A personal reflection on angel numbers, grief, and guidance—exploring how I began to understand repeating numbers not as coincidence, but as meaningful messages from my father after his passing.

A story about identity, fear, and choosing to stand in my own name This post is very personal—with details I’ve only shared in therapy. But this year, I feel called to stand in my truth and be unapologetically authentic. So, I'm opening a door I shut tightly ten years ago. Looking back just a couple of years, I wouldn't have even entertained the idea of publicly sharing my reasons for choosing to write under a pen name. But so much has changed for me mentally over the last tw

I used to think meditation was something you did to get a little peace and quiet. Then, slowly, things began to shift.

First, The Memories My first (I’ll call it "viable") novel, the one that my agent originally signed me over, was heavily inspired by childhood memories of my family gathered around my grandparents’ Salvadoran food truck on Long Island. The truck and the soccer games, where it served as concession stand, are etched as backdrops to so many throwback moments filled with laughter, hugs, and of course, delicious food (the best—everyone in town acknowledged my grandmother’s pupusas

For years I credited my grandmother for being the rock of our family. She was kind, hardworking, the best cook in town, and a quiet warrior. She still holds all of those titles, long after her passing, but I never gave my grandfather enough credit for the role that he played.   My grandfather had some issues and those issues are the main reason behind my being blind to his contribution until recently. When I was a kid he used to frighten me. He seemed seven feet tall back the