Farewells


I’m writing this in Fort Lauterdale, Florida.

I can’t describe the feeling I had when the plane lifted off the ground. Six months in a foreign country where most people weren’t too kind? Never again. I remember hugging my teddy bear and shivering with anxiety as I waited for the plane to get in the air.

Once in the air, it was the longest flight ever. I didn’t sleep a wink; for some reason, my mind was full of twelve different songs that mixed into a weird, warped playlist that drove me insane. I turned on my iPod and went through five albums (Cleopatra, The Lumineers–The Undoing, Steffany Gretzinger, Pines by A Fine Frenzy–among others.)

I left another Mariella behind in Lima, Peru. She’s in the past; the pressure is off, and when I arrive at home, I’m going to be a stronger woman. I won’t be the person I was when I left. I’ve grown too much, mentally and emotionally.

There are more adventures to come. I’m exhausted; I’ll sleep for a few days, and then I will come back to life, and I am going to shine. There’s no room in my life for people who don’t appreciate me.

You don’t get to choose your family, but you can choose your friends–and they become like family. I have a family of people who truly love me, aside from my parents and brother. I’m not alone; I will recover.

I can’t wait to be a full-time writer again.

Good-bye, Peru. I’m looking ahead–to home.

homeplease

Movie Review: Begin Again


Stories can lose their soul if edited too much. This is true regardless of the medium used—books, movies, music. It’s a struggle not to polish a piece so thoroughly that it loses its humanity, a truth told in the film Begin Again.

Dan used to be a successful music label executive, but he hasn’t adapted to changes in the industry. It’s not that he has nothing to choose from—demos are mailed to him every day. He just doesn’t want to pick up a bad record saturated in auto-tune.

The determination to live by his standards, not bowing to what’s popular, has gotten him in trouble. He hasn’t signed an artist in years. It’s having disastrous effects on his career, even changing the way his family sees him.

When the record company fires him, it kills what remained of his confidence. That night he finds himself at a bar, drinking away his misfortune. In this moment of crippling hopelessness, he overhears an acoustic performance that’ll change everything.

begin-again

Gretta (Keira Knightley!!) is a songwriter recovering from a difficult breakup. Prompted by a friend, she’s reluctantly gone onstage to play her latest creation. No one seems to be listening but Dan, who approaches her and asks if she would consider working with him.

He could get his job back. She could land a record deal. What really happens is healing: Dan and Gretta are both lost souls, but help each other back up.

The songs alone are interesting, because they’re recorded on the streets of New York where life can be heard—this includes traffic, people, angry pedestrians. It created a sensation of music roaming the sidewalks, filling people with life.

Though Gretta’s songs are powerful, I had to check online to make sure Keira Knightley was singing. It was just bizarre to see her behind a microphone. People have criticized her voice, but I thought it lovely, the lyrics human enough to draw me in.

Begin Again teaches that art shouldn’t look or sound the same. It reminds us not to give up on our passions. Human feelings will capture hearts, time and time again. And we should not compromise who we are if it leads to unhappy success.

If we’re passionate about something, we ought to be careful. Some paths promise happiness, but will only make us drag our feet.

This story celebrating honest art made me contemplate my motives. Do I write because I love it, or for the sake of an audience? Would I compromise my story’s soul for the sake of a larger number? Am I going to follow trends I don’t like, just to make a name for myself?

These are questions all storytellers should ask. It’s tempting to follow crowded paths to success, but remember—we might forget the sound of our own voices, trying to mimic others.