First Impressions Of Yale

First Impressions of Yale

It was not supposed to be me here.

This was my first thought when I saw all those centuries old buildings in contrast with the newer green leaves of the trees on the campus. But, I’m here. And I’m astonished. And my heart beats faster with every step ahead, as if it were the first day ofschool . And, you know, I have had a lot of first days in my life.

But, this is a different topic for another story.

The day starts with that known sensation of the unknown. That excitement of belonging to a new group made by so many different people from all over the world. I feel so small in front of this immensity. I feel alone in front of people with languages so different from mine.

I feel that my burden is much greater than that of the teenagers around me. Otherwise, I feel hope that comes with everything that is new.

A fresh start.

Yes, I’m the oldest girl in my English course. Probably the oldest in my other courses, too.

I've had many experiences in my life. I have a successful career as a doctor in my country. But, with 39 summers behind me, I've learned with the time that I don't need to be defined by my career. I've learned that life is like a LEGO castle in that I can always add another skill. I've learned that life isn’t a line between two points. I've had downs and hills and curves in my path. That is why I’m here. To add another piece to my castle. I’m that happy girl that will enter the class and smile for you.

Why am I so happy? Because I don’t have the pressure to be someone now. I have a blank page in front of me and I can fill the blanks with new words, colors and possibilities.

There is no perfection, only resilience.

This is just the beggining.

I hope you enjoy the view with me.

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Turning Point

The day after is never easy. Even when I know that this is the best for me, and for her. I try to explain to my puffy red eyes that all of this will pass. I can see all the changes the time did to me. Some wrinkles arond my eyes that were once happy. Some spots gained with all those summer vacations. It would have happend anyway, even if my life had been smooth. I can do it, I tell myself. At this point, there’s no turning back. It's gone. I look through the windows, It's still early, and I make some coffee. Espresso, medium roast. The day outside is absolutely normal, as it always was. It's not hot or cold, but really warm, which is so nice. In times of hard emotions, it's good that other variables are mild. I pick up some LEGO bricks on the floor that my daughter forgot last night. I settle down on the confortable sofa, seeing the new desk, that I painted in pink. All my old furmiture reuphostered. At this moment it is all I can afford. How I change

The Man With One Leg

“Hey, Wooden-leg, could you tell me the history of how you got injured?” said that frank and freckled boy, staring at me with those begging eyes. If he used this facial expression to earn money, we would have more pennies at the end of the day. “Ok, ok, grimy boy, you win. Nobody can change your mind, can they? It's getting late and you have to look for shelter”. I gave him a smile in resignation. I cleared my throat, while I was figuring out how to find the right words and give the boy the drama he was waiting for. “Once upon a time, there was blood for everywhere. A part of me was missing and in a strange way, I couldn't feel pain. I had a persistent buzzing inside my right ear and my eyes kept blinking trying to readapt after the hot flash. Suddenly, I was dragged by my armpits, into the trench, and everything vanished away. When I woke up, several days had passed. The doctors had attached this wooden leg and I had to learn to use crutches too. When I came

The Metal Room

I press my right big toe at the lowest point of the silver metal cabinet, next to the ground and the cool water starts to flow through the faucet, running between my fingers and goes directly to the sink drain. I begin to rub the palms of my hands and my short nails with a brush with very thin plastic bristles. The orange soap has a funny smell and viscous texture that I never got used to, even after using it for years. In a back and forth motion, I invert the brush side and a soft yellow sponge appears with which I begin to slowly rub the spaces between each finger, rising up to my elbows. Time to rinse, the water has to flow from the fingertips to the elbows, not in the sense that it would be logical, to prevent dirt from returning to my hands. I pull on my white lab coat, covering everything but my face, a cap holding my hair and large glasses to protect my eyes. I put on my gloves without touching the outsides; it takes some time for me to do this precisely. I finally

The LEGO's Castle Girl

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