Entre Lágrimas y Esperanza

Growing up, I never had an easy life. Everything I wanted to achieve—I had to work hard for. I had to wait for my turn—shed tears, sweat, and even bleed just to have it. So when people ask me, "Where did your kindness come from?"—it's from my agony. From the melancholic moments. From the times I wanted to give up, but didn’t. From the moments I asked for help and never got it.

Everything feels heavy until you learn to accept what you have right now.

Even after everything, I still believe—everything will eventually work out for me. That’s the one thing I hold on to. But for now, I just need to be patient—with the process, with the timing, and most of all, with myself. I need to love myself more than anyone else ever could.

Because I know now: no one’s coming to save me. I am my own savior.

And maybe that’s the most powerful thing—I didn’t grow in comfort, but I grew anyway. I didn’t heal all at once, but I kept showing up. I kept choosing life, even on the days it felt unbearable.

Kindness didn’t come from peace. It came from surviving pain without letting it turn me cruel.

So no, I’m not soft because I’m weak. I’m soft because I’m strong enough to stay gentle in a world that tried to harden me.

And for that, I’m proud of who I’m becoming—slowly, patiently, intentionally.