Category Archives: Stories

Another day older….

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Another day older…another year wiser. This is my reality.  I never would have ever imagined getting to be 41 years old. This number had been so foreign to my young mind. 

Now that I’m here, it’s all that it’s pumped up to be. Yes, I’ve hit that mark where I can care less about my birthday. 

Why? For one, I have young kids. And they come first. My joy is their joy. It’s not that I don’t matter anymore, but my essence is them!

As much as I cringe at this 40-something age, I have no choice, but to embrace it. I know I am welcoming wrinkles, grey hair and lower energy levels, but with it comes an increase of awareness of life. I feel great having the wisdom I did not have in my 20s and 30s. It is a beautiful nuisance, but I prefer it over my young feeble minded self. 

I can embrace the beauty of innocence. My innocent children will never know the mental struggles I went through when I was young. And that brings me happiness. The beauty they see brings me happiness. 

That is all that matters when it becomes another day older, another day wiser. 

-camistar.com

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Easter… 

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Aahhh…the joy of Easter. Easter has different meanings to different people, different religions and cultures. 

In my childhood, Easter meant family. It meant waking up to Easter baskets full of goodies. It meant family smiles and laughs. It meant Jesus, but also the Easter Bunny.

As I look back, I feel nothing but joy for the family and love I once had. Easter egg hunts. Picnics. Confetti eggs. Oh the memories. 

As I got older, Easter drastically changed as my family did. My parents divorced, so the two family gatherings turned into one. Us kids turned into teens, so Easter Baskets diminished, but family gathering were still there. It was a gathering of love for the head of the clan:

The Grandmother- The tie to everyone. 

Easter changed drastically once our beloved Grandmother was called to go to heaven. There were no more family gatherings. Each individual family filled with their own Grandparents, Mothers, Fathers, Siblings, and Cousins began to create their own family traditions.

Then there is me. I have a broken family besides my own kin. I don’t have a specific family tradition and to be honest, I don’t care to have one. As I’ve gotten older, I prefer to be alone and have a nice peaceful Spring day with my girls.  Oddly, I have morphed into an introvert. And that is what brings me peace and happiness. And I’m completely okay with that. 

 But I do miss what is gone. I miss my Dad and Grandma who are in heaven. I miss the family picnics that ended when my Grandma’s time on earth ended. I miss my Godmother who would spoil me with cute Easter gifts, but she is now about 4 states away. 
But what I do have is my own little family filled with two cubs, one partner, one elder (Mother) and one sibling (Brother).

My immediate family is not like the big family picnics we used to have. It is a bit of dysfunction covered with loud confetti and sleepy chicks. I just prefer not to be around that on a day of rejoice. But that’s me.

But my girls have big love. They have big hearts around them. Every Easter morning our living room is filled with Easter goodies for our sweet kids. That is my tradition that will never change. As a child, those Easter baskets have great memories. I want my kids to have the same.  And the best part is I get to spend this special day with the most important people in my life (them).

Easter to me is peace, love, joy, my daughter’s, Jesus and my partner. 

I’ll catch you next time! 

It is time to head out to the beach, the park or our own backyard. Wherever the Spring air takes us.

I hope your Easter is spent well. 


Golden Tear

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​A golden tear fell…..

Not of sadness, Nor pain,

But of the deep love I have for you. My family. My knit. 

You. My savior. My Godmother.

My blood. I’ve missed you. 

My father’s sister. My Nina. My Tia. The sister my father loved dearly. The brother you loved. 

It was like a mix of a moment with a whirlwind of the past. 

……..until we meet again

-Camillle

 

Forest Love

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A monstrous wonder filled with love, happiness, and laughter with a dash of impulsivity and swig of bitch. 
He’s a patient and very caring frog, going along with the terains with snapshots of moodiness, sleepy eyes and annoyance with random hops of silliness and games. 

In the woods, they encircle one another through the sunny days and gray storms. The monstrous wonder and patient frog make for a good ending on a treacherous hike in the Himalayas, like a good shot of whiskey after getting fired from your favorite day job. 

Life is good.

Life is grand. 

Those damn monsters and frogs, those damn smirky smiles! 

At last, 

 Merry be. 

Best Things 101

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The best thing in life are….

(Not in any particular order)

-chilling by yourself

-laughing

-smiles

-music

-brown eyes

-satellites

-Santigold

-The Beatles

-John Lennon

-chocolate chip cookies

-hugs

-kisses

-lovely innocence

-freedom

-reading

-meditating

-dancing

-silliness

-make-up

-wine

-gardening

-veggies

-fruits

-organic life

-solo’ness

-vintage life

-education

-life

Mi Vida Loca

Country Love

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The boy in his cut off jeans and black Chucks softly whispered to his future beau, “I don’t think you should kiss me.  I’m needy”.

The young country girl in her flowing flowered summer dress and cowboy boots froze in time. Her mind left the moment. For that moment she thought, “I can jump up and leave this scene or take the plunge”.

She took the plunge only for the tables to be turned …..

Short Stories by Cami*Star

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Beautiful Bloom

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I sat with the beauty of Mother Earth as a beautiful bird flew over her delightful petals. In a millisecond, the bird shit on her. But the petals didn’t die. They did not lose their beauty. They patiently awaited the rain to wash them clean. And the beautiful flower continued to bloom.

#truestory
@camistar.com

In honor of Father’s Day

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I shall write. Reminisce.  Share the relationship I had with my pops in honor of Father’s Day.

He left this realm 12 years ago, but it still feels like yesterday when I last saw him.

My sweet father was my Dad, a Dad, a man that grounded me to who I am today.

He was my Mexican-American father who grew up in East L.A. He was a pianist and an intellect. I like to think I get my intellect from him, but I’m far from his smarts! He went to Catholic school and was a believer in life after death.

As a child, when he was around, I have endless memories of happiness and laughter. I was so close to him that he took a part of me when he departed, but I do know he is holding onto “my piece” for his own memories or at least I like to think so.

I do have to give him credit for teaching me how to ride a bike. He was that hardcore East Los Dad that did not care if I was his little girl. He did not treat me like a princess, instead he treated me like a warrior! He took me to the top of the highest Griffith Park hill and said, “okay, mija, I’ll meet you at the bottom”. Even though I can scarcely remember that fear I held, I did it! I took a deep breath and rode down that hill not because I wanted to learn how to ride a bike, but because I was my Dad’s warrior! After several attempts on that hill and scraped knees, at sundown, I was a pro bike rider.

And all I can say is Thank you Dad!

My grandparents (his parents) owned a little Mercado on Hammel Street, right smack in the middle of East L.A. During my summer vacations, we would visit my Papa (his Dad)at the Mercado where I was exposed to the neighborhood and the culture where my Dad grew up. I looked forward to those daily trips where I would look for my Dad’s grade school (Our Lady of Guadalupe) and see beautiful murals on my Papa’s store of Cesar Chavez.

We would take walks down the Boulevard where cholos, cholas, and Chicanos would say hi to my Dad and they would chat it up. I was so proud to hear all these strangers ask how he was as if he was some Mexican American star. He would tell me his endless stories of his high school days at Cathedral . Him bragging how he got straight As and even got a scholarship to college for his tennis skills.

In retrospect, he taught me to walk the streets of the ghetto and in ganglands. When I would tell him I was scared (because I had every right to when I knew there were gangsters all around me), he would say, “mija, it ain’t no thing! You got me here”. To this day, I am NOT afraid to walk any street or to talk to any soul. My father loved all people and he never discriminated against a peaceful or hurtful soul.

While I was growing up in my early teen years, I had a lot of trouble with girls my age who always wanted to “fight” me. I of course was scared, but my Dad instilled in me to be a strong female, to not show my weakness and to never allow anyone to push me around.

Thank you again Dad! I have gotten through many challenges in life because of that mentality.

As a high school teen, my parents had separated, but we both still made every effort to see one another. I would take the bus to East L.A. where he would meet me and we would walk and talk all the way back to his house.  It was always an endless  weekend of talking, listening to The Beatles and eating at the best Mexican hole in the wall restaraunts only natives know of.

These were hurtful yet beautiful days. He was hurt. I was hurt. But that is life. With the pain in his heart, he began drinking more than ever to numb his pain, but I still loved him and he still had his loving soul.

Once I graduated high school, he was so proud that I was in College. He would rave to everyone and say, “that’s my mija” and those simple words and his attitude gave me the will to finish a hell of a lot of college. It was the warrior he instilled in me that motivated me to push through.

Thank you once again Dad!

My Dad never lavished me with toys or clothes or anything materialistic. He lavished me with kindness, compassion and the right way to live my life.

He was far from perfect, but I honestly cannot remember a moment when I might have fought with him. He protected me to the best of his ability and I’m so grateful for that.

In my early adult life and at the end of his life, I would still visit him at least every other week. We would have lunch in Down Town L.A. or sit on his lawn with a blanket while listening to The Beatles.

After he passed, I was very hurt and angry that he could be so selfish and drink his life away, but after grieving and getting through the hurt, I realized and embraced what a lucky daughter I am.

I was lucky enough to be given a father who gave me life skills. I am able to love unconditionally. I am able to be kind and compassionate all because of him.

Every once in a while I get a visit from him in my dreams. I think of him everyday, but on this Father’s Day, I want to scream out loud to the heavens…… “THANK YOU FOR BEING MY DAD. MY FATHER.  THANK YOU!”

Happy Father’s Day to the best Dad a daughter could have.

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Yours Truly,

Camille aka cami*star