carolina Romero
WHAT I WISH I'D SAID P O R T F O L I O
INTRODUCTION
Welcome My name is Carolina Romero and this is my creative writing portfolio. In this you will find my writing. Some that make sense, some that don't make sense at all, but mine. Completely from the heart. So, sit down, put your feet up, and enjoy the ride.
Creative Non Fiction
Poetry Short story
Table of Contents
Hope is a Blender
The witch in the bookstore
The Trials and Tribuations of having Pretty Friends
Hope is a Blender
Hope is not one It is a blender From mad To panic To light and love But it can also destroy And tear apart Leaving nothing behind A bleak wake A thunderstorm Because it could lead To nothing To oblivion Because when you hope And that passion Is ripped from you You are left with shattered dreams and broken mirrors But you grow And arise from the destruction To find new light To find a new hope
Reflection Hope Is A Blender is a poem I wrote about gaining hope when all seems lost. We have all gone through times where we feel isolated, alone, and hopeless. At times is it also very hard to get out of that headspace, but that is when you have to realize that you will feel happy again. There are really high highs and really low lows, but that's life. As I edited this poem I made sure to add as much darkness and light, because that are the emotions that everyone has to live with. Hope does not only have one definition, and recovery is not a straight road. That is what I tried to replicate in this poem, and I hope it helps anyone who reads it
Refelction
The Witch in the Bookstore
She was the owner of the bookstore in town. The bookstore looked like an old wooden cottage, and she lived upstairs. Once in a while she would come to the library at school and read to us and donate some books from her store. The kids in my grade thought she was a witch. She had long blonde hair with grey streaks. She always wore crocheted ponchos, and shoes with flowers on them. Her voice was high, but not in an annoying screeching kind of way, but more like a song. My mom would sometimes take me into town with her, and she would pass by the bookstore. Every time I would step through the doors the bell would ring and I would instantly hear her shoes coming down the stairs. She smelled like butterscotch and old books. When I got older my mom told me that I should go and volunteer at her store. She told me that she would appreciate the company. I was hesitant at first, because at the back of my mind I still thought she was a witch.
The Witch in the Bookstore
I volunteered Tuesdays and Saturdays. We did not interact much. I was usually sorting books and organizing, and she was watering the plants, or feeding her cat, Monsieur. But every day at around 5:30 she would ask if I wanted some tea. And each time I would say yes, and we would sit on the porch of the house turned bookstore. The porch wrapped around the front and around one side. There were two white chairs and a clear small round table in the middle. She would always sit in the chair facing the store door, and I would sit in the other one. When we would have tea the sun was at that part of the sky where it was not too bright, but not too dim. A perfect golden color would come through the trees, and the leaf pattern would spread across my face. We would talk about random things. She would ask me about myself, how school was going, or just about books. It was always mainly about books. She would always find a way to refer to a quote, or make some sort of metaphor. She never talked about a husband or a partner so I never asked. She seemed happy not having one anyway. She had her books, and her cat, and her store, and it seemed like that’s all she needed.
Reflection This is a story that is very near and dear to my heart. I still remember exactly what her house smelled like and how the fan in the kitchen would rattle. This bookstore was like my own personal fantasy land, made of paper and magic. There are certain people that you meet that impact you. I wanted to make sure that I got her essence in this story, and I wanted everyone to feel her warmth through the words on the page. Writing about this character reminded me of how much that part of my life influenced me, and how grateful I am to her. I wish I could tell her that now.
The Trials and Tribulations of Having Pretty Friends I am currently standing in a mass of college kids, in a small house that definitely should not fit this many people. Everyone around me has a red solo cup in one hand and a juul in another. One of the girls that I came with is in the corner of the living room very close to one of the guys that live in my dorm building. Another friend that I came with is fighting outside with her boyfriend. The last friend I came with is standing next to me talking to one of the boys from the soccer team. She has been talking to him for about 10 minutes. When he first approached us it took a while for him to notice that I was standing there. He asked me for my name. I gave it to him. He had asked me the same question last Saturday at a party. We also had writing together last semester, but he fell asleep most classes so I don’t even think he remembers the teacher's name. Finally, when he gets called over by some of his soccer friends, he hugs my friends, and before he leaves he turns to me and says “sorry, what was your name again?”
College has been great. I get to create my own schedule. I don’t have to ask my parents before going out. All of my friends are in close proximity, and if I want to take a 3 hour nap, no one can stop me. There is one aspect of college that has not been as fun. Growing up I was always the girl who had very pretty friends. In middle school all the guys would ask me for advice on how they should ask out my friends. I was never the girl the guys wanted, and I was okay with that, especially since I really had no interest in the guys at my school. Because of this I had to build up other parts of my personality, and so I chose to be the funny friend. I used humor as a way to get people to like me, and I also used comedy as a defense mechanism. If someone would say mean things about me, I would just say something funny in response. In high school being the funny friend did not bother me, but in college that changed
I have come to realize that college boys are quite simple. They really only have a couple of priorities. Getting drunk or getting laid. Many of the times they want to do both. A party is where they can make those things happen. They see a pretty girl, flirt with her, and hopefully she will fall for his charms and he can take her home. That does not leave a lot of room for the funny friend. This has ruined parties for me. These guys don’t even look at me, and if they do it is only because of my pretty friends that are standing next to me. Most of the time I just stand there, looking at them exchange words back and forth, nod when needed. Some of the time I will say something funny, and for a second the guy turns to look at me in a way that says “wait that was funny, kind of forgot she was standing here.” When I try to walk away from the conversation, I realize that most of the people that I came with are all doing the same thing. Some of my friends will ask why I don’t go up to more people. I tell them “it's hard to get into conversation with someone who is preoccupied with other things.”
I wish there was some kind of lesson I could learn from this situation, like you don’t need any guy to make you feel worthy, or it matters what is on the inside. While all of that is true, in this situation it just kind of sucks. This is what it feels like to be 19. I do not think that I will ever stop working on trying to love myself. It is a battle I fight everyday. Some days are better than others, but it never goes away, not completely. There are moments where I catch myself thinking how easy life must be for my friends, but then I remind myself that everyone is dealing with something. Life is hard for everyone, and there is not one simple solution that will fix my problems.
Reflection When I got to college I realized that the movies had lied to me. I thought that guys would be different. I thought I was gonna be at a party and from across the room I was going to see a guy and we would lock eyes and he would then fall in love with me. The reality I got was not quite that. This is a story that is very personal, because it is exactly what I went through, and probably something I am going to go through for the rest of my life. When I was editing this piece I did not know if I wanted there to be a moral, or what exactly what that moral would be. I have realized something however: There will always be someone prettier, and guys are probably not going to look at me and fall in love, but I think if you have a sense of humor and a drink in your hand, nothing can ever be that bad.
Beth, thank you for reminded me why I wanted to become a writer in the first place.
Stay faithful to the stories inside your head PAULA HAWKINS