“Why don’t you just write a telenovela, Isabela? You’d make us famous!”

My abuela sipped her cafecito as she waved the idea in the air like it was the simplest solution to my career indecision. We were sitting on her floral couch, surrounded by sepia-toned photos of long-gone relatives, the sound of her favorite salsa station playing faintly in the background. I was 20, a journalism major, and at a crossroads. Her words—half a joke, half a command—planted a seed that I didn’t realize would bloom until years later, when I found myself writing about matters of the heart.

At the time, I didn’t think I’d be the kind of writer who explored feelings, connections, or what makes people light up like sparklers on Nochebuena. I wanted to cover the “serious” stuff—investigations, breaking news, maybe an exposé or two. But the thing is, storytelling kept pulling me toward where I truly belonged: the community of connection.

Let me explain why I took this path, and how it fits so seamlessly into the life I’ve built.

A Storyteller at Heart

Growing up in Little Havana, I learned early that stories aren’t told just with words. Sometimes, they’re shared through food—my mom’s ropa vieja carrying the weight of decades of family tradition—or through music, like my dad’s feathery guajiro tunes that reminded him of a pre-revolutionary Cuba he never got to see.

But the juiciest stories? They came from the whispered chisme passed between tias over domino games, dramatized by gasps and the occasional slap of a hand on a table. These were intimate tales of love gained and lost, of flirtations sidestepped and embraced. Love and relationships were the currency here, the stuff that made life vibrant, messy, and deliciously unpredictable.

Even when I ventured out of my tight-knit neighborhood—first to college, then to internships in New York—I couldn’t shake the truth: the best stories are rooted in what bonds us together. And at the core of that? Relationships. Romantic, platonic, familial—you name it, I wanted to explore it.

The Romance of Real Talk

Let’s get one thing straight: writing about dating and relationships isn’t all swoony montages and grand gestures, like a Netflix rom-com (though, who doesn’t love a good Manny and Maria storyline?).

It’s about the raw, chaotic, beautiful work of learning to connect with others—and yourself. To me, there’s romance in real talk. In figuring out how to apologize without sounding defensive. In navigating first dates without rereading your texts 27 times. In staying curious about your partner, even after you’ve memorized how they take their coffee and all the songs they skip on Spotify.

I didn’t set out to be a relationship writer in the beginning, but I found that writing about people in search of meaning—through each “What are we?” conversation and awkward meet-the-family dinner—is deeply rewarding. It aligns with my values: celebrating vulnerability, supporting growth, and interrogating the stories we tell ourselves.

Universal, Yet Personal

One thing I’ve learned from my upbringing is this: though our lives might look different, our human longings are strikingly similar. Growing up as a first-generation Cuban American, I often felt like I was translating between worlds—not just between Spanish and English, but between tradition and new possibilities.

That skill has served me well as I write about relationships. It’s not about telling people how to love or what to do; it’s about offering a space to reflect, reconnect, and reimagine what “together” looks like.

And trust me—despite our differences, a lot of the situations out there have universal vibes. Exhibit A: Ever had a relative interrogate you about why you're not married yet? (Because what’s scarier than failure? Another Christmas dinner being grilled about your love life.)

These shared moments of joy and awkwardness are the crux of what I write. It’s about narrowing in on the common thread and making readers feel less alone, even when they feel like a mess.

Why I Keep Doing This

The truth is, relationships scare people. They’re risky. Unpredictable. Occasionally humiliating (see: every bad flirtation you’ve ever tried in a Target aisle). But they’re also how we come alive.

Writing about these messy moments has taught me that human connections aren’t some side plot in life—they’re the whole dang story. And my job is to help people get better at writing theirs, whether that’s through an article about deepening intimacy or a piece on why ghosts (the dating kind) shouldn’t haunt your life for more than one week.

Let’s be honest: love isn’t always a salsa dance. Sometimes it’s more like embarrassing middle school gym-class choreography. But guess what? Embarrassment is part of the process, and nobody emerges unscathed. What matters is that we keep trying.

My Takeaway for You

If there’s one thing I want you to remember, it’s this: you’re not doing life wrong just because you haven’t memorized the choreography yet. Relationships—and everything they demand—are a crash course in self-discovery, vulnerability, and yes, patience.

So whether you’re dancing circles around uncertainty or mastering the moves of devotion, you don’t have to do it alone. I’ll be here, cheering you on with the warmth of an abuela bearing unsolicited advice and the enthusiasm of someone who genuinely believes your journey is worth writing about.

The path I chose lets me blend the magic of storytelling with the wonderful chaos of human connection. And whether you’re looking for advice, a little inspiration, or just a place to feel understood, I’m glad you’re here, salsa steps and all.

Because life? It’s better when we go through it together.