
My roots are in Caracas
I was born and raised in Caracas, Venezuela, in a family where I learned from a very young age that life doesn't always turn out the way you imagine.
My parents separated when I was just one year old. Although my dad lived very close to us and was part of different moments in my life, it was my mom who took on most of the responsibility of raising us.
I remember her leaving for work while it was still dark, around five thirty in the morning, and many times getting home close to nine at night.
There were three of us kids at home and, despite everything, we never went without.
Today, as a mother myself, I think about her a lot. About the exhaustion she must have felt, all the worries she had to keep to herself and the many things she probably gave up to give us the best.
My mom gave us so much more than she could.
My childhood had wonderful memories and others that were difficult. Some of them I only understood many years later. And although not everything was perfect, over time I've learned to look at my past with different eyes, to treasure the beautiful parts and also to acknowledge the experiences that left their mark on me.







