Furia

Our family was stuck in a cosmic hamster wheel of toxic love, making the same mistakes, saying the same words, being hurt in the same ways generation after generation. I didn’t want to keep playing a role in this tragedy of errors.

The sense of wonder and possibility – that I owed to the Argentine women who had fought for freedom before the universe conspired and the stars aligned to make me.

Did something count as a miracle if it possible only because of a lie?

The girl Diego said he loved was the strong one, the winning Camila, the one with a future she was forging for herself… If he rescued me, if I quit for him. I wouldn’t be the girl he loved. I wouldn’t be myself.

I’ll rescue myself. No one will ever lock me up in a tower.

If family folklore was to be trusted, I had never learned to shut up or do as I was told.

Prejudice didn't read or obey laws. It was a hard weed to pull from people's hearts.

I was tired of running. We were all buried underneath mountains of blame, shame, guilt, and lies.

I’d leave this house the first chance I got, but not by chasing after a boy, including my brother. I’d do it on my own terms, following my dreams, not someone else’s.

The rest of my life is a mess, but at least on the pitch I get to do what I love.

Twenty years from now, would that be me? Would I be resigned to my fate, pushing my daughter toward the light so she could be free? Or pulling her down so I wouldn’t be along in the dark?

I felt joy for being alive, playing a sport that a generation ago could have landed me in prison.

I was just a girl with a strong will. A girl who told too many lies. How was I going to save us?

Scoring a goal is almost like kissing. The more you do it, the more you want. I wanted to keep scoring until it hurt.

I had forgotten how beautiful fútbol was. Without referees, lines on the ground, trophies, tournaments, or life-changing contracts, the ball was a portal to happiness.

Keep your goal in sight. Keep your priorities straight, and it will all be worth it.

I wanted what he Diego had. I needed to play on a team like that, to feel the love of the fans. I needed the chance to do something impossible and amazing. To be great.

My words came out too harsh, but I had stellar grades. I didn’t do drugs. I didn’t sleep around. Hell, I was seventeen andnot pregnant, unlike every other woman in my family. You would’ve thought she’d give me some credit, be on my side, but no. Nothing I did was enough.I was not enough.

When we played, we were all the same. We were all one.

Rosario showed a different face depending on how you looked at her. She changed when you saw her from a bus, or a luxury car, or your own feet.

I was the barefoot schoolgirl in my barrio apartment; he was a star flashing past us all, and the glow would disappear with him when he left again.

I was just a girl with strong legs and a stubborn streak.

It wasn’t like I’d had any say in how fast my breasts grew or when I got my period. Why was she making me feel guilty for being alive?

One day, when a girl was born in Rosario, the earth would shake with anticipation for her future and not dread.

We had so much shared history that every memory was wound around him.

When boys and men became angry, they tried to fix the world by breaking it down with their fists.

The pure words of Laura, Alma, Maria, Elena and Elsa, the fantasy kingdoms of Liliana's books, the poetry of Alfonsina, and even the romances of Florencia's colonial heroines had shaped my world. They had shown me that I could do impossible things.

Pieces of little Camila's soul were in those books. I hoped they would guide Karen toward her own impossible dreams.

The one and only," I say, and he laughs.