I’m French-Colombian. This means I have a French mom, a Colombian dad, and I properly grew up in both places. I'll paint the picture: my father was a politician which made everything about my upbringing a mash-up of Moulin Rouge and a hefty dose of bullet proof cars. For a snapshot, my nanny was a six-foot-five male police academy cadet my father hired when I was one— he styled my hair every morning for school while wearing a bullet proof vest. My family operated at the peak of two overly romanticized cultures and due to my father’s profession, we were to be the very face of them both. And so, I was taught to be the French-Colombian girl of your dreams. Raised to be sharp, well-read, well-mannered, of delectable etiquette, cultured, cultivated, an eloquent polyglot, a proficient debater, a skilled negotiator, a master barterer, and possess a wit so razor sharp I could disarm anyone with a single comeback and…. I was also to possess undeniable sex appeal.
Fast forward to my twenties and my French Girl-Hot Tamale performance entirely drove my addictions and killed my creativity. To become the writer I want to be, I had to get sober. To get sober, I had to stop romanticizing these aspects of myself and of my cultures. Basically, to be who I am and do what I do, French-Colombian sex appeal and I had to break up for a while.