Mexican Gothic centers around the story of Noemí Taboada, a young, free-spirited socialite in 1950’s Mexico. One day, a frantic letter arrives from her cousin, Catalina. Upon first glance, she does not appear to be mentally well. Concerned, Noemí’s father gets in contact with her husband, an Englishman named Virgil Doyle. The two go back and forth with one another until Virgil extends an invitation for Noemí to visit Catalina at the Doyle family home.
Situated high up in the mountaintops in the countryside, the Doyle mansion, called High Place, is a drastic change from the city life Noemí is accustomed to. Noemí soon finds herself in an unfamiliar world full of strict rules and stranger inhabitants. …
I have bloomed and died a thousand times.
I have fought back tears just to admit defeat and cry in shame. I have written words in confidence that I would soon come to regret. I have kept my mouth silent when I wish I could have said the words that were meant to be spoken.
I have said too much when I knew I should have said nothing at all. I cared when I knew caring was a waste of time. I turned away in coldness when I wanted to feel nothing but warmth and comfort.
I am trapped in a cocoon of defeat and uncertainty. A heavy force presses deeply against my heart. It’s been here before and it’s always the same, unpleasant suffocation of thought and feeling. It hurts so much, I feel my sanity slipping away into the abyss. …
My brain feels like it’s melting. I feel like this past month went by in a foggy state of surrealness. Or perhaps, it’s just this entire year. I have suddenly become the melting clocks in Salvador Dali’s, The Persistence of Memory (1931).
I am stuck in many moments in time. I am slipping between these moments and feeling off-kilter. Each time I move between them, another part of my soul sheds away. Tiny particles float away into the atmosphere and disappear forever. I’ll never get back what I lost. I can’t seem to find my balance.
I have survived the majority of this year. That should feel like a blessing, right? …
Today I’m feeling blue again. I hit the snooze button on my alarm for the fifth time. I feel hollow on the inside. My emotions constantly consume me, just like they always have. Past memories of people calling me weak or dramatic echo inside my head, giving me more reason to not want to face reality. Decades of emotional pain and isolation threaten to smother me once more. Today is a bad day. Or has it been weeks? Months? Years? It’s always on and off.
My mind and body feel weak, devoid of sustenance, and warmth. I am lost in the Blue. The cool hues and cool tones create a sense of calm in me. The Blue is magnetic and beckons to me daily, like an old friend that longs for me to come back into its life. …
Although I shelter from the rain
Under a broken tree,
My chair was nearest to the fire
In every company
That talked of love or politics,
Ere Time transfigured me.
— W.B. Yeats
Towards the end of December, I picked up reading again during the holidays and haven’t stopped reading since. I almost forgot what it felt like to fall in love with the art of storytelling, and I never realized how badly I needed stories in my life again until now. During uncertain times like these, escaping into poetic words and fantastical worlds feels like a blessing.
There are many books we come to love and appreciate throughout our lives, but there are also the ones that evoke emotion so strong, that we feel somewhat changed afterward. And after we’ve read and had more than several epiphanies, there is a sudden urge to shout our feelings out into the universe. …
In the land of freelancing, you’re allowed to be your own boss and set your own hours, but once you take on a client, the rolls can reverse, and suddenly it feels like demand after demand is thrust upon you.
Suddenly you are no longer in control. You are drowning in work and every client wants your undivided attention. You are no longer human. You are a machine and you have no needs and no life of your own.
Welcome to freelancing hell!
Okay, let’s take a step back here. It doesn’t necessarily have to be this way. …
This article may contain spoilers
After recently finishing the thriller ‘You,’ starring Penn Badgley and Elizabeth Lail, I have been feeling all sorts of emotions. Unsettled is one of them.
For those who haven’t watched the series or read the book yet, ‘You’ centers around bookstore manager Joe Goldberg and struggling writer and graduate student, Guinevere Beck — known simply as Beck.
Both characters share minor similarities at first. To the outside world, they appear charming and carefree. Their lives seem centered, but we quickly learn that on the inside, they are both struggling with their own personal demons.
‘You’ isn’t just a story about a sociopath and his quest to stalk and slowly obtain the damaged woman of his dreams, but also serves as a cautionary tale between the chaos that often erupts within the entanglement of toxic love. …
Books are a uniquely portable magic. ~Stephen King
Since the age of five, I have been enamored by the art of storytelling. Books have always been my cornerstone, and have provided me with an imaginary world and safe space to fall back on.
As a natural Introvert and someone that grew up relatively sheltered, books always served as a companion during my greatest moments of solitude.
There has always been something comforting about holding a book in my hands, and the satisfactory feeling of each turn of the page, always anticipating every new word that would lead me closer and closer to the book’s climax and ultimate conclusion. …
I’ll never forget the first time I saw Trainspotting. I was intrigued but also horrified. It was gritty, jolting, and viscerally raw. It was also one of the first movies I ever watched that centered around the lives of addicts — and not just any addict — but the heroin addict.
Heroin is probably one of the most deadliest drugs anyone can ever do and movies like Trainspotting don’t skip out on all the messy details. I mean, have you read the book? I have and it’s also not a pretty story, but it isn’t meant to be.
After the recent news of Demi Lovato almost losing her life to a suspected drug overdose (first reports were saying heroin but it may not actually be heroin after all, according to developing stories), it reminded me of the death of one of my uncle’s and an aunt that lost their lives to addiction. One was in fact by a heroin overdose, and the other was supposedly pills. …
Growing up, I remember teen dramas on the air like Dawson’s Creek, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Gilmore Girls, 7th Heaven, and Beverly Hills, 90210.
In the early 2000’s there was the The O.C., One Tree Hill, Gossip Girl, Veronica Mars, and The Vampire Diaries, to name a few.
Even newer teen-centered shows like 13 Reasons Why, Pretty Little Liars, Riverdale, Stranger Things, or upcoming Netflix originals like Insatiable (now receiving backlash for fat-shaming) all have one major element in common: they’re told through the viewpoints of a mostly all white cast, and all the main characters are also typically white.
Well, it’s really quite simple: there has always been a lack of diversity in the entertainment industry, and after all these years, there still is. …