Priscila

I sit in one of the most uncomfortable sofas I've ever sat in, waiting to take an airplane back to Bogota from the Amazon forest. I sit here having eaten chicken and fish, having had to sit there while my only possible lunch was being fished out of the river. It's a cruel ordeal, but as my fingers find themselves clumsily trying to type on this minute keyboard that is the blackberry.. I can say that my desire to cleanse myself has never been greater. I tell you that watching someone being killed… Continue

I love writing. I've come through as the person who too often thinks to much. Who puts thought in things and people that others wouldn't, ever, think about. I'd like to tell you about my family but space doesn't suffice and though my short years of sixteen wouldn't normally allow for much living, they've done the best they can. My dad's Colombian my mom's french, both brain surgeons. Two older brothers, an artist, which would entail an incredible eye for detail and sensitivity for passion. The o… Continue