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The Joy and Storms of an Inner Life
Written and illustrated by Gabriela Rueda
A story based on memories and emotions I experienced in childhood. Also, a reminder that every kid has a whole universe within their own mind. Let’s acknowledge and celebrate that.
© [2026] [Gabriela Rueda]. All rights reserved.
Hey there, my name is Ella. I’m 9 years old. I live in a world that I am learning to navigate. There’s Mom and there’s Dad, both always relentlessly working. Then there's my eldest brother, Marco, and my younger brother, Oliver. There’s school, where I’m meant to learn, but I don’t like it so much; there I feel like I’m trapped in a box. Also, I sense that some teachers don’t like me much.
I like to swim and immerse myself in life underwater; I’m lucky we have a pool at home. The shades of blue and green, along with the warped textures from the light’s reflection, awaken in me a spark of light and hope.
I like to play the piano and bring life to melodies that ache to the bone. Knowing that I can enjoy the smallest things in life makes my heart beat even faster.
I also enjoy spending hours outdoors meticulously crafting mud cakes and hand-picking lemons from trees to make lemonade. I pretend to sell my handmade goods to strangers outside in the front yard at home, but the passersby barely notice me.
I feel like a ghost.
Friends? A couple, but not so many. Apparently more is better, but I don’t feel suitable for such things. I tend to be quite shy and maybe too serious. I try to be nice and to be liked, but still, I just don’t fit in. It’s as if there is something wrong with me, but I don’t know exactly what that is.
That’s why I come up here, to the heavens, to the little inner world in my mind. A place I call Paradise. In Paradise, I find kindness; I find animals being treated with care. In Paradise I feel safe, I feel loved. I feel warmth. I feel friendliness. It’s a place where my imagination can flow endlessly, although it can sometimes overwhelm me. Here, I imagine building all sorts of things, like castles or tree houses, places where I belong just as I am. Paradise is where I am welcome to come anytime to hide from the real world.
I hear Mom calling. I have to go down to real life for a moment.
Failing English class
“Your English teacher called. She says you failed the exam! I work way too much to afford your education. You could show more gratitude and do the one job you have: school!” I feel fear, I feel disappointment, I feel shame. I feel like I failed. I feel dumb. I feel a pinch in the heart. I feel not so much loved for what I am but more disapproved for what I’ve done, which is to not succeed in learning the English language. I try not to burst into tears, and I mask my weeping voice. With a hint of pride I say “Okay, Mom, I promise I’ll do better next time.” I am not entirely sure I will. She responds and my heart sinks. “I’ll call your English teacher and see if she has availability for tutoring you after school”. Great, I already spend so much time at school, but it is not enough. I feel miserable. I feel sad. Why can’t I just draw, paint, and play all day without being graded? Why can’t learning be more fun?
Feeling paradise
I wish I could find the right words to describe Paradise. Here, I feel an immense energy in my heart, eager to create stories and see the best in life. It’s a desire to share my creative energy and inspire people to create beautiful things with it. In Paradise, my racing heart reaches its peak. I am pushing for my own ideas, uncertain of the outcome; that is what makes it thrilling. Yes, this is part of the excitement: channeling curiosity into a single act of creation and embracing uncertainty. It’s like a waterfall, flowing carelessly and naturally until suddenly there’s the fall; you feel excitement, but at the same time, you are clueless about how you will land. That is, for me, the feeling of Paradise. Here, I see art in all its forms and as a means of healing, a way to expand and release my inner world, to make it a part of real life.
Learning about climate change
Today is a special day at school. A lady I have never seen before shows up, and she is here to teach us a lesson about something scary. Climate change. What on earth is this catastrophe? Icebergs are melting, animals are losing their habitats, and a lack of rain is causing droughts. I hear about these horrors. Adults tell us these, but they are unmoved. Once class is over, they change the subject or leave the classroom completely unfazed, as if it were a mere inconvenience, something small but surmountable, maybe something for tomorrow. I see how they behave, and I judge. Do they not fully believe it? Or are they too scared to acknowledge its magnitude and the suffering that surely awaits? Does this truly mean that my future is at stake, as well as the future of my loved ones and everyone else in this world, particularly the poor, who may run out of fresh water and air? I believe adults are too still. They are incapable of taking action. Are they trying but unable to handle what’s ahead? I refuse to believe they simply don’t care. But why do I and other children have no say? Powerless, is how I feel. I imagine stringing up the adults like a marionette would do, steering them along like a puppet, and taking action for them.
But what would I do if I actually had power?
I would set an alarm worldwide, like those they use to evacuate people from buildings. But this alarm wouldn’t sound disturbing; it would ring out a sound of hope, one that awakens compassion and a willingness to change the world. I would fly to the forests, the jungles, and the sea to see for myself what is happening to all those beautiful plants and animals out there. I would comfort them and assure them that everything will be all right. But those words wouldn’t be empty; I would take action. I would urge all the presidents and representatives of the world to be kind and let us children make decisions. If adults won’t respond, then we’ll do it ourselves.
Here and there, I’ve heard of the term “toxic relationships”. I remember the first time I heard the word “toxic”. My friend’s mom told us about a child who drank from a refilled cola bottle containing toxic liquid and died. I am saddened and heartbroken when I think of that story. But this is how I understand what “toxic relationships” means. It means we are dealing with someone who is not healthy for us. But if we recognize those unpleasant feelings, and know that a person is toxic, why do we cling to them? Are we also being toxic when we cling to another toxic person? Does toxicity attract toxicity? Or do we remain toxic as an attempt to stay safe because we don’t know any better?
I think again of climate change. Why do we cling to toxic oil and plastics when we know they are harming the earth and ourselves? A simplistic response is that humans are simply animals driven by a desire for easy money and are indifferent to future generations. I don’t believe this. What I do believe is adults don’t know better and are too scared to change, and they keep things as they are because they genuinely think it is safer.
But that’s a toxic attitude.
If I had magical powers, the first thing I would do is detoxify people by revealing their inner goodness and their bravest instincts. Then we would thrive, not just to survive but also to live, to simply be happy and healthy.
Paradise blending into real life
Sometimes, Paradise blends into real life.
Mom is a passionate interior designer. She loves to restyle our house; she does this over and over. Sometimes, I feel like she can’t make up her mind, so she does and undoes as she pleases. Change this, change that. Sure, the house keeps evolving, and I would say, it’s getting prettier. But I would rather leave it as it is once and for all. The house is a distraction for Mom. It takes away from her spending time with me. Am I just too boring for her?
If I have to find something good in this, it’s that our house is never quite finished. Picture a place full of piles of soil heaps, wooden planks, sawdust, and all kinds of construction tools. And this is where Paradise blends into real life. It’s a place where anyone can create anything from scratch. To me, this is Paradise.
The materials are there, almost speaking to me, waiting to be used. My mind starts to wander, and I contemplate how I could build a grand castle atop the mountainous mounds of soil, like those in fairy tales. My aunt Rosa lives directly across from us. In her vast and colorful garden, there are a few palm trees. They are old, but they are still full of life. I see their falling leaves; I take home as many as I can. I’m not sure how I will use them for my castle, but I have a good feeling about them. An idea strikes me. I imagine creating a charming fence ; I would fix the palm leaves in the soil and arrange them next to each other. I guess a fence made of palm leaves is not meant for security purposes nor to intimidate others. In my mind, it is an ornamental fence to welcome guests with honor. What guests would I invite to my castle? Everyone who, like me, feels out of place. Everyone who, like me, can’t find a place where they belong.
As always, real life comes to spoil my daydream. I can’t build a castle by myself; at least, I don’t know how to. I want to convince my cousins and my oldest brother, Marco, to build it with me. But I’ve never been a leader. I long for this ability, one I see in other kids my age. These kids are so convinced that whatever idea they come up with, good or bad, others will follow. But that’s not me. Marco and my cousins show no interest in helping me build my fence. As I insist that we build a castle together, my brother is irritated. “A castle for what? And how are we supposed to build it?” I stand there, resigned and saddened, unable to reply with a convincing reason. For me, it’s clear: one creates for the beauty of creation. No practical purpose is needed, just an emotional connection that causes my heart to dance.
Back again to Paradise…unsuccessfully
I go home and do what I believe is best: I lock myself in my room and hide from the real world. I lay in bed, concentrating on reaching Paradise again. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I see fluffy clouds against a beautiful, clear sky, displaying shades of gold, white, and blue. I can soar in an open, endless space. I fly freely; there are no time constraints, there is nothing to fear. I picture my cousins and me happily building the castle together; they’re all smiling and eager to create something magical, and I lead them.
A thunder of downcast thoughts returns to invade my daydream. I remember how poorly I performed on the English exam. I think about my parents and my English teacher; they must be very disappointed in me. I can’t help but remember all the things I’ve done wrong, like that time I slapped my little brother, Oliver, in the face. As much as he annoyed me by hiding my dolls, I shouldn't have done that. In the heat of the moment, I wanted to show him who the big sister was and to make him stop. He began to cry so loudly and even had some blood on his nose. I realized that the slap was too hard. I didn’t mean to hurt him so badly. I immediately felt embarrassed. Maybe it wasn’t the dolls I was angry about; maybe I was just jealous that he always got more attention from everyone, everywhere.
I try to reach back into Paradise. It’s difficult. These thoughts invading my mind are unbearable. I fall short of breath, and try not to drown in my tears. My instincts tell me to just breathe. Inhale and exhale. Inhale. And exhale. I repeat this a couple of times. Finally, I see the rays of light from Paradise, and I feel calm. I imagine how I could work hard to earn good grades in my English class and how proud my parents would be. I imagine building my castle by myself, proving to everyone that my idea is great. I would be celebrated.
As soon as the feeling of hope begins, it fades, and a feeling of emptiness washes over me again. I realize that the joy I feel is all in my head; it’s not real. That which I so greatly desire, to be appreciated, only happens in my mind. I feel trapped in my own little world, unable to find peace of mind in real life. I need help. These thoughts are hurting me... I hope Mom and Dad can help me.
Trying to be heard by adults
Don’t get me wrong; I am surrounded by a loving, well-intentioned family. I know Mom and Dad love me; they have their own ways of expressing it. But there is something I long for, which is to be heard, and to be heard with full compassion. Maybe it’s my fault? Whenever I try to express myself, my words fail to reflect how I truly feel. Suddenly, the voices in my head disagree on what to say, leaving me confused. And silent. I feel alone, people don’t get me.
I notice I am quite sensitive. For instance, it really hurts me when people comment on my brown skin tone. Why should that even be a topic? The other day, the hairdresser asked in disappointment, why I didn’t inherit my mom’s green eyes. But what’s wrong with my dark eyes? Would I be more loved if I were pale and had green eyes? The thought of this is so painful; it hurts me deeply in my heart.
Dad calls me "negrita”. He does so with charming intentions, but it still hurts because I am addressed by the color of my skin and not by who I am inside. I should just tell people that it bothers me, but I can't find the courage to do so. I don’t like to show how sensitive I am; I feel ashamed of that side of me. I don’t want others to feel bad when I believe it’s not their intention to hurt me. But, is that only an excuse to not find the courage to stand up for myself? The idea of confronting people frightens me. Would my loved ones not like me anymore? If I tell Mom, Dad, or any adult, would they even listen? When I mention my sadness or worries, they tell me to just be happy and more optimistic. And grateful. The conversation ends with “everything will be fine.” There is no further discussion. I can’t find the space to be heard. Mom and Dad, aunts and uncles, grandmas and grandpas, teachers and other adults out there, they don’t get that I am trying to figure out this world. I just want more compassion and to be treated with the same respect that adults believe they deserve. It’s like they think that just because they are older, they have better answers to everything. But my feelings exist, and I have my own perception of the world.
English tutoring class
I’m here with no alternative. I have to live up to others’ standards, learn English, and not fail the class. That’s the goal—to not fail. Who cares if I like the language or not? That’s not counted in my grade. Grading cards feel more like shaming cards, I always feel anxious when I am about to receive them. I am terrified to find how smart the school decides I am, and being a total disappointment to society. It’s not that I don’t want to learn new things. In fact, I am eager to learn about the many mysteries of life. I would love to learn about what the stars are made of, the wonders behind trees and their networks, and how our bodies hold together the magic of all its systems and functions, and their connection to our emotions. I want to understand how we are all connected and how humans are not the center of, but rather a part of nature, despite our enormous responsibility to protect it.
I would also love to speak English fluently. What bothers me is that nobody asks if I am interested in the language. People assume you should learn certain things, but there is no real encouragement or purpose that fulfills my soul. All I hear from adults is that English will be useful for when I’m older. If I manage to learn it, I will supposedly have an advantage over others to get some decent job. It’s a competition where the winners crush the losers. It seems to be that things are left for later, even happiness. Study English now; you’ll be grateful later when you grow up and get a good job. This comes with some level of guilt. Even at my young age, my environment makes sure I am acutely aware that those I need to “beat” are other children who are not as privileged as I am. Am I meant to feel safe and grateful for this? I don't. I wish we all had the same opportunities and that my “success” wouldn’t come at the expense of others.
The class begins. I am taking tutoring classes with Ms. Paty, my English teacher from school; this time, the class is at her place. As much as I don’t like her teaching subject, I like Ms. Paty; she’s nice. “Hi Ella, come on in!” she says with a friendly voice. I smile shyly and greet her with my good manners. But I don’t want to be here. “Today, we are going over the verb ‘to be’. Do you remember what that is?” Her tone is doubtful, but sympathetic. I like the way she talks to me. At school, I don’t talk to her much. There, she seems to be very busy following some long and thick teaching guide that appears quite serious. We learn step by step, as the book demands. But here, in her own teaching space, she frees herself from that big book and seems quite natural. “Yes,” I reply quickly, not thinking. I am relieved at least I remember seeing such terms on the blackboard, but I am not sure exactly what they mean.
To be:
I am
You are
He / she / it is
We are
They are
In Spanish, my native language, when I say “I am” or “you are”, I am no longer aware of the acknowledgement that we are all ourselves and that we as humans can distinguish our particularities as individual beings. At least, that is what we tell ourselves to make life more bearable. Re-affirming this in another language makes me somehow more aware and appreciative of this fact. Suddenly, the mundane words become more meaningful, and I realize, perhaps I can learn English with a broader view. I suppose it’s not so bad to feel so different from the others after all?
We are nearing the end of class, and things are getting better. We sing pop songs in English! I asked Ms. Paty for a special song called “The Animal Song” by Savage Garden. My favorite part goes like this:
'Cause I want to live like animals
Careless and free like animals
I want to live
I want to run through the jungle
The wind in my hair and the sand at my feet
And then there is this other part:
Sometimes this life can get you down
It's so confusing
There's so many rules to follow
And I feel it
'Cause I just run away in my mind
We read the lyrics while singing, and I feel empowered that I am not only able to sing along and understand, but I am also able to relate with every word! While our ways of expressing things might vary greatly, all of us humans, everywhere in the world, feel the same things. Isn’t that amazing? I feel joy, and you feel joy; we have a similar understanding of its meaning, but it’s decoded in different ways. For me, joy is a feeling where I see rays of light and blue skies. Joy is peace and warmth in my heart. Joy makes me feel inspired. I have found meaning in learning English and languages other than my own.
The storm comes once again
I feel emptiness. I lay alone in my bed, hopeless and quietly crying, with a hole in my heart, but not fully understanding why. It feels like, very suddenly, all the burdens of life come together to haunt my mind. I feel completely misunderstood by my loved ones and those around me. I realize once more that the tree house, the castle, and all the wonderful things from Paradise exist only in my imagination; I get nothing real from it. Am I losing my mind wandering through this inner world I call Paradise? It’s all an illusion; nothing in it truly exists. I can’t do much to convince people to stop climate change; I don’t have a superpower to bring out their inner goodness or courage.
Suddenly, I feel exhausted. For a moment, tears flood my eyes and blind me. My fingers act like windshield wipers; if they stop, the rain will make it impossible to see. I fall asleep.
But as they say, after the storm comes the sunshine.
Mom and Dad love me, and they love me very much
It’s Saturday. We’re home, and we’re having burgers for lunch together: Mom, Dad, Marco, Oliver, and me. Mom asks me if everything is okay, as if she can tell I'm struggling inside. I attempt to respond, and feel a lump in my throat. All I can manage is, "Yes, I’m fine.” I feel bad that I don’t ask her for help. But I notice she is skeptical. She senses that something is wrong. Is it pride that I am feeling? Why do I not dare share my troubled thoughts? I wish I had more courage. I yearn for her comfort. I hope she will approach and ask me again if there’s truly nothing wrong.
The golden rule at home is to wait at least one hour after lunch before we set foot in the pool. This waiting feels like an eternity for my brothers and me. While waiting, Oliver begins to act funny and dances around, enjoying himself and the attention. He always finds a way to get something out of everything. Everyone else laughs, except me. Why am I not more like him? The long hour passes, and Oliver is quick to dive into the pool. Marco goes in as well, but he takes his time. I am standing there, unable to feel present. I didn’t sleep much the previous night. I’m too distracted by my own thoughts; it’s hard to be there in the moment.
I quietly return to my room upstairs, unable to bear the sadness in my soul. After a few minutes, my parents come into my room. There I am, crying hopelessly, but this time, there is no escape. My parents see my tears; there is nowhere to hide. I find it hard to cry in front of others. But it’s a great relief that this suffering inside is no longer a secret. My parents tell me how much they love me and how sorry they are that they have not been around so much. All those long working hours, keeping them away from me, I hope they end soon. My parents say that all they want is the best for our family. I believe them, and I love them too.
Facing reality, confidently
“What are you drawing?” Mom asks, captivated. “It’s a castle I’ve always wanted to build, but I don’t know how to do it, and no one wants to help me!”. “But it’s so beautiful! Come on, let’s build it together,” she says and she takes my hand. Together, we build Paradise.
