"Bridging activism and her writing, Isabel Allende is an inspiring woman who for years has oriented her actions to create a future where we women are leaders and spokeswomen for change."

Even before I saw her face, I already recognized her name. Like many people, I had seen her books and knew that Isabel Allende was a great Chilean writer.

When I was 12, my mom gave me *The City of Beasts*, and one scene really stuck with me; it ends with the line: “(…) happiness consists of achieving what we have long awaited.” Those words resonate deeply when considered in the context of women’s rights. Happiness put on hold while we wait to be treated without violence, with dignity, respect, and fairness.
Isabel Allende has actively contributed from various platforms to ensure that a part of that happiness reaches women and girls around the world. Her work as a Latin American writer with an international reach allows her to be a role model for young people across the globe. Did you know that Isabel Allende is one of Chile’s ten most recognized cultural figures abroad? Her stories have been translated into more than forty languages, adapted for television, and her books have sold millions of copies in total.

In addition to her impressive literary career, Isabel has chosen to go beyond the written word. She is also a women’s rights activist. Since 1996, in memory of her daughter Paula, she has led the Isabel Allende Foundation. Through this initiative, she seeks to ensure reproductive rights, economic independence, and protection from violence for girls and women.

By combining activism with her writing, Isabel Allende is an inspiring woman who, for years, has dedicated her efforts to creating a future where women are leaders and advocates for change—a future where we can achieve the happiness we long for and where girls’ dreams can flourish.

"A simple little cloth doll was what my daughter wanted so badly? [...] that's how I met Bernardita [....] who is proud 'to contribute to the construction of the future, from childhood and family nuclei...'"

It wasn’t a typical day of grocery shopping, starting with the fact that my daughter Bruna was tugging at my sleeve with all the strength a child can muster, eager to get to the toy aisle as soon as possible. “I want the one with red hair named Colorito,” she said, repeating it like a mantra with the relentless enthusiasm only a little girl can muster. The store was already decked out in Christmas colors back in October, and my daughter’s face completely melted my heart when she looked at me with a smile from ear to ear while holding her treasure in her hands. It was the first time I’d seen him. Was a simple little cloth doll what my daughter wanted so desperately? It was, and I must admit that little elf won me over at first sight. From the cardboard box, I could see a surprising dedication; beautifully designed, it featured a message about the magic of Christmas and how that little creature would come to life to get into mischief in the weeks leading up to Christmas Eve… The rest is now part of our family tradition, and you’ll understand why.

Once we got home, Bruna and I enjoyed touching his soft fabric and watching his red hair sway playfully. I must admit that I found it absolutely adorable, as the lanky little elf is utterly charming in its design; “elegant simplicity” is the perfect phrase to describe a toy that looks as if it were handmade by an artisan, even leading me to believe that Santa’s workshop—as described in the legend—exists to create these marvels.

And I’ll say it again: it’s wonderful, because watching your daughter and her friends play with rag dolls, elves, reindeer, and stuffed animals—giving them voices and movements with such ingenuity—is truly beautiful.

"A hunter in reverse: her job is not to get caught, her triumph is not the moment of the goal, but that of spoiling someone else's party. It takes courage to be in a place like that."

Being a goalkeeper is a unique position, a kind of solitude in company. A hunter in reverse: her job is to avoid being caught; her triumph isn’t scoring a goal, but spoiling someone else’s celebration. It takes courage to be in a place like that. Being in goal is a solitude that is not solipsism; it is precisely the opposite. Since you must always be alert to the players’ intentions, deciphering the language they invent through their complicity to attack, their cunning and reactions, it requires a kind of attention that accepts no generalizations. You run the risk of making a new decision every time, stumbling along, focused on every detail. Such a position requires radical empathy.

Christiane Endler is the captain of the Chilean women’s national soccer team. In 2021, she was named the world’s best goalkeeper by the International Federation of Football History and Statistics, and in 2022, she won FIFA’s “The Best” award for best goalkeeper. Her career is breaking new ground. The most obvious thing to say would be that she creates opportunities for other women who, like her, know that soccer has no gender; but her talent leaves us with something more—a subtle lesson: that leadership doesn’t always mean scoring goals, and that judgment isn’t a calculation, but rather requires the art of sensitivity and an awareness that involves empathy.

"-Eating is much more than feeding, Fer," Mom whispered to me, as she pointed out to a landlord the most hidden watermelon of all."

Dear Diary,
I haven’t written in a while because we moved again, and I only found you today among the moving boxes. So I’m going to give you a quick update on what’s been going on. We’re in Concepción now, which is a really pretty city. I said goodbye to San Felipe with a heavy heart, but I was also excited about what our new home would bring. And what we’d eat. Because there’s the ocean here, so Dad promised he’d let me try some delicious things that the fishermen catch with their nets. When we arrived in Conce, we didn’t have a house yet, so we stayed in A HOTEL! Just like that, just like in the movies. At night they left chocolates on our pillows, and for breakfast I could eat as much as I wanted. Best of all was the homemade bread from Don José, the hotel chef, whom I watched working every day through the kitchen’s half-open door. It was so much fun living there—I wish we could have stayed forever—but Dad found a house, and we moved in a few days ago.

Yesterday was a perfect Saturday. It started off a little melancholy, took a surprising turn, and ended on a super happy note. I woke up really early, missing my grandmothers; now that we live in the south, we don’t see them as much anymore, and I really miss them. The night before last, I dreamed about my Grandma Checha. She came to visit us and brought us a giant pot of lemon chicken. So I woke up with the taste of that delicious chicken in my mouth and a heavy heart, missing my Grandma Marta and the aromas of her kitchen too. Mom noticed and, as soon as we finished breakfast, asked me to go with her to buy fruits and vegetables. That’s how I discovered the market, the most incredible place in the world. There were so many colorful stalls, the most beautiful vegetables I’ve ever seen, and the vendors were shouting loudly to hawk their wares. That place is pure life! “Here you go, lady, take the garlic, the good garlic, the garlic for your husband, so he doesn’t fall asleep,” shouted a woman in a polka-dot apron, while a man offered pumpkins, bellowing that they were “the best for your legs, your hair, and your blue eyes.” Mom walked slowly among the different stalls, smelling the fruit, examining the tomatoes, and carefully choosing what to buy. I looked from side to side, amazed by everything I saw, by the sounds and the aromas, by all the love that was everywhere.

“Eating is so much more than just feeding yourself, Fer,” Mom whispered to me as she pointed out the most hidden watermelon of all to a vendor. “It’s a beautiful art—one that involves carefully selecting ingredients, cooking with love, setting a beautiful table, and sharing the meal with those we care about. When we cook, we say so many things; we show love and tell our story.”

At the fair, all my worries melted away, and when I got home, the surprises kept coming. Dad had gone to the harbor with my sister, and the messy kitchen was filled with a medley of different aromas.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he called out excitedly, “today you’re going to taste the delicacies of our sea,” holding out between his fingers an elongated shell with a slimy tongue inside.

"Yuck, Dad! I'm not eating that gross stuff!"

“Honey, show some respect for the bounty the ocean gives us. This ‘junk,’ as you call it, is called a macha. And it’s the most delicious thing you can imagine. It has an intense flavor, and you’re going to love it.” Trust me. And so I did. I closed my eyes tight, wrinkled my nose, and swallowed hard before parting my lips. A second later, an explosion of flavor in my mouth. At first, strange. Then, delicious.
“So good, Dad! I want to eat them all!”

Here’s an ode I wrote for Macha:
Macha of the seas
Who came all the way to my lips
Never leave me
You’ve driven me crazy

Now I’m going to sleep happy, with a belly full of clams and a heart full of joy, my head full of ideas, and my soul full of dreams. Or rather, “decrees”—which are dreams that come true. And today I decree that I’m going to be the best cook in the world, I’m going to have a restaurant by the sea, I’m going to go to the market every morning, I’m going to invent the most delicious recipes, and I’m going to tell many stories through them.

But, dear diary, this is still a secret, so don't tell anyone. Tomorrow I'm going to wait until Mom takes her nap so I can get to work.

Fernanda Fuentes Cárdenas is a professional chef and amateur poet, owner of the Nub restaurant in Tenerife, and the only Chilean to have earned a Michelin star for her cuisine. In 2022, she will open her first restaurant in Santiago, where she hopes to continue reviving culinary traditions and sharing the story of her roots through her creations.

"The home must be light. A house: organic matter, amniotic fluid, oscillation on contact. He imagined: and if your body is a house of water, would you live?"

Would you live in a house of water? He had said there was once a body that was a house that was a plot that was vital work substrate warmth and breath was. I had said: imagined. I would have said house and did. It is. It manufactures the mind and gathers: the temperature that a body needs, minimum residue to furnish the world, organ that lives and that which is lived, would you live? The home must be light. A house: organic matter, amniotic fluid, oscillation in contact. He imagined: and if your body is a house of water, would you live? Fish in thought, fish in the abdomen embrace an idea. Skin speculates its warmth. Speculates judgment the possibilities of making a belly that was stay project on land. Intimacy between wood and ocean. Trust the substance, respect the materials, observe the verbs: think, conceive, sketch, rehearse, plot, touch, compose. There was (past tense) a mental image in the inner garden of the head / there is (present tense) a shire that throws earth / there will be (future tense) a community around the rain. A house takes root? Tell me: if you were told she made a house of water, would you live? If they told you gills if they told you float in the secret of moisture if they told you return to seed. If you were told the world is vast and you are small, would you live?

"The discoveries Laura has made throughout her career allow us to envision a future in which we not only see more women scientists working in astronomy but also leading research of excellence."

The challenges of astronomy are unknown to those of us who are not part of this field of science that studies the celestial bodies of the universe. But in a field of knowledge that has traditionally been taught—and promoted—as a man’s world, Chilean women working in this discipline have begun to shine in recent years.

Although younger generations still face obstacles such as underrepresentation in academia and prejudices about girls’ abilities in the exact sciences, all signs point to the fact that, little by little—at least in the sciences—gender stereotypes are being dispelled by facts: female scientists who are changing the world.

Laura Pérez, Ph.D. in astrophysics, is a rising star, a status she has earned through two awards: one international, the Young Researchers Award in Frontier Science from Developing Countries (2021); and one national, the Adelina Gutiérrez Award for Scientific Excellence (2020). These recognitions highlight her contribution to the advancement of astronomy and serve as an inspiration for those who wish to venture into disciplines considered complex.

The discoveries Laura has made throughout her career allow us to envision a future in which we not only see more women scientists working in astronomy but also leading cutting-edge research. A world in which new generations will be able to venture further and further into those areas of science that, until now, have remained unfairly dominated by men. Laura’s life story will undoubtedly help young girls and teenagers feel confident in pursuing their calling.

"Each of them is a woman of science, and that tiny, mischievous, fickle spark, which drives them to observe and think about the world they inhabit, can become a flare capable of imagining other possible futures."

"What sparks and fuels the flame of science in each of us?" asks biologist and ecologist Bárbara Saavedra in a lecture she delivered to the Society for Cell Biology in 2017. The metaphor she uses in her presentation is meaningful for those who, like her, have made the public sphere their own room: women in science are like will-o’-the-wisps, she says, a tiny flame that burns on its own in hostile territory and that travels, close to the ground and in a zigzag pattern, along a path carved out by hand. “We are a new force—numerous, creative, passionate, and prepared,” she affirms with conviction, and her words remind me of all those curious little girls who play with clay pigs, collect seashells on the beach, create herbariums with plants from the garden, or memorize the constellations that light up the night sky. Each of them is a woman of science, and that tiny, mischievous, and capricious spark that drives them to observe and think about the world they inhabit can become a blaze capable of imagining other possible futures.

The famous phrase “the personal is political,” attributed to the American feminist Carol Hanisch, strikes me as apt when discussing Bárbara’s professional career. Her deep conviction regarding the value of biodiversity for the well-being of humanity shapes her own path—one that has led her to promote initiatives to protect Patagonian peatlands and to reflect on the urgency of incorporating the intrinsic relationship between nature, human rights, and democracy into the new Constitution. Listening to her is to connect with her passion for the preservation of wetlands, for the restoration of ecosystems devastated by human activity, and for the defense of guanacos and huemules threatened by an extractivist economy. Reading her writings is to understand that an ecological perspective is not a trend, but an imperative, and that the urgency of her discourse stems from a personal choice aimed at generating concrete political action.

That enthusiasm for building a culture of conservation—one that positions Chile at the forefront of biodiversity conservation—makes her a source of inspiration for many girls and young women to pursue careers in science. Given the long history of silencing or downplaying women’s work, the presence of female role models in science is a topic that interests Bárbara: There is immense value in every instance where a woman engages in science. A scholarly work crafted inch by inch by each woman as the artisan of her own life. And by sharing it, she can bring the raw material of science closer to others like her. I share in that feminine synergy and the revolution involved in carving out a path in the arid academic and professional world. That image of collaboration and sisterhood, implicit in Bárbara’s aspirations, invites us to see how women in science—seemingly isolated from one another, each with her own stories of struggle and survival—have collaborated in weaving that network that lights the path for those who came before them and those who will follow.

Eleven years ago, Bárbara wrote on her blog that women in science would make a difference and turn the tide of history as we know it. We will build a different future, she asserted, which will only be possible if we recognize the vital interconnection between human beings and biodiversity—the cornerstone upon which our national socio-ecological system rests. From her personal and public vantage point, Bárbara Saavedra calls on all of us—those stubborn, hard-to-extinguish will-o’-the-wisps—to work, subtly and with tenacious resilience, toward the necessary change we must bring about in countless human practices, transforming them from activities that destroy our planet’s natural foundation into practices that allow us to sustain it over time.

"She is an island woman who has reached the top and who, looking down from above, misses her land. She is an island woman, half Rapa Nui, half bird who, dressed in the traditional way, puts us on the map."

She was born on an island, and she has music. That’s enough. The invisible bond that ties the pianist to that land—known in the Rapa Nui language—cannot be broken. Not by fame, not by travel, not by her studies at the best universities, and not even by her album, which has reached number one on the sales charts. “The sea is better,” she says, and time and again she returns to the island.

She started at nine, and in just three months the music was there—she knew it, understood it, heard it from within. Years later, she’s giving concerts around the world that tell the story of an Easter Island odyssey.
Mahani Teave is creating a school. On her island, there is art, there are traditions; they have their own notes, their own colors, she believes. And she does it: a school where children learn to play whatever they want; learn music. They build it with debris that people throw into the sea: bottles, plastic, trash that others discard and that comes to form the foundation of a refuge because sound, melody, an orchestra, and the piano are important, the pianist tells herself.
She doesn’t want to appear as anything other than what she is: a woman from Easter Island with black hair down to her waist, her volcanic hands on the keys, a flower near her face. Focused, the language her fingers speak is universal; it needs no words. The body understands. She is an island woman who draws other musicians to her. She is an island woman who has reached the highest heights and who, looking down from above, misses her homeland. She is an island woman, half Rapa Nui, half bird, who, dressed in traditional style, puts us on the map. Mahani Teave brings only gifts and sunsets. She was born on an island and possesses music. That is enough.