Lifestyle: In Practice

I wake up most mornings to the train shaking my windows. My routine isn’t curated—it’s real. I scroll TikTok half-awake, blast bachata in the shower, skip skincare if my curls are being disrespectful. Coffee or Celsius is a must. I dress depending on the season… or my mood. On the train platform, music blaring, I’m still writing in my head—mental notes, imagined scenes, overheard dialogue. That part of me never turns off.

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.

I moaned to survive. I lied to be safe. This isn’t a story about sex—it’s about survival. About what women do to stay alive in a world where men are taught they’re entitled to everything. Even our silence.

Dear Jay,  Thanksgiving night you were telling me how much you loved me, how thankful you were to have me in your life. The next morning I woke up to text that it wasn’t going to work and had been blocked. That’s the kind of person you are, the kind of person who disappears, who forgets the birthday of the woman he claimed to love, but didn’t forget to text other girls. He always remembered to clean up the broken glass from the mirror he smashed or the parts of the controlle

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.

I’m not overreacting, you’ve just never experienced a Dominican mother’s anger with a chancleta before. The precision in the throw, the sting in the hit. I want to be soft and cared for, but also strong and grounded. I’m not angry, I’m Dominican. I’m not loud, I’m Dominican. This isn’t just rage—it’s memory, it’s inherited fire, it’s love, it’s survival. This is my softness and my rebellion, all in one breath.

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 if you could have dinner with the five people who shaped your life? In this reflective review, Grace explores the emotional layers of The Dinner List—a novel that brings together exes, estranged parents, and soul friends at one unforgettable meal. With sharp insights on character dynamics and missed opportunities in structure, this review weighs love, regret, and the complexity of memory.

In this raw and intimate review, Grace Sofia reflects on My Body by Emily Ratajkowski—a collection that explores consent, silence, beauty, and the pain of womanhood. Through stories of early trauma, identity, and the contradictions of female power, this book gives language to the things so many women have lived but never said aloud. It’s haunting, honest, and urgently necessary.

Dear Readers,  I have a goal this year to read about 30-40 books. I’m attending school full time, and soon starting a new career so I didn’t want a goal too hard to reach. Here is a list of books I’m hoping to get to in 2025, and the vibes they give off/what am I expecting out of these books.  Fourth Wing Rebecca Yarros This is a reread. I’m expecting to like this book less this time around, but so far I’ve read about 100 pages and I’m still so invested in the story like it’

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.

What does it mean to truly translate someone’s story? In this powerful reflection, Grace Sofia explores R.F. Kuang’s Babel and Valeria Luiselli’s Tell Me How It Ends, unpacking the violence, responsibility, and nuance behind language, storytelling, and interpretation. From magic to migration, this piece asks: how do we stay true to meaning when words are never neutral?

Dear Reader,  I read a total of 200 pages worth of A Little Life  before I gave up on this book. It was by far one of the most disgusting, horrifying, and vile things I’ve read.  First and foremost, this book has some NSFW topics that honestly sort of feel like trauma porn. These characters battle through, depression, addictions, poverty, sexual abuse, and so much more. The worst part isn’t the difficult topics, there’s a way they can be done with grace and empathy for real

What makes a paragraph powerful? In this post, Grace Sofia explores Francine Prose’s take on the rhythm and purpose behind each breath of writing. A paragraph, she writes, is more than structure—it’s a build-up, a release, a shift in light. With insight from Reading Like a Writer, this piece offers guidance for writers seeking meaning between the margins, and the freedom to break the rules beautifully.

What makes a sentence beautiful? In this thoughtful post, Grace Sofia explores Francine Prose’s lessons on clarity, rhythm, and revision. From Hemingway’s restraint to the power of reading aloud, she breaks down how good writing comes from intention and sound. Whether you’re revising a short story or crafting your next essay, this piece will change the way you see your own words.