On First Loves

First Loves are complicated.

I remember the first time I looked at a girl and had some interest in her.

It was a vague interest, mostly because she was cute, but I was never too interested in cuteness.

I am a man of intellect and abstraction, after all, so I wanted something more interesting than that.

I found a girl that interested me enough in the last year of middle high, a transfer student with a peculiar accent, beautiful hands, weird teeth and the most amazing conversation.

Her quirkiness had set her apart from the rest of the class. I was already apart, but a broken leg meant that during sports we were often left alone.

I learned that I was Weird, but that I wasn’t the only Weird person my age in the world.

The decisive moment, to me, was during graduation ball, with all my classmates wearing these long, pastel-colored dresses that their families had picked.

She was wearing a black, short dress.

She blew my mind, of course.

That was graduation, of course, and a shy little boy never worked the courage to talk to her again.

But of course, that wasn’t my first love: It was my first crush, and it was one that showed me that I loved the unusual.

All this talk is just to provide some context, because my first love was considerably more complicated.

We had known each other for years already. She started working as soon as she finished High School, while I continued through University. We often got together with our friends, went to the movies, hung around. Our friends moved on, but we still kept in touch. Eventually, she became my best friend in the whole world, and we shared both good and bad. We were comfortable, for the most part, as just friends, and that was fine.

But we also had some distinct differences: Our religious views, goals in life, family situations. But despite all that, there was some connection there that was very important for both of us, something that made Us distinct. I loved her, as a friend, and admired her.

But, over time, that familiar love and admiration got a new intruder: A growing awareness of her beauty, of her physicality, of her body.

And this, this…. terrified me.

This emotion drove me away from her, slowly but surely, while my mind raced to find excuses as to why I shouldn’t spend time with her: Our different religious views, our life paths and careers, and the most horrible of all, self-convincing myself that I wasn’t Good Enough For Her.

In retrospective, none of that mattered. I never cared about her religious views, and a life path is irrelevant as long as you know what you want.

The main Destructive Factor was myself, my own twisted emotions.

So I chose to lose myself in that Destruction, with the secret hope that she could look through all that and see that I was in pain, that all I wanted was to be acknowledged.

I sent her a letter, with harsh, horrible words I cannot even remember. I can only recall the feeling of becoming a Demon with the secret hope of being able to look beyond that.

She was so hurt, she couldn’t reply. She never actually replied.

I lost my best friend.

Years later, one day after watching an awesome movie with a friend, I dropped her off at her house and realized that this friend, who was a relatively minor crush, was someone I could never feel properly attracted to, and thus could not fall in love with her.

It hit me… That emotion, that combination of things, it had been love, and it had burned me.

That day, for the first time in who knows how long, I cried from realizing that I had broken my own heart in the worst possible way.


And then, I fell asleep, deep under the ocean waves, under layers and layers of misdirection, lies and negative emotion, only to protect myself, and the wounds I inflicted on myself and could not let heal, lest I forget them.

Another poor choice.


On the bright side, I am trying to make things work out in me, for once.

On the not-so-bright side, these emotions are under-developed by 10 years, every little thing still makes them hurt like hell, and they feel like they don’t “fit” with the rest of me anymore.

Got a lot of work ahead of me, I think.


And I’m scared, of being hurt even more, of losing more beautiful and important things, of getting closer.


I fee like I am 15 again, after having seen that beautiful girl say goodbye forever, and I can’t reach out to her… Only now I can reach out, stay and not make the same mistakes, not lose myself in that Destruction, and try to be honest and see where that leads me.

Borrowing the words of a wise man: So it goes.

4th Grade

It is difficult to talk about 4th Grade.

We had just left Mexico City and moved to Villahermosa, Tabasco.

Very different place, a city we associated more with Family Vacations (Due to my mother’s family living there) than Making a Living.

My main issue was the people.

You see, we had just arrived from Mexico City, a place that is maligned by many people throughout Mexico. A recurring phrase I have heard goes something like this: “If you love <insert current city name here>, kill a ‘Chilango'”. Chilango is the slang used to refer to people from Mexico City.

A calm, quiet kid from Mexico City was not very welcomed, and never adapted.

That year I learned how cruel kids can be.

I learned that I could punch and kick other people.

I learned that the other kids kicked and punched harder.

I also learned that nobody was listening when I told them they were calling me names in the first place.

They wanted me to do nothing to defend myself.

So I did.

It was only a year.

I managed to spend more time with some of my favorite cousins, I learned a bit about fishing, and made my first trips to Cancun and the Yucatan Peninsula. I learned snorkeling!  I got the SNES! I started watching Anime on TV!

It was a painful year, yes, but all the good stuff that happened was amazing and unforgettable.

One of my most vivid memories is in the beaches of Cancun, a day in which the sea was wild and we were wilder.

My dad tried to convince us to go into the water even though it was a tad too wild for a 10-year old child.

We went in anyways.

The sea was unpredictable, violent, extremely aggressive. Not fit for swimmers at all.

And yet we stood there, holding on, almost swept to a potentially fatal situation.

That “almost-being-dragged-on” feeling was simply amazing, and coupled with the beautiful location, made for a memory that hardly has an equal.

The opportunities were not as good in Tabasco, so eventually we did move to Veracruz, a very famous port / tourist attraction.

Those were two good years.

That’s when the dreams started.

A Month in Third Grade

In the early 90’s, things were going down in Mexico City.

3rd Grade of Middle School, a Marist College.

He was a smart, friendly, active kid.

Not the smartest, but always hanging there near the top.

Not the friendliest, but always looking out for those he cared for.

Not the sportiest, but always gave his best on those soccer matches.

He was barely special.

His family of five was special to him.

In his dreams, he always wanted them close, even if his dreams showed them in dangerous situations.

But he was just a kid, so the only way for him to help them was try to be the best he could, even if sometimes he fought with his sisters, got angry over silly things, or did pranks that were a little bit dangerous.

But, that year, things were going down: The business wasn’t panning out, and in fact was becoming too complicated to the point of unfair litigation.

So his dad and mom had to take a rough decision: They would leave the big nice house, with the caretakers and the comforts.

But his dad, always looking ahead, always trying to find ways in which to move things forward, saw one thing that worried him: The City of Mexico was in trouble. He saw that the natural reserves would run out sooner than expected, and gambled for something else: To leave the city in which the kid and his little sisters had grown up in, in which their lives had started to develop.

Where to go? Anywhere. But with things as they were, the family could opt to either go for roots, or somewhere else.

The dad’s roots? A little town in the middle of the Veracruz mountains. Not the place in which the dad and the mom wanted to raise their children.

The mom’s roots? A city far in the south, in Tabasco, one of the most beautiful states in the country, with lots of warm family, food, and good enough education.

The choice was not easy, but they opted to go to Tabasco, and they chose to leave two months before ending the school year.

This is where the kid’s story begins: He chose to commit to his studies.

They tried to convince him to go, that he did not need to finish the school year and he would still be accepted in his new school.

He refused.

He wanted to finish the school year properly.

So the kid’s parents decided to let him live with some friends of the family, who lived across the street and whose youngest son went to the same school.

In one month, the kid learned that the world was full of awesome things that he did not know about.

Here is a list of awesome things that happened to him during that month:

  • He ate a lot of great food. International food! Spain! Japan! Chinese! He had never had any of them.
  • He even ate maguey worms. Expensive! Also gourmet!
  • He learned to do Math real good. Lots of Math Exercises! Every day! It was hard and worth it.
  • He lived in room with a ridiculous amounts of Star Wars toys. Tres Geek!
  • He learned to fulfill his commitments, to stick to his guns and his beliefs.

After the month had passed, he finished 3rd Grade and moved on to 4th Grade, which was overall as eventful in a completely different way.

But it’s a story for another time.

The Importance of Disney’s “Paperman”

It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it?

I’ve just been busy, that’s all.

I’ve been meaning to write about this subject for quite some time, ever since I saw “Wreck-it Ralph” at the theaters.

However, at the same time I had no way of truly knowing how to properly express my feelings and opinions on this Disney Masterpiece.

I’m not talking about “Wreck-it Ralph”, which is an amazing movie in its own right.

I’m talking about the 6-minute short that precedes that film, “Paperman”.

Continue reading The Importance of Disney’s “Paperman”

24 Hour Comic Day – The Creative Process and Links

Making a 24 Hour Comic is hard, that much I have told you many times before.

However, I think I must also tell you that it’s much harder when you do it without some kind of structure to work on.

In my “all-random” days, I used to go at it one page at a time until I got close to the cut-off page, then I wrapped things up in some way. If I needed more pages, I often included more characters or information that was not actually needed. There was very few planning or structure, for that matter.

However, since last year I started experimenting with a more structured approach: Thumbnails -> Drawing.

Last year I did all my Thumbs before I even started drawing the final pages, only to realize I needed more pages to finish the story that had been brewing in my head. I decided to commit to the idea of making more pages anyways, so I started to roll with it until I realized there was WAY too much ri-dunk-ulous drama and pacing issues, so I ended up doing some on-the-fly improv with some pages to get the whole thing back on track.

Continue reading 24 Hour Comic Day — The Creative Process and Links


First Post:

Hour 6 just passed.

Expect hours every 6 updates.


First Edit:

EDIT: Updated. Also: Around TEN MINUTES behind schedule. Was 1.5 hrs behind schedule, but caught up due to AWESOME. Also, feeling HELLA TIRED NOW. Don’t want to use Lifeline #1, but probably will for the last 6 pages. SO. It’s time for a little break, otherwise I will not be able to continue at a good pace. This story’s pace is a bit slower than previous years, and that is intentional: Michelle does not feel like saying what she needs to say. But she will, OH SHE WILL, in the next 6 pages, I think, maybe. She *should*. I mean, I already know how this is gonna end…

Turns out, I was wrong: I had a vague idea of how it was gonna end. I was surprised.

EDIT2: Page 18 is now done. 30 min ahead of time. Super Sleepy. Gonna try watching the Orionid shower. Will probably take lifeline soon. The Twist has been shown, but the real deal begins now. I CAN SEE THE ENDING.

The ending still surprised me. Ninja-like.

I started at 12:50 PM on Saturday. It is now 11:20 AM on Sunday, and this comic is done. I will now proceed to leave a couple of words about it.

Continue reading 24 HOUR COMIC DAY

Touhou Thing Part 3

In other words: Page #2 / Strip #4. Confused yet? You should. Moving to a once-every-two-weeks schedule, and releasing two strips instead of one.

Do I need to give an explanation of what Orin is really like in this comic?

I think it’s better if I leave it to your imagination.

I really like Seiga.

She’s a troll character.

And considering the nature of this comic, she will be back with a more formal introduction.

Next update: Probably gonna be about other folk living underground.

Why the underground folk?

Man, I dunno, I think the SA characters are pretty dope. Their isolation lends itself to eccentricity!

I will try to tone down the jokes about sexual preferences/deviancy, though.

Will try to make this as white and clean as possible! <3 (yeah right)

Remember when I said Touhou was becoming “a thing”?

Remember: Read from Top to Bottom before reading Left to Right.

Both weeks’ worth of comics, with some much-necessary minor editing on last week’s 4-panel, and 4 new panels.

If you had the power to read minds, wouldn’t that make you the ultimate voyeur? You could see other people’s fantasies, and maybe understand them better than they could.

It’s a dangerous power.

My version of Satori is not a  nice person. She’s quite likely a pervert that knows way too much about humans. The veracity of her words is unverifiable, though, but I’d like to think she likes to use that knowledge for fun, too.

Anyways, next week we visit another comedy duo from the underground. A not-quite-standard pairing,.. Yet I’m not making pairings here! We’re trying to make comedy! Expect disasters.