I was born in the land of Miguel Ángel Asturias when my very first rebel action forced my parents to break the curfew imposed by the Carnicero de Zacapa, Zacapa’s butcher. Somehow I was able to germinate despite the multiple military boots that stepped on the fertile soil where I was incubated. Then among multiple tear-gas bombs and walk-offs organized by students’ leaders, I finally finished High School. Fed up with the whole situation and knowing at least how to say “hello” I migrated to the United States. For a while and much like any other migrant I was “steamed to perfection” in the kitchen of a metropolitan area hotel but then with more determination than vocabulary, I decided to attend the American University. After who knows how many cups of coffee and three-hour sleep nights, I obtained in 2001 a Bachelor’s degree in Visual Media and two years later a Master’s degree in Latin America Studies with emphasis in its beautiful literature. It was in these years that while I found myself wrapped around this existential anguish which is nothing more than the result of my upbringings, that I discovered that I wanted to tell stories to help me forget for just one moment the solitude that accompany those of us who leave behind their hearts to follow their brains. And that is basically why until now my fingers keep tapping on my keyboard to see if I can be joined by an accomplice that will accompany me to go beyond what history tells us, to find out what really happened; having the certainty that literature is the best way to come together without the fear of having to know each other.