The Boomerang of Breath with - Elly Donado

Some stories don’t just get told—they burn their way into you. In this powerful episode, writer Elly Donado guides us through the streets of Queens that shaped her, sharing how she transformed childhood trauma into breathtaking art. From experiencing over 30 moves (often packing her life in trash bags instead of suitcases) to discovering writing as her lifeline, Elly reveals how our deepest wounds can become our most potent creative fuel. Her concept of the "boomerang of breath" will change how you think about resilience—every inhale carrying struggle, every exhale releasing transformation.

We didn’t have suitcases, but what I carried in my notebook? No one could take that." Elly’s journey as a first-generation Colombian-American is a story of resilience and transformation an epic scale. She breaks open the duality of her work: one raw, autobiographical novel asking "How did I survive?" and a whimsical mermaid fantasy answering "What if I’d thrived?" The conversation turns radiant as she describes Queens’ kaleidoscope of cultures—where "you could travel the world in ten blocks" and neighbors became family. Listeners will clutch their hearts when she shares how losing her childhood teddy bear taught her to "grieve in one hand and write with the other."

"You don’t just survive your story—you dance with it. And honey, I came to move!" The episode crescendos with Elly’s infectious joy, proving that healing isn’t linear—it’s a rhythm. She leaves us with this truth: "Your breath always comes back changed." Whether you’re a writer, a dreamer, or anyone who’s ever rebuilt themselves from scraps, Elly’s story will arm you with ink and hope. Available now wherever you get podcasts!  

Quotes 

• - "We inhale experiences, emotions, lessons—and then exhale our reactions, creations, or even traumas. Over time, those exhales change as we take in new breaths."
• - "Ink became my protector, my voice when I felt voiceless. Those pages held what I couldn't say out loud."
• - "We'd pack our lives into trash bags and go. But it taught me how to connect quickly—because I never knew how long I'd stay anywhere."
• - "No one was there to hug me, so I'll hug you. It doesn't feel selfless—it feels almost like a healing action."
• - "Everyone can be a writer. It's a muscle that can be trained. Five words, ten minutes a day. Start with pen and paper; screens distract."

Social Links

Instagram

www.inkofsingh.com

Transcript

Taran:  

Hello everybody! Today, my guest is Elly Donado. She is a first-generation Colombian-American, born in Queens, New York—a melting pot of diversity, a keen observer of life and its adventures. Ink is one of her precious gifts. She worships photography and walks the flux and flow of life. Welcome to the podcast, Elly. I’m so excited to have you here!  

Elly:  

Thank you so much, Taran! I’m so excited to be here too, and I’m really excited to talk to you about the theme of the boomerang of breath.  

Taran:  

Yes! We’re here to talk about the boomerang of breath. Let’s begin in your world of Queens. Tell us—what got you to Queens? For someone who’s never been there, what would they see if they walked out onto 110th or any of those alphabet-soup streets? Because once you leave Manhattan or Brooklyn, the streets get a little crazy.  

Elly:  

(Laughs) Well, I was born in Queens, as we said before. My mom and my family moved here from Colombia, so I was the first one born in the U.S. I grew up in Flushing, Queens, specifically, and like you said, it really is the HQ of the world. In every neighborhood, you meet people from different walks of life. You can turn a corner and have Greek food, walk a block and find yourself in Egypt or Jamaica. It’s such a beautiful, tight-knit community. I remember growing up always feeling like I had access to everyone around me—never alone. People shared their culture, their food—it was such a colorful upbringing. Whenever I talk to someone who hasn’t been to Queens, it’s always a culture shock. They’re like, “Wait, you had all this around you?” And I’m like, “Yeah, my neighbors were from everywhere.” It was eventful, and I’m grateful for that experience.  

Taran:  

That’s amazing. When I first moved to New York, I lived in Valley Stream at the edge of Queens, and it was incredible how crossing a block felt like entering a different world. The funny thing is, you don’t need a visa or plane ticket to travel the globe—it’s all right there. I love how you framed the boomerang of breath. Let’s dig deeper—why do you think breath is like a boomerang?  

Elly:  

When you think about how a boomerang works, you throw it out, it takes its journey, and if thrown right, it cycles back to you. I feel like with breath, we mirror that. We inhale life experiences—behaviors we learn from people, situations—and as we exhale, we reflect those things, what we’ve been taught is normal or okay. Over time, as we keep breathing, we take in new experiences, and our exhales change, molding to those new breaths. It’s this constant cycle of taking in and releasing, shaping who we are.  

Taran:  

That’s such a philosophical yet tangible way to see it. Now, ink became one of your boomerangs—your medium of expression. How did ink find you? Or how did you find it?  

Elly:  

I think we found each other. Looking back, it was a coping mechanism. My childhood had a lot of hardship—poverty, homelessness, abuse. As a kid, I couldn’t process it all, so my mind sought escape. I started journaling, then creating fantasy worlds in my head—adventures nothing like my reality. It stuck. I never stopped writing, filling pages with worlds or feelings I couldn’t express to others.  

Taran:  

Ink wasn’t just a boomerang; it was a protector, keeping hope alive during tough times. But to break free, you needed escape velocity—that speed to make the boomerang return. What gave you that push?  

Elly:  

That’s such a great way to phrase it. At first, I was just tossing the boomerang, watching it fall at my feet, frustrated. But with practice, I found the right speed, the flick of the wrist. A lot of it was solitary work—the adults around me were navigating their own storms. I craved connection, validation for the voice inside me that felt unheard. Writing became that outlet.  

Taran:  

Was that need for validation why you moved so much? You mentioned moving over 30 times. Was it the flux of seeking validation, or just circumstance?  

Elly:  

(Laughs) People ask if I was an army brat—no, just poor. My mom was a single parent, juggling jobs, evictions, sometimes running from an abusive ex. It was survival. But those moves taught me adaptability. We’d pack trash bags instead of suitcases. I learned not to attach deeply to things, but the people I did connect with, I bonded with quickly because I never knew how long I’d be there.  

Taran:  

That’s profound. Even without deep attachments to objects, I imagine you held tight to your siblings. How did that shape you?  

Elly:  

I’m actually the second oldest—my sister is four years older. For a while, it was just us three: me, her, and my mom. That bond was everything. Even now, supporting my siblings feels innate—like healing my inner child. If no one hugged me, I’ll hug them. It’s not selfless; it’s necessary.  

Taran:  

That kindness is everything. Hardship can harden or soften us—you chose softness. Now, your writing: is it a reflection of your boomerang journey, or something separate?  

Elly:  

Both. I’m working on two novels—one autobiographical, touching on immigration, poverty, abuse. The other’s a fantasy about a girl pulled into an underwater world. The first is healing; the second taps into the wonder I used to escape into.  

Taran:  

Healing isn’t linear—sometimes it’s instant, sometimes it never comes. How has writing helped you let go of the past’s weight?  

Elly:  

Trauma pops up unexpectedly—a smell, a sound. Some wounds don’t close, and that’s okay. Writing gives those feelings clarity. It’s about validation: Your feelings are okay. No shame in expressing them.  

Taran:  

The spirit is stronger than the physical. During 9/11, I saw how hate could stab, but also how love prevails. How do you tap into your spirit to keep your boomerang returning to grace?  

Elly:  

Self-acceptance. Feeling anger, sadness, joy—unapologetically. I used to be called “too loud,” but now I see it as presence. Loving others deeply heals the child who felt unloved. Writing without fear of being “too much”—that’s freedom.  

Taran:  

Self-acceptance is the ultimate boomerang. Before we wrap, tell us about your Substack—Scenes in a Life—and what readers can expect.  

Elly:  

It’s glimpses of moments that shaped me—like losing my beanie baby as a kid, or realizing my mom wasn’t coming home. Some are dark, some light, but all show how tiny scenes define us.  

Taran:  

Beautiful. Any final recommendations?  

Elly:  

Write. Even five words a day. It’s a muscle—train it. Sit with pen and paper, no screens, and let yourself be vulnerable. Everyone has a voice.  

Taran:  

Ink takes courage, and yours inspires. Thank you, Elly. Until next time!  

Elly:  

Thank you, Taran! I’m excited for more conversations.  

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