Welcome to ElleVera.
Take a minute and get to know me.
Pour yourself a cup of tea, sit back and witness my exploration as a writer.
In my younger years, after a long day at school, I would let my mind wander freely. I would daydream stories to keep me company on the long walk home. This was long before I found my passion for art, but fully-knowing I had an imagination that needed an outlet for expression. I wrote poems about things that I loved and cherished, and one of my poems was featured in a poetry book. It was a poem that I wrote as an elementary school student wrote, and funny enough, it was a poem about my love of flowers and who they were meant for. To this day, I still cherish flowers, flowers on display, flowers growing in my garden and of course, all of the flowers that were ever given to me.
In a way, I always knew that I liked to write, I even journaled religiously at one point, but I never came back to writing until college when I thought I could take a creative writing course as an elective. Well, that failed miserably. I was so focused on counting syllables for soliloquies that I forgot my love of writing, so I ended up dropping out. It wasn’t until I had to take a professional writing course at college to fulfill a credit for my degree that I found that love of writing again. Unfortunately, during this time I was going through a rough patch, so I wasn’t able to fully appreciate the course - but it ignited a love for writing I thought I had lost as a child.
As the course ends, I think that I will continue my exploration as writer. Art and writing go hand in hand, and much of my art features poems that I had wrote myself. For now, I invite you to witness my journey so far, and how I rekindled my love of writing. To explore, simply scroll to view my work.
“A Humble Beginning” (September ‘24)
A run down house in a college town.
Several young adults live within its walls, holding out for any opportunity to leave what was once a dream for them.
A small basement room that sat empty for months, is now called a humble beginning.
Before, it was a room with a ceiling that shares that same look as an old high school classroom – complete with the flickering fluorescent light. The white walls had parts of its paint missing. Abandoned cobwebs and an RGB light that the last tenant left but the landlord advertised as an “amenity.” The room was chosen for a different reason.
Behind the dark curtains is a glass sliding door looks out into a small yard, with overgrown bamboo shoots from the neighboring property, an old oak tree and the morning sun that eases me awake.
As I rise and sit in silence, I catch glimpses of the wildlife this college town has to offer. First, a chipmunk that forages the acorns that the oak tree offers. Then the squirrels, who seem to visit every now and then. And more recently, a mouse; it seems to wander alone, pausing and sniffing at the small bits of vegetation. I’ve only seen one, and always that same one – so I figure if the mouse is not in the house, then there is no problem.
It’s been a week since I’ve been here. The fluorescent light is dimmed by a covering of stars, the plain, peeling white wall now boasts a view of the moon, and the bed, once just wearing a plastic cover, flaunts pink flora amongst deep greens through an oversized comforter. Plus, a not-so minifridge in case there are mice.
This is when I first moved into the room that I am currently staying in: it’s the first time that I left the safety of my parent’s house. It’s been so long since I’ve wanted to move out, but I wasn’t prepared this time around. The living situation that I was expecting to be in fell through because I no longer wanted to be prisoner to another person’s ideals of me. I felt that while I wasn’t moving out with everything accounted for, I was moving out with a freedom of self that I had long forgotten. Looking out beyond my window is what calmed my anxieties of the future, because these small animals weren’t aware of their future, but every one of them kept scurrying along and seemed to be doing just fine for themselves, as I would too.
My Hero is a Chef (September ‘24)
His hands are soft and warm, yet calloused. They display a variety of burns and cuts from his hours in the kitchen; some already healed, some in the process of healing, and some from the previous night.
The way his hands move is the very definition of anticipation and excitement, holding his blade as if it’s an extension of his body – the quick but precise motion of his movements mimic those of a samurai’s. He lifts his knife up and down against an onion, the small pieces cascading from the side of his blade onto the chopping board.
The temperature is grueling; smoke clouds his eyes, yet he can still see. Hot oil splashes onto his arms but he does not falter. He is in the belly of a dragon, but he’s cooking up a storm.
Even though he’s already fought his own battle from the night before, how can he find it in himself to continue to hold a blade?
But he looks up at me and smiles, and I know that his mind is on making me breakfast so that I can fight my own.
Carlos, my boyfriend, works as a cook. He went to culinary school, as I am currently going to school for art. We work similar professions, both of us live as “artists,” but he is an artist of a different kind, one that cooks - thus “culinary arts.” He works long shifts and doesn’t come home until close to midnight. When the morning comes, he’s already up and moving to prepare breakfast, even though he hasn’t had much sleep, he knows it’s the best way to prepare me for the day ahead. I appreciate everything that he does for me, and it’s these gestures of kindness that push me to keep working hard for a brighter future with him.
Again, I am taking time to look out my window. This time, I bought a birdfeeder for the sake of seeing the different species of birds in this area. Surprisingly, I attracted a wide variety of birds, Chickadees, Starlings, Carolina Wrens, Cardinals, Blue Jays and two types of Woodpeckers! This birdfeeder is a source of natural entertainment, when I need to get away from the computer screen and relax. I look forward to bringing the birds together to feast in the upcoming winter months, when food is much more scarce.
Beyond My Window (October ‘24)
Beyond my window, a display of colors flicker in and out of view. The birds are gathering for a feast that I had prepared the night before; an invitation to accompany me during my studies. They hold conversations with their own kind, and their cousins – as I have always expected their parade to come every morning, and every evening. Every now an then, a squirrel might crash the feast, but today is different; I anticipated their intrusion and greased the pole that the feast hangs upon, and the squirrels cannot help but slide faster than a fireman comes down the pole. I have won this war.