FOREWORD

A good percentage of my favorite self is an echo of Nica’s existence. The little nuggets of wisdom I carry with me come from unlikely moments of clarity while with her. Once, in our early twenties as I was exasperated from my unrequited adventures in love, I asked her for some advice. While waiting for the pedestrian light to turn green, I asked how I could find true love. Pausing a bit, she replied, “You know it’s your person when they know the answer to the question: What is your favorite soup?”

And so, I spent the rest of my twenties looking for just that: someone who paid enough attention to know the little things. It was only later that I realized the most important caveat was I myself had to know my own answer first. That I knew my little things. What I love most about Nica is that she never claims to have it all figured out. That she adds to her little list of whimsical things as she goes along. So here I am in my thirties, ever so patiently and whimsically learning about mine. 

I met Nica in 6th grade—when she referred to herself as “Peanut” for her bowl haircut. She was a fantabulous source of laughter, our resident class clown, that I watched joyfully from afar as the quiet, behaved student. Being so prim and proper, I could never make such remarks or jokes for fear of being punished. But Nica, this gregarious, unapologetic ball of light and laughter never found herself in trouble because we all couldn’t get enough of her antics—teachers included.

This indefatigable spirit carried on, even through the toughest of times with family. She hid it all so well that looking back after reading her book, I’ve come to realize that my teenaged self only saw the tip of the iceberg of her suffering. Her light overshadowed the darkness she had gone through, shrinking it down into a tiny shadow. Shortly after high school, Nica moved to the US for college. It was there that she continued being who she was and expressing the glorious rawness of her light as an artist and writer. There was a quiet certainty about her work—her imprint through whatever medium she encountered. The feelings of home Nica never had showed itself as warmth and love in each inked paragraph.

One would think that because of our closeness, I would have known of the history of her pain. But Nica transformed scars into beautiful creations: handsewn wall hangings, felt flowers, zines, and Lil Bitch pillows.

This book has been about rediscovering the person I loved to watch, with backstage passes allowing me to see behind the scenes. Her generosity despite the lack if it in her life—her pain transformed into the origins of her magic. But for someone unfamiliar with her story, the impact may differ. Instead, this is a book about how to raise yourself.

Why read Kwento by Nica? If not for the joy of encountering life incarnate, it is a book for those wishing their inner child to be seen and healed, to find their voice amidst everyone else’s.

Nica’s story shows that writing can be a magical, safe space - a place to discover yourself, be seen for who you are, and be real. Her journey illuminates how self-expression helps us know ourselves deeply, like knowing yourself enough to know your favorite soup—whatever metaphorical "soup" you have yet to know about in your world.

Nica's courage to raise herself and find her own voice despite all the noise is an ode to all those doing the same. May her story inspire you, dear reader, and future generations to find their own voice and live their truth gloriously and unapologetically.