I was born on July 30, 1973, though back then things weren't always done by the book, and I wasn't registered until a year later, along with my sister's birth, as if we were twins. Thus, my first year of life remains an undocumented mystery.My two names, laden with deep and painful history, were inherited from my aunts who tragically passed away. My paternal aunt died young in an accident that scarred our family, and my maternal aunt, pregnant in an era when this was seen as sinful, made the desperate decision to take her own life. These names, full of history, were given to me in their memory.I spent my first five years with my family in Punta del Este, Uruguay, a paradise that marked my earliest memories. Then we moved to a small town of 8,000 inhabitants, which I will describe in another book, where I lived until I was 23 years old. As a child, I was submissive and fearful but also enthusiastic and self-assured, though I often kept my thoughts to myself. I was noisy and amusing, always the family clown. I found in laughter a solution to avoid suffering. I grew up in a very humble family, with parents and two other siblings. My parents had severe cohabitation and habit conflicts, but my mother, a hardworking and resilient woman, always kept her good humor. She taught us to laugh at the worst situations and cared for and protected us on her own since I was 10 years old. My childhood, adolescence, and youth were complicated, marked by these circumstances.At 23, I got married, and the following year my first child, a boy who filled my life with joy, was born. By 24, I was divorced. I returned to Punta del Este for a few years until I was 27 when economic conditions forced me to emigrate to Spain. I didn't go alone; I went with my son and my partner, who would later become the father of my daughter. There, as an illegal immigrant, I worked various jobs in different cities until my daughter was born in 2003, in a small town in Spain. In 2004, with the amnesty through rootedness, I was able to regularize my illegal status and finally live with the stability I had longed for. With a residence and work permit, I could practice my profession as an accountant for a solar energy company. During this time, all doors opened for me; I bought an apartment in Spain and acquired many material things.The 2009 crisis encouraged me to return to Uruguay, but with the determination not to give up and to leave all doors open to return. Back there, I opened a business importing European clothing, which to this day allows me to travel to Spain every year to buy merchandise during the third sales period and export it to Uruguay, living from summer to summer and visiting many people I met and care about. For over 15 years, I have done this, and as when I lived in Spain, I could only work, these years of visits have allowed me to know almost all the cities in Spain and many towns. Each year, I chose a route of about 6,000 km to explore and get to know everything. I have met people from all over the world, and life has provided me with incredible experiences and opportunities.For ten long years since my separation from my second daughter's father, I have not been able to see her. Why? I believe due to unfair legal decisions, but recently, thanks to a social network, we have begun to reconnect after a long 10 years, though her responses are almost monosyllabic. A bitter story that I will recount in each book.My books narrate these experiences full of challenges and triumphs. I write under a pseudonym since few in my country and family know this facet of my life. Additionally, I want to keep my identity reserved due to this story I have fought so hard to change, without causing irreparable harm to my daughter above all, and to my family and those who know me.Besides writing, I love to sing, and for the past two years, I have been taking classes with a great and adorable friend, Cris. This is my story, today in the year 2024, a mix of struggle, love, and perseverance, which I hope will inspire and attract those who read it.Read more about this authorRead less about this author