Jealousy

I open another e-mail that corresponds to Spanish Vogue, signed to me by Stella Castellano, Chief Director of the magazine. More details and more names appear in the office, besides the confirmed luxury hotel in Paris and my goals in the show. I will have to get an exclusive interview with some stylist. I look at the date and remember that the event will take place in just six days.

I walk out onto the balcony and watch the movement five floors below me. People are coming and going, with their yellow smiles, their kids with bad hair and cars in a huge line because of the congestion of so many cars that passed by the famous Hilton at the end of February. As much as I love the heat and the sun and the yellow hue of life it gives each day, I am gray inside. As if a cloud came down inside me, leaving my own sun hidden and refusing to do its job: make me smile.

I sit on the couch alone again like every afternoon, looking around as if I have nothing to do but look like a pot. I look at the