Lifestyle: In Practice

Faith betrayed me in the silence of prayer. I begged for my father’s laugh to return, for color to rise back in his face, but nothing changed. The man who once carried me on his shoulders could barely carry himself across the room. Later, faith betrayed me again with my grandmother—once a warrior, now fading, her love stronger than her memory. I learned faith doesn’t always protect the strong; sometimes it strips them away piece by piece.

My body is not a battleground, though it carries scars both visible and hidden. It’s marked by ink, trauma, and survival, yet it remains mine—breathing, enduring, beautiful. Each scar tells a story of pain, resilience, and transformation. What was stolen, broken, and bled into the past now lives as a layered canvas of survival. My body is both ruin and rebirth, a reminder that I kept going, and I chose to keep it mine.

By Sofía Villafaña  3Play, a stupid pun of three way, a dumb app that encourages singles to meet with couples as a third. It was also meant for various relationships in the spectrum of sexualities out there, and I was hoping it would be where I learned to dance with the devil and his demons. met a lot of couples on the app, in a time where I was exploring my identity in bounds that felt safe. I could no longer be alone with men, and I had always been curious about my attract

I wasn’t asking for a fantasy—I just wanted honesty. But when men act like boyfriends and refuse to give you the title, it’s not romance, it’s manipulation. Swift gave me the world, but not his word. This is what I learned: confusion is not chemistry, it’s a red flag waving in your face. I don’t do placeholders anymore. If it’s not clear, it’s cut.

Dear Readers, As an MFA student and New York native, my bag is my life. A Brandon Blackwood leather handbag, gifted after a hard semester, holds my Moleskine, pen, and pencil for chasing ideas. Dominicana by Angie Cruz fuels my literary escape, while Penelope keeps me company through New York’s endless tourist season. Essentials: camera for moments, lip liner for confidence, scrunchie and gel for control, and pepper spray, because safety matters. -Sofía Villafaña

Living in NYC taught me that self-care isn’t a luxury—it’s survival. I don’t need a $300 spa day to feel whole. I need clean sheets, a lit candle, a locked phone, and time with my words. From bodega flowers to book bar nights, my rituals are small but mighty. Here’s how I sprinkle care into my week without breaking the bank—because softness isn’t about money, it’s about intention.

After a moment that changed everything, I chose myself. I chose survival. In the quiet of my room, with fear and strength tangled inside me, I let go of a future I couldn’t hold onto. I named her Amelia—to give her a life I couldn’t offer. She’s mine alone, carried in every step forward, in every word I write. This is a story of loss, choice, and the kind of love that births resilience.

Maybe it’s not her I’m searching for,  but the feeling of falling fast and slow  at the same time. Of breaking your heart, as someone’s putting it together.

It started in the quiet — a song, a memory, a flash of what I thought was love. Mr. 32 came when I was raw and still bleeding from the past. He had charm, money, and a girlfriend. I had trauma, softness, and a need to be saved. What unfolded between us left me with more than heartbreak. It left me with Amelia — a name, a memory, a maybe. In the aftermath, I didn’t just heal. I transformed. This is an apology to the girl I was, the girl who carried grief and grace at once, the

Chanel Miller’s Know My Name captures the aftermath of assault with heartbreaking clarity. In this reflection, Sofia Villafaña shares how Miller’s words mirror her own story—where the shame, guilt, and self-blame feel all too familiar. This isn’t just a book review—it’s a powerful letter to every survivor who’s ever felt silenced, reminding us that we are not alone.

Being the only Black girl in a white classroom isn’t new—but in grad school, the silence hits different. In this raw reflection, Sofia Villafaña writes about isolation in academic spaces, the absence of POC voices in literature, and the deep need to be seen, heard, and taught with intention. This piece is a call for better representation, real inclusion, and community in higher education.

Dear Readers,  I’ve spent the last few months going out trying to find late night spots that have good vibes, good food and/or drinks, or a good atmosphere.  Here’s my list of top places to go after dark in NYC.  Book Club Bar  12 am close on weekdays, 1 am close on weekends.  Variety of drinks  Book store  Coffee shop  Indoor and outdoor seating However, they close the outdoor seating after a certain time, don’t allow laptops after 6, and it’s a small space.  Ray’s Candy Sto

What happens when you date someone in your major? According to Sofia Villafaña: major drama. In this candid diary-style entry, she shares the messy aftermath of dating a fellow writer in grad school—complete with emotional immaturity, crossed boundaries, and way too many classroom run-ins. If you’ve ever mixed love and literary ambition, this one’s for you.

Thinking about a master’s in creative writing? In this candid reflection, Sofi breaks down why she pursued her MFA, what she’s learned so far, and what she wishes she knew before starting. From overcoming writer’s block to surviving intense workshops—and navigating the personal pitfalls of dating within your program—this post is a must-read for aspiring writers and future professors alike.