This story starts June 4th of 1993, when my parents decided to become boyfriend and girlfriend and thus, started their lives together, which, if you think about it, marks the start of my siblings' lives as well as mine.
Truth be told, I'd always felt like any member of  my family could be the main character of their series or film. I could picture my parents in a sort of wholesome comedy show that helps its viewers heal their generational traumas (despite the fact that they passed down some issues to me themselves) and gives another reason to wake up everyday, if only to make sure not to miss the newest episode. My big sister would be the lead actress in a romance film—a story about all the unreciprocated love or failed relationships she had to experience before she met the love of her life, her husband. My oldest younger brother would be the golden retriever boy who makes all the kids swoon at their screens when watching a Netflix coming-of-age show, while my baby brother would be in a slice-of-life series about this kid with a big family who is incredibly hilarious and just reminds you of all the things you should be grateful for in life. And while you, my reader, are probably expecting me to say some clichéd sentence about how I don't see myself as the main character, because I'm the most forgettable member of my family, I'm afraid I must hopefully surprise you with the information that I'm overly-confident about the fact that I'd be the protagonist of a drama novel.
As a baby, according to my parents, I had difficulties crawling. They say it was a slightly common condition, which made me unable to balance my little body so I would fall to the side and hurt myself. My dad would sit down with me for hours exercising my legs until I was strong enough to crawl, which I eventually did—although not enough, which is also, as my mom tells me, the reason why I have a terrible sense of distance and walk against furniture all the time. Then, months later, when I'd become a toddler, I was only able to walk if I had a purse in one hand and a toy-cellphone in the other. I was a fabulous little baby who loved all girlish things and called herself a princess.
Growing up, at 13, I went through the typically misogynistic "I'm not like other girls!" phase. I avoided the color pink (it wasn't too hard for me, since I already knew that orange was my favorite color), ran away from makeup and tried so, so hard to be boyish. I'd dress in clothes that I did not like at all and also didn't suit me and laughed at the idea of ew! being in love~. If I was told I was dramatic, I'd stomp my way into my room—because that was, of course, the best way to show how un-dramatic I actually was.
But when I was fifteen, I had an epiphany. I stumbled upon the realization that I actually still liked wearing pink clothes and wanted to try makeup. That I felt way more comfortable around girls than boys and drama was, inevitably, a part of me. I started being myself again, began toying with the idea of fashion and being fabulous, but I had a small problem.
The life my parents had started for themselves and us had been in fast decline since 2012.
For many people, it had not been the best year, which was a surprising thing for me as I could relate to that fact. Truth be told, I had always been in tune with the rest of the world since 2012. Perhaps even before that, but I had no real way of knowing since I hadn't been on social media at that time. But when everyone was crying about the world ending and what an awful year it had been, I fully agreed. It had been a nightmare; my country was falling into shambles and my family was being driven deeper and deeper into poverty. I had only been 11 years old at the time, but I remember feeling like I had to start behaving like an adult—and of course, I hadn't actually been able to be one, but I had tried my best to relieve my parents off any sort of stress they had. I cannot, for the life of me, remember a time when I wasn't hyper-aware of our financial situation after 2012. So I agreed with the world. It had been an awful year. Maybe the other 11 year olds of other countries weren't growing up in the middle of a dictatorship, but I had felt seen and that was all that mattered.
In the year of 2016, I dropped out of high school, because my big sister had graduated from our private school, which meant my brothers and I would not continue to receive a scholarship we had been granted at first for being a big family. Three kids was not enough to justify us getting educational aid and my parents didn't want us to go to a public school out of fear they'd feed us false information as demanded by the government. I spent the entirety of my 15th year of life, and what would have been the 10th grade, teaching myself how to play guitar and HTML on Tumblr, as well as improving my English skills and trying to acquire some German, as we were going to move there as soon as my parents managed to sell our house in order to be able to afford buying plane tickets. Silently, I watched my friends on social media, once again, going to school, making new memories, learning history, math, geography, and slowly distanced myself from those I knew, finding solace in the knowledge that everyone else's 2016 had been just as bad as mine, when the end of the year came around and our Christmas gifts consisted of food, shampoo and menstruation pads for the girls, as this was the most luxury we could allow ourselves.
2017, the year I moved to Germany and fell into a big depression. 2018, the year I started Grammar school and struggled immensely with the culture and language—and the pressure of having to graduate, or else, everyone who had said I couldn't make it as an immigrant would be right about me. 2019, the year I almost dropped out of school again, because I was so burned out. 2020, the year of COVID and online-schooling (and I'm so sorry if the mention of this gives you the ick while reading my story, but I simply cannot drive past it). 2021, the year I finally graduated, then went on to do basically nothing, because my brain was fried and I couldn't imagine myself starting my adult-life and my new set of studies.
Do you understand now what I mean when I say I would be the protagonist of a drama? I think many chapters would be real tear-jerkers for many readers, and I think drama just simply adores me. I've got the tragic back-story of an underdog and the resilience of a hero. The charm of a superstar and the looks of a Hollywood actress. It's just that up until that point, it had never made sense to me why I would have to suffer so much in my life if all this pain was going to serve no other purpose than to simply make me sad.
But then, the year of 2022 was not a bad year for me. Granted, I'd been stuck at home doing absolutely nothing else than laze away my days, as I had told my parents I was too tired and stupid to try to go to university, and so I simply focused on myself. I wrote songs, poems, the plot for a fictional fantasy story I'd like to complete one day. I recorded videos, covered songs and read, read and read like I hadn't done in a very long time. I caught up with shows and films and despite the fact that I felt so much guilt for doing nothing at home and eating away at my parent's expenses, another side of me felt immensely happy and at peace. I missed my friends and had a feeling I was falling behind, but it couldn't compare to the joy of being at home, in full relaxation mode. And when July came around, my friends told me to get my shit together and sign up for university . . . and I did. By the time October came around, I was living on my own, an hour and a half away from my family and boyfriend at a student residence. English Literature was awaiting me.
I made so many new friends and started going out again. I went to parties, meet-ups, my lectures, seminars and tutorials. It wasn't as great as being at home and working on my talents, but it wasn't awful either. I realized that I didn't have to live my dreams of being a singer and an actress to find happiness and suddenly the idea of being an ordinary woman didn't seem so unappealing anymore. Sure, I could hear a tiny voice in the back of my mind telling me this is not really what I wanted to do with my life, as well as a ticking-clock signalizing the counter going down until I got bored of this new distraction and wanted to go back to singing, writing, dancing and drawing, but I just wanted to be able to enjoy this new experience for as long as I could, so I ignored it.
On New Year's Eve, I felt so grateful. We had finally been able to celebrate Christmas in a house that felt like home, my sister had come with her husband for the 31st and it was the whole family together again. Even my grandparents had traveled to our town from their town. We sang karaoke, danced, ate ensalada de gallina and pan de jamón and pavo and puerco mechados. We counted down to midnight and we said "Happy New Year!", my boyfriend kissed me, I hugged my siblings, my parents and grandparents and my brother-in-law. I ran upstairs to get my suitcase and ran back downstairs to scream on the streets that I'd be traveling a lot in 2024, my voice covered by the loud and colorful fireworks, as per tradition. And I whispered a wish:
Please let me become a big superstar and sing my songs to the world this year, God.
It was as if I had written it down in stone. As if all my gratitude for the world had made the universe turn all of its love, hopes and beliefs to me. Like dominoes, all the pieces fell into place and after years and years of waiting and dreaming and wishing, of working hard and being patient, my dreams came true. By the end of 2024, I'd be on the road to become the biggest star the world had ever known.
My name is Mercy and in the last seconds of December 31st of 2023 and the first minutes of January 1st of 2024, I realized I was the true main character.