I’ll never forget the first moment I knew I was destined to write. I was ten years old, sitting on a plastic chair in my parents’ bakery in Hialeah, watching my papá passionately argue with a customer about—wait for it—the proper way to eat a pastelito. One side swore by starting with a corner, while the other demanded allegiance to the classic middle-first technique. The back-and-forth escalated into a dramatic saga, complete with hand gestures and crumbs flying everywhere. I remember grabbing a napkin and pretending to take notes, trying to capture the dizzying combination of humor and humanity playing out in front of me like a live telenovela. Right then, I realized: stories are everywhere. And I knew I wanted to tell them.

But falling in love with writing hasn’t always been smooth sailing. It’s been more of a passionate, chaotic Cuban drama—messy, thrilling, and sometimes heartbreaking. The kind of love that teaches you not just about your craft, but about who you are and what you stand for. So how did I go from a kid with a napkin notebook to someone lucky enough to write for a living? Let’s rewind, unpack some lessons, and maybe even share a few laughs along the way.

The “Meet-Cute”: Finding My Spark in Hialeah

You could say I grew up in a storytelling school disguised as a bakery. Our shop wasn’t just a spot for café con leche and guava pastries; it was the heartbeat of the neighborhood. People poured their souls into conversations over the counter. Political debates could start out civil and end in swearing (always in Spanglish), while others spun love stories. “Did you hear about Carmen? She married her high school sweetheart after 20 years apart!” Customers crafted intricate tales about everything from their electric bills to their rogue tia showing up unannounced—again.

At first, I thought my world was ordinary, but then, I started realizing: every customer was walking in with their own novela. They were the protagonists of their lives, just like Abuela was the queen of her domino table. The burst of life in those stories captivated me. That’s when I found my secret ingredient: ordinary people have extraordinary tales. Writing wasn’t just about escaping into fiction; it was a way of holding up a mirror and saying, “Mira—your life is magic, too.”

Turning the Crush into a Commitment

Now, falling in love is one thing. Committing is another. Writing started as this cute little hobby—a kind of literary fling. Sure, I kept napkin notebooks and wrote (terrible) poetry in my Lisa Frank journal, but I wasn’t quite ready to go steady. High school was where things got serious. Shoutout to Mrs. Martinez, my English teacher who saw something in my rambling essays filled with tangled metaphors and too many semicolons. She introduced me to José Martí’s poetry, and let me just say, Martí didn’t just speak to my brain—he punched me right in the soul.

Martí wrote about Cuba, family, freedom, and heartbreak, but it wasn’t just what he wrote—it was how. His words flowed like music, weaving nostalgia and hope into every line. I started thinking, Maybe I could do that too. Maybe I could make people feel something. So, I entered every writing contest I could find, staying up late to edit my pieces on the family’s ancient, dial-up-era desktop while my papá yelled in the background because his telenovela had started, and I was hogging the computer.

But just like in dating, passion comes with tough questions: Are you willing to put in the work? Will you stay when it gets messy? What happens when self-doubt storms in like a jealous ex? Thankfully, committing to writing came with equal parts joy and grit. It taught me how to be patient, persistent, and okay with rejection—a skill that certainly comes in handy when dating, too, let me tell you. (Pro tip: Rejection is like editing out bad metaphors—it stings at first, but it’s for the best.)

Awkward Phases: Learning to “Date” My Passion

You know that weird phase in a relationship where everything feels...off? That was me during my college years at Florida State. Picture this: a Cuban kid from Hialeah, suddenly surrounded by frat bros, football fanatics, and way too many people confused by my accent. (For the tenth time, “Hialeah” is not a fake country—it’s a real city, and yes, it’s part of Florida.) I felt out of place, unsure if my stories or voice mattered in the wider world.

Writing became my saving grace during those awkward college years. It was like a stabilizing partner who reminded me, “You’ve got this, bro.” I’d sit under the giant oak trees on campus, scribbling drafts and imagining the characters who lived in my head. Those years taught me that falling in love with your passion requires faith—faith that even when things feel awkward or forced or like you don’t belong, you can still lean into what lights you up.

And, just like in relationships, I learned the key to keeping passion alive is...compromise? Not so much. It’s about showing up even when it’s hard, messy, or inconvenient.

Passion in Practice: How It Drives Me Today

Fast forward to now. Writing is no longer just my passion—it’s part of my everyday life. It drives my work, my perspective, and honestly, how I see relationships. Want to know what writing has taught me about love (and life)? Buckle up:

  1. Listen for the Story Nobody’s Telling
    Whether I’m piecing together a short story or unpacking what went wrong in a relationship, writing has taught me to listen deeply. People often say one thing but mean another. The real story—the real connection—lives in the subtext. Translation? Don’t just hear your partner say, “I’m fine.” Dig deeper. There’s gold beneath the surface.

  2. Rewrites Are Part of the Process
    One of the biggest lessons of my writing life? Good stories don’t happen in one draft. They’re messy, edited, and refined over time. Relationships work the same way. No one gets everything right on the first go. It’s all about showing up, making adjustments, and learning as you go.

  3. Celebrate the Mundane
    My papá taught me that passion and magic exist where you least expect it—even over a pastelito debate. In both love and writing, it’s not always grand gestures that matter. It’s the little things, the everyday moments, and the details you refuse to overlook.

  4. Keep the Flirt Alive
    Writing, much like dating, requires playfulness. It’s easy to get bogged down by the technical stuff (word count! grammar! where do all these commas even go?!), but the magic is in staying curious and open. With love, it’s about cracking jokes after a long day or bringing someone coffee as a tiny act of care. In writing? It’s letting yourself play on the page, even if you’re the only one laughing.

My Love Letter to You (and Your Passion)

Here’s the thing about falling in love with your passion—it’s not one grand moment of clarity. It’s a hundred tiny sparks that grow into a fire. It’s a first crush that deepens into something steady. Whether you’re figuring out how to cook without burning the arroz con pollo (still working on that one personally) or trying to make sense of love itself, my advice is this:

Start messy. Be curious. Laugh when things go sideways.

Falling for my passion gave me purpose, joy, and fire on the days I needed it most. It reminded me that stories, much like relationships, evolve over time—and that’s where the magic lies. So, what’s that thing you can’t stop thinking about? The idea, hobby, or skill that makes your heart race? Fall for it. Hard. Because when you’re in love with your passion, you’re living your story.

And I promise, it’ll be a damn good one.