Am I Ready?

I am Spanish. I was born in the island of "Ibiza". I know, it does sound fancy, right? I'm sorry to dissapoint: my life is pretty boring and I don't even live there anymore.

I moved to the south of Spain when I was a bratty but funny 1 year old. We lived in a small appartment for over a year until my parents bought our current house. I have no memories of this whatsoever, but apparently something quite funny happened: the last time we were in that appartment, it was completely empty; i looked left and right in horror... "Dad... what are we going to do now?"

Well, I said it in Spanish obviously, cause I was 2 years old and it was 1997 and Spanish baby boomers weren't ready to accept the fact that French wasn't going to be "the official language of the European Union". It wasn't until 2019 that my mother decided it was about damn time and took on English classes. My father is yet to make that decision. So it was my, I taught myself to speak another language.

I grew up in a suburban house, surrounded by a nightmarish forrest and a million other boring white houses. I was destined to be an ordinary well-of girl with self-esteem problems and a big imagination. I mean... I am. The prophecy was right. I am still trying to fight my priviledges and my negative thoughts. But that's not the point of this story. There's one especific thing that I want to prove to myself and to the world (but mostly myself, cause who's going to read this anyway?). Here it comes: you CAN do it but first you HAVE to do it. Like, just do it, like Nike said.

I was 8 years old when I wrote my first song. For several reasons I have completely wiped out the contents of that piece from my brain. It was bad. But also it was good. I was 8 years old when I promised myself that I would go to university, study one year abroad, learn English and write songs. And I did. The thing is it wasn't as I had pictured it in the beggining. There was a lot of crying. I have written good and bad songs. I have forgotten how to say spoon in English several times. I've also forgotten how to say spoon in Spanish several times. But now I am bilingual and I am a songwriter. I am an artist. I am an empath. I am at my happiest when I connect with the world in the middle of this nothingness through my words and my music and my paintings, even if they are bad.

I have been scared as hell to call myself a writer because I have never been able to stick to finishing one of my stories. I'm still scared. But today I thought:

I want to write this little story about a girl who was scared to write her first ever piece in English and amidst the fear of not being enough, she found herself doing it.

You can do it. But first you have to do it.