Have I not told you? I’m on Patreon now!
If you want access to exclusive content and a behind-the-scenes look at what it’s like to write full-time, this is the place for you!
The first day of spring break during my senior year of high school began with a three a.m. call from my grandmother telling me that my dog, Angel, has passed away. It didn’t come as a surprise to me since I spent the prior night expressing my concern over her heath to my grandparents and mom—crying my tear ducts dry in the process. Regardless, when her passing became a reality, it was heartbreaking.
At the time I was extremely depressed and I honestly believe her death played some role in my eventual mental breakdown (which is a whole other story.) Every day I’d come home from school, exhausted and in both emotional and physical pain, and she’d be there, my little ray of sunshine. My Angel.
Angel was the embodiment of happiness, and probably the happiest living being I’ve ever come across. Adopted in 2004 to be a companion for my then four-year-old dog Coco (who’d pass away four years later from tracheal collapse), Angel quickly became one with my family. She was small, average for a purebred Pomeranian, and was full of energy. Soon, she’d earn the nickname of Wiggly, in reference to her constant wagging tail. (She wags it with so much fervor, her entire body would wiggle, hence “Wiggly.”) And when I say constant, I mean it literally.
In December of 2008, we’d adopt her half-sister-cousin Mina (daughter of the same mother, and Angel’s father’s brother.) She’d come home January of 2009 to a home she’d eventually rule as “Princess Impy.” As a throwback Pomeranian, she was quite a bit larger than Angel and would often push her aside an attempt to gain more attention. Regardless of Mina’s jealousy and often bully-like treatment, Angel treated her as though she were her very own. When she passed away, it was not immediately known to Mina. But after a month, she’d soon realize that her adoptive mom and sister had left somewhere, never to come back.
She had become quite depressed and an already established weight problem quickly went out of control thanks to my grandmother’s mutual sadness. A problem that would only resolve after on fateful vet visit.
All the while, my mom and I continued a habit of visiting the local animal shelter, just to visit the animals. On one visit we came across an American Eskimo, unkempt and nameless. She laid there in the corner, ignoring everyone as the walked by. I was enchanted by her. I have never felt such a connection to a creature before, not after just a few moments of looking into each other’s eyes.
Looking at her paperwork we’d find out that she was a 10-year-old Pomeranian-American Eskimo (which we’d later find both to be false) who had had recently had puppies and was found abandoned in a field outside of city limits. She has arthritis in her back legs and six rotting teeth. She had been there for two weeks and was likely going to put down that following week.
My mom and I devised a plan (and that’s where the vet visit comes into play.) The vet had told my grandmother that the only cure for the depression of losing a pet is to get a puppy, but there was no way in hell we’d be purchasing another purebred Pomeranian. My mom and I decided to convince her to go to some of the local shelters, just to look around. My grandfather wasn’t on board with the idea, but one man versus three women is an unwinnable battle. So, that following Tuesday, I’d go to the very same shelter, which my grandparents, under the context of just looking at the dogs.
Unsurprisingly the little white dog was still there, still in her corner. My grandmother was not initially interested in her, but rather a six-year-old Chihuahua-Pomeranian mix that had been adopted the day before. After some convincing, I managed to get my grandma in on the idea that we needed the white dog. My grandfather was hesitant, but powerless against his hardheaded wife. Immediately we proceeded to have a visitation, where the dog’s future with us was cemented into history. She was scared, particularly of my grandfather, but that would only last for so long.
A week later, on July 18, 2016—my grandmother’s 78th birthday—we’d be bringing Gidget home. Gidget came home rather drunk, having just had her rotting teeth removed and having just been spayed that morning. She slept in my arms on the car ride home.
She was very scared in the beginning, it was heartbreaking. We struggled to get her to eat, let alone do anything that first night (which we knew to be normal for newly adopted dogs.)
The first few days were hard, and she quickly developed a coping mechanism that concerned my grandmother. She had become extremely clingy to me, only wanting to be near me, and to be given attention by me. This upset her, but my mom and I knew this behavior was because I am the primary caretaker for the dogs. I was feeding her, giving her her medicine, and slowly, but surely, introducing her to a hairbrush that I’d use to comb out seeds and matted fur from her double coat. Most of her hair was falling out, and after a bath and haircut, she still looked quite scraggly. It wouldn’t be until that November, that she’d develop the beautiful coat she has today. (Regardless, she was beautiful to me.)
She and Mina didn’t really get along for a while. It quickly became obvious that Gidget had been abused and unsocialized. She feared men, didn’t know how to act like a dog and didn’t understand most of what was going on. Over time, she’d become more comfortable around Mina, who so desperately wanted to be acknowledged, and it wasn’t long before Mina was teaching Gidgie the basics of doghood. One of the very first things Gidgie learned would be that tummy rubs are the greatest thing in the world.
In the wake of the following year, Gidgie was almost an entirely different dog, who is growing and learning to this very day. At the same time, so have we. I have never felt such a strong connection with an animal in my life before Gidgie, and I still often find myself overcome with my affections for her.
Today we’ve had her for almost two years, and soon she will be certified therapy dog. I couldn’t be more proud of her. She’s come a long way from the scared little dog she was when we first brought her home. She’s a full-fledged dog now, loving and amazing. She is literally the most beautiful creature to ever come into my life.
Life is continually throwing curve balls at my family. So I wanted to give a heads up that there may be weeks where I have no content. I try my best to have a little bit of something (like this, which is barely blurb). I just want whatever I write to be worth reading, and lately, on here, I feel it hasn’t and I want to change it.
I tend to be a workaholic… Okay—I am a workaholic; therefore I often find myself forgetting that there are times where I should be doing anything but work. Like sleep, for example.
That’s why every Sunday is designated as my day off. During the day I am not allowed to work under any circumstances to do any sort of work. I’m not even allowed to worry about work, which is hard.
It’s easy, when you love your job, to forget that you need to take a break every once in awhile. This is something I am often reminded of the hard way.
I suffer from chronic illness that makes working hard sometimes. By no means does it stop me though, since I manage to get quite a few hours logged a week. It’s not only till I pass out in my bed surrounded by papers, pens, and highlighters.
So, if you’re like me, take some time and chill.
I thought it would be fun to share my monthly favorites, feel free to tell me what you think.
So this is how this is going to work: I’m am going to list out my monthly favorites followed by a short blurb about them. Simple.
- Field Note Traveler’s Notebook 3.5” x 5” I’ve been wanting a personal sized traveler’s notebook and in December I finally broke down and bought one. I do not regret it one bit. With everything going on in my life, it has become like my bible. I bullet journal in it and keep lists; it’s been so handy. The only downside is I accidentally bought the leather option (I wanted the vegan leather version), so I may eventually gift it to someone so I can replace it with a more cruelty-free option.
- Gaga: 5’2” (Film) I’m a big fan of Lady Gaga and I found her documentary very inspirational and motivational. As someone with chronic pain and a dream to work in a creative field I really related to her in some ways.
- Bic 4-point Ballpoint Fashion Pen I’m not sure if this pen is called the “fashion” version, so for lack of a better word that’s what I’m going to call it. It’s the Bic 4-point pen with the green barrel and includes the colors: Light blue, pink, purple, and light green. All of which are colors I prefer to write in.
- “The D in Apartment 23” S16 E6 Family Guy (no spoilers) Family Guy is arguably one of my favorite shows for its social commentary. This episode really stayed with me more than any episode in this season. I obviously don’t want to go to deep into why etc. because I rather not spoil it if someone decides to watch it.
- Spider-man PJ’s My mom knows me so well. I know they’re probably supposed to be pajamas, but I’m definitely going to wear them otherwise.
- The End of the F***ing World (TV Series) I don’t know why I started watching this show or what compelled me to finish it. It was oddly charming.
- Dragon Project (iOS app) This game is a hidden gem.
- Paldo Hot and Spicy Ramyeon Korean ramyeon that caters to my Latin-American palette? YES, PLEASE!
I believe it two or three years ago when I release a book called “Pretty Boy” on Wattpad. It wasn’t very long before my book reached over 500,000 reads.
It was relatively good time for the early days of my career, but it wasn’t a good time for me mentally. By the end of the year, before I had the chance to post the final chapters, my anxiety would reach a breaking point that would inevitably lead to me deleting all my social media accounts. With that, “Pretty Boy” was lost in the abyss for what seemed to be an eternity.
Now I’m back on the internet, substantially more mentally stable than I was those few years ago, and will soon be posting another book. Arguably, starting over fresh, considering most of my readers probably don’t remember who I am.
It’s a weird experience, walking away from relative success in a matter of moments, then returning years later (with a vengeance!) It’s particularly odd because I am a very different person than I was however many years ago. I’ve grown as a person, and more importantly a writer.
I’m interested to see what happens when I “officially” return, and I’m anxious about how my new novel will be received. (Feeling I did not have with “Pretty Boy”)
And in regards to that novel, it is done, and it may see the light of day someday in the unforeseeable future.