I was born in Treinta y Tres, a small town in eastern Uruguay where the horizon is flat, the air smells of wet earth after the rain, and community still feels like an unspoken promise. It’s also a place where inequality is visible in everyday life, in the distance between paved and unpaved streets, between those who have access and those who don’t. Growing up there shaped the way I see the world.

The women in my family tree are strong, brave, and resilient women who have always lived in service of their communities. From them I inherited a quiet conviction: that caring for others is a form of resistance, and that education, no matter how modest, can change destinies.

I studied social communication, and I was drawn to journalism because I believed in stories, in their power to make people visible, and in giving meaning to what often goes unnoticed. During university, I learned that writing can be both a mirror and a tool: a way of understanding the world while trying to change it.

My final project combined reporting, data, and documentary filmmaking to explore access to food in Uruguay. I visited hospitals, prisons, community kitchens, and LGBTQ+ initiatives that fought hunger through solidarity. I realized then that communication, when guided by empathy, can become an act of social transformation.

After graduating, I led two political campaigns in my hometown. It was an intense experience, days filled with strategy meetings, long conversations with neighbors, and endless coffee cups. What I learned wasn’t just about politics, but about listening. Behind every vote, there was a story: a worker without social security, a young mother with no childcare, an elderly woman taking care of her grandchildren. I understood that communication isn’t about convincing; it’s about connecting.

In 2022, I moved to Berlin with a suitcase, a notebook, and the idea that distance could give me perspective. Living abroad changed me. I worked in cafés, studied German, and continued collaborating remotely with the local government of my city, advising on communication strategies for gender and family programs.

Later, I joined Stand with Syria Japan (SSJ), an NGO that supports survivors of war crimes and advocates for justice. Working with people from Syria, Japan, and Germany taught me the political power of memory; how documenting, naming, and making visible what has been silenced is also a way of seeking justice.

Moving between these different realities, a small town in Uruguay and the global humanitarian sphere, helped me understand how deeply connected our worlds are. Today, as a master’s student in International Relations & Global Politics at Zeppelin Universität, I write from that intersection: between communication and politics, the local and the global, and belonging and displacement.

Writing, for me, is a way to connect those worlds. Through the stories I tell, I aim to bring forward voices that often remain unheard and to weave a narrative where Latin America is not seen as a place to be saved but as a place full of knowledge, creativity, and solutions. I believe that every story is political, because every story reflects the world we build together. My work aims to question hierarchies of power, highlight acts of care, and reflect on what justice means in everyday life.

I believe that listening and telling can shift realities, that narratives have the power to transform the way we see the world. They can remind us that borders are not only geographical but also emotional and political. They can invite us to imagine fairer ways of coexisting.

I write because I need to make sense of the world and because, in that attempt, I find hope.