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Diary of a Desperate Venezuelan Girl in Miami

I know I have written for a while. I have had some tough days. It is funny; here all days are the same, even weekends. For example, this week, I have worked over forty hours, and it is just Thursday. The worst part is also working sixty hours per week the money is not enough. At $8.5 per hour never is enough. I think today I made a thousand churros. My arm hurts, and my nails depress me.

I am such tires, and I have never been more depressed. I feel lonely. I miss my parents, my sister, my friends, also, the place where I used to buy bread or the bus I took every day. I wake up, and I am sad because I miss my home; then, I go to work, and I am sad because my job suck and people could not be ruder; then, I go to my house, and I am sad because I am tired, I have no money and I miss my home.

When I arrived in South Florida, I had so many dreams. I thought my life would be better than in Venezuela, but it is not. I hate my life, I hate my job, I hate how people look at me, I lost my healthy and beautiful nails, I don’t wear make up any more, I put weight, I smell like fried all day, and my hair is a disaster. But, I talk with my family, and I have to lie; I must say that I am happy.

In ninety-three days, I will lose my legal status. I cannot apply for a political asylum which could give me some months. I have no money, so I cannot pay for fake marriage. I have tried to date some guys, but they can smell how desperate I am for the permanent residence. I have slept with two guys who I did not like too much for anything because one lied about his status, and the other one used his status to have sex and not to answer my calls anymore.

This situation makes me anxious; I am eating all the chocolate in the world. Yeah, because being fat is going to help me to find an American husband. At this moment, my only option is Matt. He has offered me to help me for free. There is where I feel that is not right. Who supports a stranger getting married for nothing? I don’t like him. He is disgusting; sometimes he does not smell well; he is rude to most of the people.

Today, I went to dinner with him. He was horrible with the waitress; he did give him any tips; looking at him to eat was nauseating. He kissed me. It was a bad kiss, and his breath smelled like garlic. I tried to stop him, but insisted, and forced me to continue with the kiss.

But, I am desperate. I can’t allow myself to go back to Caracas. Even in this hell, I dream each night with the day I was kidnaped. So, dear diary, I have to finish in this point because now I have to cry until I fall asleep.


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