The LEGO's Castle Girl

When I was six, the world seen from my garden was really, really amazing. I lived in a small house in the suburb, in a calm place, hidden from the rest of the world. I remember that our house was very simple, like a shoebox, which I could easily reproduce in my drawings. With a little bit of imagination and a large box of colored pencils, I used to change those boring white walls for a much better bright yellow facade and red doors. My garden was narrow, encircling the whole wall that separated our house from the street. In the spring, we had flowers of different colors and sizes. You could see ferns, azaleas, daisies. My favorite was the azaleas. With small flowers, formed by five petals of pink color, I used to play a silly game with them called daisy game while picking off one petal of a flower, and repeating alone to myself “he loves me ... he loves not”. Smart as I was, I knew that if I started with he loves me, I would always win the game, even knowing nothing about ...

I never saw a magnificent marble cube before. The gray blending with the white embedded as pieces of a puzzle all over the walls. The concrete floor is a dark shade of gray. I'm sure if I took off my shoes and touched my feet, it would be cold. Like a guard, the wall selects who will pass through. Natural brightness is allowed, but only the strongest bundles can reach the center of the room, exposing small particles of dust dancing in the beam of light. Precise geometry is everywhere. Squares, rectangles, straight lines. Constancy and rhythm. No one single curve to ruin the pattern. Everything inspires seriousness and rigidity. The respectable cold silence echoes in my ears, sometimes broken by a guide. Suddenly my sight reaches the center of the cube, escaping from the gray boredom of edges. I feel my body slightly bow down, in reverence, captivated by the light that comes from this center. Strong and vibrant colors, shades of brown, deep red, some spe...

In past years, society has been grappling with the structure of the traditional family in context of recent social advances, such as same-sex marriages and the adoption of kids by these couples.  But, when it comes to family, we need a more profound and significant perspective. We can’t only look at the skeleton, but we must reach the heart: How are the boundaries and trust created among the individuals of this important circle. One view is given by the memoir The Glass Castle, written by Jeannette Walls, where she beautifully show us her feelings about her relationship with her parents and sibilings, and the way she survived being raised without bonds of love and care. On the other hand, the poem “Family Castle”, written by Nancy Rakovszky, bring us the contrast of a protective and loving family. Nancy in her “Family Castle” enchants us when she speaks not only to our mind and emotions, but also explores our senses in describing the ideal family. In the stanza “Our fires will...

“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...

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...

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...