Book - Hole to Whole

 “Up and adum.” That was how mornings began. Mommy’s voice cutting through sleep, gentle but unyielding.  Up and adum —time to rise, time to move, time to face whatever the day demanded of us. But the moment that lodged itself in my chest, the one that still echoes, came wrapped in those same words. Up and adum—we’re moving to Chile. Just like that. No soft landing. No easing into it. A sentence that tipped my world on its axis. That day at school, I told my teachers, “Redefine yourself. Leave things behind.” I said it like I understood what it meant. Like I wasn’t eleven years old, standing at the edge of something vast and unnamed. They smiled, impressed by the maturity of it. None of us realized those words weren’t a slogan—they were a prophecy. The days that followed collapsed into motion. Cardboard boxes. Garage sales. Goodbyes that clung to my throat longer than I expected. Within a week, school was over, friendships paused mid-sentence, and our life reduced to what coul...

I was nine. The memory is sharp, unforgiving, like it branded itself into my bones. He whistled the way he always did when they were awake—our signal. It   meant it was safe. It meant we were wanted. It meant we could run down the hall and leap into their bed, laughter first, feet cold against the floor. Of course I took the spot next to him. I always did and I was faster than my sisters. And there it was, he caught my arm. His hand closed around me, firm enough to anchor the moment forever. Estás gordita. The words were small. Casual. Almost affectionate. They shattered me anyway. Something dark slipped into my bloodstream in that instant, quiet and lethal. I learned the rule without being taught: love had to be earned. Approval was conditional. My body was already failing some invisible test. I didn’t yet understand what food had to do with any of it. I just knew something about me was suddenly wrong. And even though I couldn’t name it then, that lesson stayed. It waited. And yea...