on why i'm doing this

why would i even want to put thoughts out in the internet...?

Yours truly, one year old; Guaynabo, Puerto Rico. Source: My abuela’s albums.

i was born with a pen in my hand, or so my mom tells me.

maybe it was the plastic sunglasses without lenses, or the way i'd scribble nonsense in a notebook and declare my findings to the world. “bird! television! table. dog!”

i would hand the notebook and pen to my mom, having ordained her on the spot as the person to take dictation.

“carmen jovet! controversial! pedro rossello! abuelo. abuela. guitarra! duck tales.”

my mom would dutifully write everything down for me… and then i’d try to imitate the shapes and forms of the letters myself. she says i probably was one or two years old. that’s how i learned to write.

these were my first steps into the world of storytelling, a world that would become my sanctuary and my battlefield.

for as long as i can remember, i’ve always just… written. or at the very least, wanted to write.

when social media (myspace, facebook) first exploded, i’d already been writing and journaling on xanga, on livejournal (briefly), and on tumblr. i often would write silly little poems, or blog about my day, or share a song i liked. i would reblog outfits, scenery, cute boys or girls, and art i liked. i would talk shit about people i didn’t like. i would wax poetic about the crush du jour. i would rant about an obscure little pop song i’d come across.

on tumblr, doing this random ass shit got me 50,000 followers over the course of a year. barely anyone knew who i really was, and that anonymity felt freeing. but with the rise in followers came a flood of anonymous hate comments and reblogs. then came the “you should k—- yourself” comments.

it was an avalanche, and i became obsessed with posting every single one. it wasn't healthy. it became an addiction, seeing every single drop of hate. i let it soak into my soul and it poisoned me. that put a damper on my self-expression online for a long time.

i haven’t always felt like a good writer, or like i am good at anything in particular. but when i create something spectacular, something i can be proud of, and people see that, it feels like validation. writing is one of those things that makes me feel seen and heard.

sometimes i just apply myself to something and the result is truly spectacular, something to feel proud of. it just so happens that more and more, people catch me in moments during which i am actually pulling something off. and they compliment me. and then that makes me feel like i did something or like, maybe - just maybe - i am good at something. writing is one of those things.

i honestly don’t know what the plan is for this substack. for a while i’ve wanted to find a place where i could go back to just writing random things about random things. i’ve wanted to find a place where i could get back to the sheer joy of creating just for the sake of creating. i haven’t felt good about anything i have created in a while because often i create for the purpose of others, and i desperately want to change that to recapture my joy and my creativity. this substack right now feels like such a great place to do this.

moving forward my purpose is clear here - to inspire, to inform, and to love.

it’s a very simple and direct purpose, and it will guide my writing here.

i will write pieces that will be very personal. i will write pieces that will deal with my politics and with my beliefs. i will write pieces about my life and my experiences. my writing, should be noted, comes from my perspective and my experience. i want to be clear of that in hopes that perhaps this will lead to greater understanding moving forward.

there’s something deeply terrifying about being so online, so open, so public. every word, every post becomes fodder for judgments, narratives spun in the minds of strangers. it’s a constant exposure, a vulnerability that leaves you feeling raw and exposed. people don’t always follow you with good intentions.

some are there to scrutinize, to tear down, to cast a "digital evil eye" upon you. the toxicity can be overwhelming, a dark cloud that hangs over every piece of content you share.

it’s deeply unsettling, knowing that your words might be twisted, your intentions misinterpreted, and your character maligned.

yet, here i am, putting myself out there again. it’s a risk, but one i feel compelled to take. because for every person who judges, there’s someone who connects. for every critic, there’s someone who feels seen, who maybe finds solace in my words.

that’s the power of vulnerability—the courage to be open, to be real, to be raw. and that’s the magic of creation—it bridges gaps, fosters understanding, and creates a tapestry of shared human experience.

it’s this connection, this shared journey through our collective struggles and triumphs, that makes the risk worthwhile. and it’s why, despite the fear, i continue to share my story.

finding a creative outlet is crucial. it's a place where you can be unapologetically yourself, where you can pour out your thoughts, emotions, and dreams without fear. it's a sanctuary, a refuge from the noise and chaos of the world. creating for the sake of creating is a pure, unfiltered joy. it's about tapping into that childlike wonder, that sense of play and discovery.

it's about finding meaning in the act of creation itself, not in the approval or validation of others.

this substack is my space to reclaim that joy, to write and create because it fills my soul, because it makes me feel alive. it's a place where i can explore, experiment, and express without constraints. it's a reminder that amidst all the noise, the opinions, and the judgments, i have a voice that matters. and i want to use it to inspire, to inform, to love, and to connect.

i guess this is just a really long-winded way of saying some very simple and clear things about me: i am, and always have been, an artist, a writer, a musician, a creator, a dreamer.

for as long as i exist, i’m always going to create something. and for as long as i can remember - that always started with a letter. or with my mom taking dictation.

gracias, mami.