Jesus Eduardo Lopez Alvarez
Bio
This is kind of my personal diary, writing things in times of despair or awe :)
Stories (5)
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War Through The Eyes of a Child
I was about eleven or twelve years old and things had all been getting worse. It still dents the back of my head. Things had always been bad. People had always wanted to escape this city, but this time it was different. The streets of the city, full of life, suddenly seemed to darken and gather with people of all kinds opening trash bags to eat for the day. I knew there was something wrong. I remember the sky looking gray and hazy, almost polluted. The same way it does when there’s a wildfire.
By Jesus Eduardo Lopez Alvarez3 years ago in Confessions
Manifesto to The White Boys
Within me, there’s a small light of deep resentment. Deep resentment towards myself especially, because doesn’t matter what I do, I don’t seem to fit the beauty standards anywhere in this world. I once dreamed of becoming a model. A model in a world that seems to only want straight, light-hair, fair skin, and sky blue eyes. A model in a world that pushes you to the limit every time and categorizes you as an “alien”, both on paper and in society. Then I decided I couldn’t possibly be a model. I couldn’t keep up with the expectations, however, from the trees above me came a cold breeze, whispering in my ear how beautiful I was because of my “exotic, dark curly hair", brown eyes, and foreign accent. By listening very closely, I realized it too, had assumptions of what I was or would be like. Yes, they firmly believed I was more attractive than they ever expected, but in the end, it was only a matter of being different, new, and not really deemed as beautiful as everything else in the world. I then, found myself in a never-ending forking path, trying to figure out what it was that made me less in the eyes of everybody else. I straightened my hair, I dyed it, I learned to speak like them, I wanted to be them. But the truth is, I didn’t really grow up fishing on the weekends, nor playing football in an extensive backyard. Yes, my family was well-off, but you would’ve seen me climbing up a mango tree rather than watching the “Super Bowl”. And, as I keep traveling and getting to know new cultures, I keep seeing the same patterns I always saw. I am tired of it. No, my name isn’t Cole, and no I don’t have blue or green eyes. Yes, I have curly hair but it isn’t blonde, my vacation spot isn’t Hawai'i and I don’t go to fun European family trips. I used to wish I was like you, but now, now I despise you. I hate the fact that you are deemed "pretty" solely for the fact of wearing long sleeve shirts and Lululemon shorts. I hate the idea that you are the perfect boy because your family is well put. You don’t have to move a finger and can easily fake a perfect life on social media. I hate the way you know you are the standard and thus exploit it. Whenever you look over your surroundings and realize what’s your impact over our society, give me a call, and then, maybe we’ll talk. But being in your position must feel nice, doesn’t it?
By Jesus Eduardo Lopez Alvarez4 years ago in Poets
Summer Monsoon (POEM)
Every year, between April and September, warm, moist air blows and brings with it heavy rainfall and flooding. You could say I live in a constant Summer Monsoon. You see my life is not as bad as it could be, the same way a summer monsoon is not as bad as an earthquake or a tsunami. However, it’s always been there, so long that I feel it is a part of me.
By Jesus Eduardo Lopez Alvarez5 years ago in Poets
Bolivarian Revolution (SHORT STORY)
The memories are still fresh, nitid in my mind. It felt like I was in a movie at the moment, but I was scared, we were all scared. Venezuela has always been a really unstable country, but this was my first time really experiencing it, and I don’t think it ever had gotten this bad before. The whole city was paralyzed, and for a whole year, there were on and off protests. The police response was outrageous. You could look out the window to what once was a beautiful city with its green hills and wild, colorful parrots flying around and now there were fires, smoke, explosions, and people running to hide in every single crevice. The evil green men were everywhere and they’d break into your neighborhood and start shooting, looking for people to lock up. Across bridges and parks, there were pictures of the hundreds of teenagers that were murdered by the government, they were 16, 17, and we're just trying to get a breath of fresh air among all the black smoke.
By Jesus Eduardo Lopez Alvarez5 years ago in The Swamp
