READER’S CHOICE

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To you, Reader. Who dedicated a moment to know more about me.

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Introduction.

Everyone has a story to tell, but is up to us if we decide to listen to them.

Dear reader, you are now in possession of my autobiography. In this book I will tell, in a

short way, my experiences in life. Sit down, get comfortable, have a drink, and enjoy.

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Prologue: Life before life.

Life. One of the biggest mysteries of all times. What’s the meaning of life? What’s our

purpose in the world? Does destiny exist? There are as many ways to answer these

questions as people on Earth. Everyone faces life in different ways; some people may

find joy in helping those who are in need, others may live their entire life without even

think about it. If there are so many ways to live your life, then, what’s the correct one?

Well, that’s up to you. No matter how you live your life, just be sure of one thing: Live it

without regrets.

What about me? For me, life is supposed to be about experiences, memories, feelings.

The rest comes in addition. I can’t wait to see what life has prepared for me. The family

I’m going to have, the people I’m going to meet… the person I’m going to become into.

As I think about these things, a feeling of anxiety invades me…

- Relax, you’ll do it fine.

Thanks, I guess the time has come. Sorry, I have to go. I’m about to be born.

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Brainwashing, the lost memories.

Sigmund Freud once said “the act of birth is the first experience of anxiety” referring to

how we omit our memories about it. He might be right. We are told of fantastic stories

from our parents about the day we were born. This brainwashing continues until we

are old enough to make our own memories.

I consider myself a forgetful person. The freshest memory I have is me, when I was 4,

playing in the front yard when my family just moved from another neighborhood.

Everything before that (and some things after, too) is blurry. I constantly find myself

looking at old pictures of me as a toddler asking when all that happened. Pictures of

places I don’t think I’ve been to, people I don’t I know and most important, memories I

don’t think belong to me. The brainwashing is more evident at this point. Asking to my

parents for the things before mentioned only triggers answers like: oh, that’s when we

were on vacation, those are your cousins, he was your best friend when you were 5,

don’t you remember? Of course I don’t! That’s why I’m asking. Anyway, when I see

those pictures of my apparent set-up life I can only think well, at least I look happy.

I could be complaining the entire book about how forgetful I am, but that’s not the

purpose of this upcoming best-selling autobiography. I’m here to tell you about my

lifetime odyssey, and gosh, that’s what I’m going to do! Even if I die trying to remember

or the things I did weren’t interesting at all.

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Life’s roulette, my family.

They say you can choose your friends but you’re stuck with your family. As far as I

know, I have lots of cousins from my mom’s side of the family; and lots of uncles and

aunts from my father’s side of the family. From all these people, only a handful of them

made their way into my “inner family circle” (Wow! How prestigious!) Now, where do I

begin? My mom, of course.

Mothers, light of the world, beloved guardians. I got blessed with a lovely mother;

cheerful, sentimental and moreover careful and cute. My mom is very careful, till the

point she becomes a bit paranoiac. She always cares about the family and gets awfully

sad and depressed when she hears bad news.

My dad, on the other hand, stoic, analytic and responsible. This is a bit hard for me to

tell, since I don’t get along with him too well. He loves his job and he is busy most of

the day, that’s why I didn’t spend much time with him when I was a child. Don’t

misinterpret me, I love him, I’m just not as close to him as I would like to be; and, as far

as I know, no one in the family is.

My dad had a family before. On that marriage he had four children, from where I only

know one of them: my half-brother. If I had to choose the coolest person I know, that

would definitely be my brother. He was born in the 80’s (gosh, what a great time to be

born), so he got permeated with that time’s culture. Books, movies, comics ,

videogames; you name it he has been into it. The legend tells he graduated from
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college when he was 21. Immediately he moved to San Pedro Sula, got a job and has

been living there ever since. Now he’s married and has a child, he and his family look

very happy together. If I manage to be a sixteenth as cool as him, I would be very, very

pleased.

As a fun fact. My dad, my brother and I are all named Manuel, so when the family gets

together and someone calls for Manuel the three of us ask which one.

On the full blood side of my siblings I have two sisters. My big sister is two years older

than me. She is a difficult person. I won’t talk about her. My little sister is very

charismatic and funny. She is the person who I am the closest to. We make jokes, tell

everything to each other and talk a lot. She is very determined, has excellent grades

and takes schoolwork very seriously.

When I was born I only had my two grandmas left, but one of them died when I was a

toddler. The only idea of grand parenting I have comes from my mother’s mother, and

how convenient because she was like a second mother for me. My grandma, or

grandmommy like we use to call her, was a joyful, calm and highly religious woman;

however, she had a nice sense of humor. She always told people not to be irritated but

instead be happy and enjoy life. Grandmommy had four children: my mom, my two

aunts and my uncle.

My aunts are very close to each other and are, also, very similar. I like to call them (as a

joke, of course) grown-up little girls, because they’re always making jokes and laughing.

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If grandmommy acted as a second mother, then my uncle would definitely act as a

second father. When I was a child, my uncle was the one who taught me how to ride a

bike, he drove me to my friends place and organized most of my birthday parties. He

has been living abroad for ten years and I haven’t talked to him lately but he is still a

very important person to me.

So far I’ve only talked about my mother’s side of the family. That’s because most of

them moved to Tegucigalpa while my father’s still live I their hometowns.

Early days, nothing but cuteness.

My story begins at kindergarten. My family and just had moved from another

neighborhood and my parents didn’t know much about nearby places, so they

inscribed my sister and me in the first kindergarten they heard about. For my bad

fortune (which later turned into good fortune) it wasn’t the best one. It was small and

based on a religion my parents don’t like. One week later a neighbor told my father

that there was another kindergarten, he didn’t even doubt about it. A few days later

there I was, fresh meat in the new place; and boy, what a change! Firstly, the place was

huge! Playgrounds everywhere and lots of things to do. After all, that’s the only thing

that matters when you are a child, right? Secondly, for some reason people there

seemed more approachable. And finally, it was closer home than the previous one

(don’t ask me how my parents didn’t hear about it before). My routine those two years

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was the same: have fun all day, playing with my new classmates, get back home take a

nap and the do nothing. The good life.

Holidays were a different business, for good. My family us ed to go on picnics on a

regular basis. Boy, what a great time! The smell of pine saturating the cold forest air,

towers of love home-made sandwiches and, most important, having the family

together. But all of that was back then, when I didn’t have to worry about anything and

life was nothing but cuteness.

School days.

I didn’t finish pre-school. I hopped right into elementary school. I noticed the change

right away. The older kids looked intimidating; no more baby-like happy faces

everywhere, no more idling around after classes. No sir, all that was gone. I put aside

those thoughts and moved on.

The first day went out pretty smoothly. I had the energy and motivation required to

venture myself into the marvelous lands of elementary school. I had, also, the g adgets.

Next to me a new backpack was lying on the floor, decorated with illustrations of my

favorite cartoon, and packed with colorful pens, clean notebooks and other small

things ready to be lost during the year. A neat uniform, new shoes, carefully-brushed

hair. A+ in presentation. Nothing could go wrong.

The school was receiving more students that it could handle. An example of that was

my first classroom, if that’s the correct definition for it. A small warehouse wasn’t
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exactly a good place to learn, however, the small place made of us a close and friendly

group. Thanks to that I was able to quickly made new friends who, eventually, would

become my best friends for the rest of my scholar life. Since we all lived in the same

neighborhood we could spend most afternoons messing around, riding our bicycles, or

just playing videogames at someone’s place. For the first time life had that spark that

makes it so lively.

As the years passed by, the school got bigger. New classrooms were built and there was

more place to play at recess. The favorite place for everyone was behind the farthest

building, where all the leftovers from the constructions were. I like to compare that

place with the markets of the Mideast countries; noisy, over-crowded, but also lively

and colorful. Back then, recess was an everyday adventure.

If I wasn’t having fun with my friends at recess, I was, of course, in classes. Teachers are

a very important part in one’s scholar life. Thankfully, I didn’t have problems with any

of them. Let’s get back to first grade. Teacher Erica. Gorgeous, joyful, patient and

intelligent, did I mentioned she was gorgeous? She was the kind of teacher every kid

has a crush on, and I wasn’t the exception. Learning from her was a divine experience,

she made everything look interesting. I always smiled at her when saw her in the

hallways the following years. And talking about the following years; nothing interesting

happened. Teachers were OK, not too simple nor interesting, until that year…

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5th grade, first day of classes. A tall silhouette entered the classroom: Teacher Gerardo.

He presented himself and without wasting time told the class “this ain’t going to be

easy”. There was something wrong with the way he spoke. He sounded highly informal

but, at the same time, authoritarian. Soon I realized that all my previous teachers were

women, and I never had had a male teacher; good, it was a new challenge. I won't lie, it

WAS difficult, and the fact that he was my teacher the following year too didn’t help. At

the end I made it. I graduated from elementary school. Sweet, what’s next? Calm down

kiddo, relax a bit. Enjoy your vacation, you’ll miss them in the future.

Vacation, the best part of the year. I used to visit grandmommy and stay with her from

late October to early December. I had some friends there. I used to get up very early

those days, wasting time was no allowed. By 9 AM my friends and I were already

outside playing something. The neighborhood where grandmommy’s house is located

is a bit small but it’s full of trees, of course my friends and I took advantage of this.

Some trees were perfect for tree houses, others were just fun to climb. We also use to

play baseball a lot. Two of my friends, who are brothers, played in a team so we had all

the equipment to play; also, there was a field nearby where we use to play in. It was so

fun, and the fact that scores didn’t matter only made it better. In the evening we would

go to the parking lot to play hide-and-seek. By that time of the day most of the people

were back home from their jobs, so the amount of cars were perfect for hiding. At the

end of the day we would sat on a hillside and talk about things.

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When Christmas was around the corner all got different, everything seemed alive. The

lights blinking on the trees, the kitchen full of glorious scents, and the cold air blowing

with magnificent announced the imminent festivity with fervor. A lot of people visited

grandmommy in Christmas thus her house was always crowded on that day. I hate

crowded places, but that was different, I liked the heartwarming feeling of seeing the

family together. When the festivities had ended there was nothing left to do but to

wait for another year.

Level Up! High school.

When my parents first told me about high school I got nervous. It sounded really

serious and I was looking forward to it. My freshman year was certainly different from

everything I had come through before. First, I was in the afternoon section. Second,

there were no elementary scholars in that section, so again I was surrounded by people

older than me. Finally, I had to go by myself, no transportation service for me. Good!

That was challenging enough for me, I just had to survive. My first week there was

miserable. There I was, alone again, no one to hang with at recess. I used to sit alone

and eat my lunch, watching others walk by, talking to each other and making jokes. As

the days passed by I got to know with everybody in my classroom. We were only 11

people, so it wasn’t difficult. To be honest, that year wasn’t too interesting. Yeah, lots

of memories, but I remember it mostly as a hot and quiet spring evening. Just all of us

idling around, talking silly stories and sharing thoughts.

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The following year was more interesting. For some reason the institute got popular and

soon the 11 folks turned into 40+ students in the classroom. New people meant more

possibilities. Getting to know with all of them led me to meet more and more people in

the institute as my new classmates introduced me others from different levels. By the

end of my third year I was able to name at least four people from each level.

Being able to talk to others within the institute helped me with something important:

finding love. I had had one girlfriend at high school before and another hand-holding

girlfriend at elementary school, but I met the girl who I consider as my first serious

girlfriend until I was in my third year at high school. Her name Is Berenice. By that time

Bere was the most amazing, yet difficult girl I had known. I love women who are unique

(you know, those who don’t stick to the girly stereotype), however, that normally leads

to a contradiction, those women tend to be less feminine (another quality I love in a

woman) than their square minded counterparts. The charm of Bere was exactly that,

she was easygoing, tough, funny and honest… this may sound bad, but she was like a

pal; however, she was also gorgeous, careful, sensitive and neat. The first time I saw

her was a month after the scholar year started. She was in another bus route but then

she got transferred to mine because she had moved a few days ago. She didn’t know

anyone so I took advantage and started to talk to her. That helped a lot, as two weeks

later everyone in the bus knew her. She accepted my friendship easily and we became

best friends. That whole year we were inseparable. We use to talk by phone and chat

via SMS every day, and we even went for a walk very often (we lived in the same

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neighborhood). Everything was fantastic… until that day. I have another problem

(Another? Wow, I suck as a person), I am careless as heck. I constantly say things that I

don’t mean or jokes that aren’t actually funny. Well, the thing is, one day we were

talking in the bus and she said she didn’t want to see me anymore (we were making

jokes so I knew that wasn’t true at all). I answered with something insulting (did I

mentioned she was difficult? Good). For my bad luck she took that in a literal way. The

following day, when I addressed to her, she told me she was serious about it and she

didn’t want to be my friend anymore. I explained her about my stupid joke but there

was no turning back, she wouldn’t listen. That happened by September so I spent the

rest of the scholar year alone.

It sucks badly when you argue with someone close to you. From one day to another

that person turns into someone you can’t even look at. For me it was more difficult.

First, it hadn’t happened to me before, it was the most awful experience I’ve been

through. Second, I really liked her and not been able to talk to her anymore was killing

me. Finally, we shared the same bus both, to school and back home, so I had to see her

every day. She used to sit alone in the front seat; stoic, looking through the window.

Everyone else in the bus were talking but none of us felt like doing so. Was she

suffering like I was? I couldn’t tell as my following attempts of reconciliation failed. I

gave up and finally the scholar year ended.

During the holidays I focused on myself. Just me doing my favorite activities.

Apparently I was able to overcome her, and before I realized, a new scholar year had
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started. It was good to see my classmates again and all the… Oh, no. There she was.

Welcome back depression I missed you. We were in the same bus again, getting in that

bus bas a real pain. She did the same as the previous year. Sit alone in the front seat

and look through the windows all the way long. She had the same routine, however

there was something different with her. She looked prettier and a mean really prettier!

The smell of her new perfume was intoxicant, the reflections of the sunlight on her hair

were blinding. Was she trying to attract someone? I won’t lie, there were days when I

couldn’t bear seeing her so I took public transportation back home.

Two weeks later a friend of mine lend me a letter. He said someone asked him to give it

to me. I didn’t paid much attention to it and I read it only when I had gotten back

home. For my surprise it was a love letter. As far as clichés go I’m more a fan of the

secret-note-in-the-backpack kind of stuff, but I wrote a response anyway. Maybe that

would help me to forget Bere. The following day I gave the letter to my friend and I

asked him to deliver it. I received an answered a letter everyday all week long.

One day I decided to face the mystery girl. I followed my friend all day, with a bit of luck

I would see who he was going to deliver the letter to. He was looking for someone, he

headed to the farthest part of the institute (which is very small, so there’s nothing such

a secret spot to do the delivery). He was sitting in a bench when someone approached

him…

-“OH, NO! No, no, no, no!”

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I was shocked. The mystery girl was no one but… Bere. My inner self was shouting to

the heavens. Bere was interested in me after all that time! That kind of emotion is

paralyzing, I couldn’t even move. I just was standing there, still, with a triumphant smile

on my face. Who cares! I was happy!

I thought carefully how I was going to handle the mission. If I suddenly told her face to

face she would be scared and I would screw the whole operation. I waited for her letter

and I wrote I knew who she was. Of course it wasn’t Bere if she hadn’t fought back. She

wrote back I was silly to think she was interested in me, and she was just messing with

me. I missed her stubbornness. To my surprise, when I went to the bus she was sitting

in my place. She saw me and told me she wanted to talk. I’m proud to say that the

following day we were talking back like old friends, and most important, I asked her to

be my girlfriend which she happily accepted.

The spark was back. Life smiled at me again. The rest of the year was a wonderful

experience mostly due to Bere’s company. Taking the bus suddenly became the

happiest part of the day, and the lone afternoons turned into blissful moments visiting

Bere at her home. But there’s one problem with life. It plays tricks on us when we less

expect it. An aunt of Bere asked her to move to Florida with her… She departed on

November of that year.

Time flies. When I realized I was in my senior year surrounded by friends an

experiences. Being a senior had its benefits, teachers know and trust you, you can miss

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a class or two and you can skip the line at the cafeteria, but most important is the

respect. Putting all those things aside, that year was all about the TES. I’m sure I hated

to wake up early on Saturdays, but now I think about those days and a smile pops up

on my face. Except for the TES nothing interesting happened before August. By that

time the TES was over and I spent the following Saturdays in the graduation training.

In September I got a new girlfriend, her name is Lord (very singular name, I know). Lord

and I were similar. We were quiet and sentimental, we shared the same vision of life,

friends and most important we are both left-handed! I use to go to Lord’s house every

Saturday after training. Two of my classmates lived in the same neighborhood as her,

so the four of us used to go for walks in the evening or simply loiter at someone’s

place. I still remember the cold air blowing on my face and the stars filling the sky. Two

months later Lord and I split. Her grandmother (who she lived with) wasn’t happy

about our relationship and none of us wanted do deal with the “drama”.

In a flash, the graduation day showed up. I remember everyone crying; I am

sentimental, yes, but not to the extent of crying. For me the graduation was rather an

uncomfortable moment. Lots of people, having to deal with the ceremonies and facing

the ghost of everyone splitting out and going to different universities. I stored everyone

in my mind and continued smiling for the photos.

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College. The ultimate frontier.

My first term at college was epic. The majority of my friends made it into the UNAH.

We had the same free hours so we use to gather for lunch. College life was certainly

different. Lots of people, huge physical space and the freedom of doing whatever I

wanted. Before that I always followed the pack, to be able to do what I wanted and go

where I liked was amazing and at some extent, disturbing. By the third term and for

two years I became a lonely wolf, and I enjoyed it! I was free to think and do what I

wanted. I discovered lots of music styles, read some books and made all kind of new

things. Now I have new friends at the program and I have settled down a bit. Even

though I still enjoy some time for myself, having a pack again makes me feel

comfortable.

Future presages.

I’m not looking for richness, fame, glory or to be remembered. I don’t want a huge

house nor a family to fill it. I don’t want to travel around the world (though, I would like

to travel to Australia). I just want to meet as much people as I can and try to learn

something from them. I see myself as a normal person in the future, with lots of friends

and living life as much as I can. If so, I will have completed my goal in life and I could

depart happily.

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Conclusions.

My life has been… mine. It may look like my life has been plain and not too exciting, but

it’s just a way to see it. I don’t care about the few big moments that are unforgettable

but instead I focus in the small meaningful moments that life presents to us everyday.

Those moments that for most people are insignificant for me are the most important

part of my memories. I might not achieved huge triumphs, but I still remember the first

time I rode a bicycle; I might not had lots of lots of girlfriends but I remember every

sunset I spent with them; I might not have taken a great deal of photos, but I

remember every detail of the landscapes I’ve seen. There’s a saying by John Lennon:

Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans and I’ve chosen to live life

in the way it comes.

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Photo Section.

On the way to the TES. (2009) The day of my graduation. (2009)

First term at the UNAH (2010). Visiting my brother in Easter week (2015).

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