere.
The world does not need more trash. It would be selfish of us to create without conscience—a sin I’ve committed before, and one I’m not exempt from committing again. But how can we avoid producing disposable, smelly shit?
One day, my vision will blank, and my soul will fly away. Inevitable is that day, But that day is not today.
Benjamín Cedeño 