When I was a little girl, I was in the Zimbabwe gymnastics national team. International competitions often made me really nervous, but I really enjoyed them when I performed well and got podium placements. One of the competitions I'll never forget happened in Namibia when I was 11 years old. It was daunting because the other girls I was competing with from various countries were really good. Regardless of all this, I had a really fun and wholesome time during my travels to Namibia. Reminiscing on this memory really warms my heart.

You heard me. As it turned out, I had been watching cartoons for months by pressing the ‘Nate button’, the internet connection button, and my bill had reached 2 million won. This button was one that everyone was wary of because their internet bills would skyrocket if they pressed it, but I didn’t know that and kept using it. What’s even funnier is that my dad developed this technology! In the end, I paid it back myself, so I saved up my holiday allowance, ran errands, and got my ping pong score written off by 1,000 won each, and I paid it back diligently for two years. That incident was an unforgettable experience that made me mature and realize the value of money.

Sunday morning breakfast routine. I must have been 5 years old; every Sunday morning, I used to go to buy gathiya with my grandfather. We bought them from an uncle's shop—I remember the uncle so clearly, but I don't remember the name of his shop at all. It was a five-minute walk from my house, and on the way, my grandfather would tell me stories. I don't remember what those stories were about anymore, but I remember enjoying them and looking forward to them.

I remember the uncle's shop. I was tiny and couldn't reach the counter, but I remember the distinct smell of jalebi and fafda. The uncle always gave me my own little packet of bhavnagri gathiya, which was my favorite part of the week because it meant that it was my own little breakfast. We used to have Sunday breakfasts together on the floor of our kitchen—me, my parents, and my grandparents—and it was always jalebi, fafda, and chai. It's one of the most special memories I have of my childhood, and I still think about that time when I have jalebi and fafda for breakfast sometimes.

I was about five years old, maybe four. My best friend in kindergarten, Kristina, gave me a bracelet. Oh God, how much I loved that bracelet. It was simple but so beautiful—just a plastic diamond on a string. One day, some time later, a popular girl in our class (I remember her name was Sasha) noticed my bracelet and proposed a trade. She said she also had a beautiful gem, but in the shape of a heart. I was afraid of her, so I agreed to the trade, not really understanding what I was agreeing to. In the end, she just took a small sticker gem off her T-shirt and gave it to me. For some reason, I couldn’t say anything in that moment, and I didn’t have the courage to ask for my bracelet back. I still regret it to this day.

My cousins ​​Juan and Rocio lived with my uncles in Arizona, San Luis, about 800km from the city of Buenos Aires, where my family lived. When we were little, when they came to visit us, my parents used to organize trips to the shopping mall and we would all go together in one car. I don’t know why, I don’t think there is an exact reason, but somehow we would fit 8 people in one car. We called it the clown car, once we parked, children and adults would start getting out through the 4 doors and the trunk of the car as well. I remember how we would fight with my little sister and my cousins ​​to see who would travel in the trunk! The most uncomfortable, darkest, smallest, and most dangerous place was the most coveted by the children! I think that thanks to the immersive therapy of the clown car none of us became claustrophobic…

In my hometown there are people on tricycles selling wontons at night. They would rip off people while riding their bikes, alerting people nearby that they were selling wontons. I always like to eat those kinds of wontons, and then my dad will stick his head out of the window and call to the wonton seller, "Hey, wontons, I want a bowl of wontons here." Then the car will park downstairs in our house and make them for me. A bowl of wontons. I would watch him make the wontons from start to finish.

For as long as I can remember, Mom always trimmed and shaved Dad's hair. She’d take the razor, set up a chair in the living room, and give him a buzz cut. Dad always joked around, pretending it hurt, and then said he looked like a commando. He called that haircut the "commando cut." While recently looking for some childhood photos, I found a portrait of Dad that I had made when I was little. I don’t remember making it, but judging by his hair, it was right after one of those "commando cuts" because I had glued on some of his actual hair. Now that I think about it, those moments of goofing around and pulling funny faces have shaped my own sense of humor and how I use humor in my illustrations and animations. Just recently, a family friend even said she could see my dad’s humor in my art. As you can see, that childhood portrait proves he’s my inspiration. We still joke around to this day, and playfulness has become essential to my creative practice.