Stories. Not a blog.


Ahoy, Stranger.

Nothing to write today. I'm back (as you probably guessed).

Something will be up soon. I just wanted to keep in touch. Hope all is well.

Much love to you.


C. W.

I feel really overwhelmed right now. I am questioning every decision I've ever made regarding my Endeavor and this (not a) blog.

Is it worth it? Will it be worth it in the long run? Does my effort matter? Will it matter in the long run?

How can I know? And what do I need to tell myself (if anything, just in case I'm wrong) in order to get rid of the anxiety and fear I feel right now?

I'm panicking. (but I'm not spiraling, which is good.)

I've tried to be as open and transparent as possible with who I am, how I feel, how I think, etc., but I feel like a fraud, an imposter who is eventually going to get caught.

But get caught doing what?


I love (the idea of) being alive; And even though it sometimes gets dark, I wouldn't trade it for anything in this world. Or the next. Or the next one after that. (but...) If the fourth one has clown people made of cotton candy then I might reconsider.... (highly unlikely, though but still fun to speculate.)


C. W.

My baby will leave me at some point and when he does he will take the biggest part of my soul with him.

In the meantime, while we still have the sun, Happy Birthday, Max. Today is your birthday and you are 5.

I love you. You are good. You are kind. You are everything I hoped for and more. (because of you i'm still here.)

Love (you), (forever and always, even after time ends) Your Mama.

Note: This is a re-post from April 09, 2021. I deleted the original version by accident and I really wanted to keep this here. xoxo, C. W.

“Some people would do well to remember that quality over quantity will always reign superior. Condense [your thoughts and ideas] wherever you can and give people time to miss you.” — My mentor when I talked a lot but said nothing (of value or importance).

As my mental health and insomnia continue to drive me into the deepest pits of desolation and despair, I have found myself becoming more and more guarded. And more neglectful of the things I love too.

I have stopped writing consistently. I have stopped reading. And eating. And taking care of myself.

And it sucks, but I can't help it.

My room, a physical reflection of my head, is a mess—and I don't have the desire or willingness to fix it. I do just enough (the absolute bare minimum) to stay afloat but things are getting (and have been) difficult [for some time]. I feel anxious and slightly trapped; exhausted and alone.


Do you, as an immigrant, ever feel the need to let people know that you're not here illegally?

Or that you belong because (like me) you have abandoned a piece of your home, your culture, your language and/or identity (this is not an all-inclusive list) in order to live? to be safe? to move on?

Have you ever repressed your soul, stranger, for the benefit of others (and to get rid of unfounded shame) in order to survive? to have a better life? (to live?) or are you normal?

stroking a person's ego is very much like blowing up a balloon. with the right type of breaths it is easy to do; and with humble claws or jealous pins it is even easier to pop. (and more satisfying too)

I hate mayonnaise and it is all McDonald’s fault. To this day, I would rather get punched in the face and have all of my teeth knocked out than to eat it. Why, you may ask? Well, stranger, it all started with immigration and a burger.

Back home I had never ever had a McDonald’s burger. I lived in a very small village with my great-grandmother and “luxuries” like McDonald’s (feel free to laugh) were not readily available. If you wanted something “fancy” to eat (for poor people like us who lived in a house with a metal roof, McDonald’s, an American food, was a luxury), you had to go to the capital AND you needed money—lots of it. We lived 3-ish hours away from CDMX (Mexico City) and we were super broke, so obviously going to McDonald’s for lunch or a midnight snack wasn’t an option.


I shed a tear last night, listening to the blood pumping in and out of my heart.

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