As much as I have tried to assimilate to the American life—I still don’t like football and I hate BBQ food—it has been difficult, but… when my son was born in 2011, my heart grew roots deeper than the oak named “Big Tree” in Texas.
The freedom to speak my mind is something I value greatly. That’s probably why I started writing stories when I was six years old, and ended up studying journalism in college.
I am the kind of person who needs to say what I think and feel; otherwise, I imagine that signs pop out from my back as they do for Wild E. Coyote in The Road Runner.
I grew up in a democratic country. When I was a little girl, I was able to go to school, read, and learn. As a teenager I could drive, go to dances, and try goofy hair-styles such as the “Alf.” As an adult woman, I lived alone, supported myself, and made all the decisions of my life based on my expectations… Nobody else’s. Continue reading “Gender Crusade”
On September 8th I had the pleasure of experiencing the “waffle maker” for the first time in my life. Two weeks before my son’s first day pre-kindergartner, I felt a small lump, the size of an almond, in the area above my right breast while I was drying after taking a shower. Immediately, my stomach churned.
My son was riding his scooter–his way of transportation around the house these days–outside my bathroom, and I could hear him laughing while I tried to swallow the storm of tears that were enveloping my eyes. I put on my make up with the hands of a maracas player’s pulse–some how I didn’t end up looking like a fright mask–and drove my baby to his first day of VPK. Continue reading “October: Breast Cancer Awareness Month”
Dear reader, I am proud and pleased to present to you the launching of my own literary website xiomaraspadafora.com
Designed and hosted by Opium Atelier, it is the accomplishment of one of the goals I set for my life five years ago. If you are a procrastinator like me, you can understand how important this is and how much determination and perseverance it required. Continue reading “Who said it’s too late?”
The time to go home arrived last Monday, and once again I cried in the airplane–after crying at my mom’s house and at the gate of our flight—when I saw a Colombian flag waving in the air through the window during take off. You would think that after 10 years of living abroad it gets easier; it doesn’t. Actually, it gets harder because the older I get, my heart grows bigger and I love my mother and my family even more.
Another love that grows when I am away from my country, is the love for the small things that add to daily life; especially the love for the beauty salons and the help around the house. Even though I can’t see myself living in Colombia anytime soon, I know that I will grow old there. I already told my husband that we are retiring in my home country, because I am not willing to see myself in gray hair or vacuuming our house. Continue reading “Never turn your back”
Last Friday my husband landed in Bogotá, and with his arrival, the last week of our vacation in Colombia started. When I picked him up at the airport I asked how his layover in Panama City went. “No problems baby“, he answered completely relaxed as he landed 30 minutes before schedule.
Do you want to know my experience? No AC at the concourse where our connection gate was, an hour delay to board, and last but not least, a 30 minute wait inside the airplane with my cranky and sleepy four year old. The line of aircrafts on the runway looked like a Wal-Mart on Black Friday! Anyways, my hubby made it safe and sound; my son got his wrestling buddy back, and I got my soul mate as well. Continue reading “I promise not to change”
Being only child taught me early on that I had to be emotionally independent and face the challenges in life without “second opinions”. Although, my mom’s siblings were almost my own–they were still in school and living with my grandmother, my mom, and me while I grew up–I was still flying solo most of the time.
Nevertheless, I enjoyed my solitude. I played with dolls, read books, and imagined having conversations with fictional characters that were everywhere all the time –don’t worry; I am not a schizophrenic, though my husband would beg to differ! Continue reading “More than BFFs”