I grew up in Jinotepe, a small city some 45 minutes from Managua. I lived in a very large house with my maternal grandmother, my Dad, my Mom, four siblings, two cats a parrot and four dogs. A house where silence didn’t exist. However, I remember spending my early childhood afternoons in the home of my other grandmother, Mamaru, and my grandfather Papa Armando.
Since I left Nicaragua on June 8, 2018, I have dedicated myself to resolving my life outside of my comfort zone and to write about what I feel, from my privilege of being outside and the pain of being away.
Three months ago I moved to Mexico due to the social and political crisis in Nicaragua. I live in the capital, a fairly overwhelming city. Just to give you an idea: more than 6 million people ride the subway each day—the entire Nicaraguan population in just a couple train stations, a city with more than 8 million inhabitants.
Ever since I graduated from the university, I dreamed about leaving the country. At least, that’s what I thought. I’d planned to apply for scholarships and leave for another country, because many people told me that my country was small and I needed to see the world.