Welcome to Firefly Factory. Enjoy your stay.
This site is a repository for selected writings.
"Nothing can alter my destiny: listen to my little history, and you will perceive how irrevocably it is determined."
— Victor to Walton, Frankenstein, Letter IV (1818 text)
I feel the need to start at least one generation back. My parents left Venezuela with me in 2010, when I was four, because the city we lived in at the time had the second-highest homicide rate in the world. I grew up in small-town Virginia, ostensibly bilingual, with an exotic past like a snakeskin and a completely novel future. The world sputtered to an anxious halt as my parents rummaged for jobs and I waded my way through school, picking up little histories on the way. I learned my full name in fourth grade and I could remember all my cousins by sixth, I picked Spanish back up in eighth grade and by this time I was supposed to have visited "home" by now but it didn't pan out. In my nineteen years I have discovered that writing is an exclusive comfort to an aggrevied mind and is also the practice I intend to pursue with my life, so this site exists as a product of the effort to do so.
This site is a pet project that I made in a herculean feat of procrastination to avoid schoolwork, college applications, and an independent research paper at the time —I'm only available to work on it as much as life allows, which is little to none; hence the construction. Firefly Factory as a name originates from a poem I wrote in the summer of 2022; the sight of driving up I-95 in the dark, seeing the single-file rows of headlights and streetlamps and constellations emerging from the dark like comets orbiting a highway of stars.