My first memory was sitting on my potty as a toddler and suddenly tipping over sideways to my right.
My childhood in Colombia was filled with joy and imagination, playing mamá y papá with my cousins in Palmira and Toro, always casting myself as the bossy father or husband. At the age of eight, I moved to London and quickly discovered the world didn’t seem as magical as I once thought. Still, I made new friends and was overjoyed to experience independence for the first time, zooming around in my electric wheelchair. For the first time ever, I went to school — and I loved it. That chapter opened my eyes to a world far bigger and more fascinating than I had ever imagined.
From my mother, I inherited a strong moral compass — an unwavering sense of right and wrong, and a fierce loyalty to those I care about. She taught me to speak up, with empathy and conviction, for those who can’t always stand up for themselves. From my father, I inherited very little directly, as I didn’t have the chance to know him personally. But through my mother’s stories, I’ve come to believe I carry his intelligence, his sense of humour, his distinctive style and his love for salsa music.
“Even the greatest trees get peed on by dogs.” I like this Colombian saying, usually shared with a shrug, that remind us that no matter how high you rise, you’ll always attract some nonsense — so don’t take it personally. Another one I live by:“The best revenge is success.”
When I was seven, my mother and stepfather separated, and with that, the financial support for my medical care came to an end. With limited options, I was sent to live in London with my paternal grandmother — a woman I barely knew at the time, but who became my first point of connection to a new life in the UK.
My first impression of London was... darkness. It was the middle of the afternoon, yet the sky was gloomy and the air bitingly cold — unlike anything I’d ever felt before. The next day, the sun was shining brightly, and I thought things had changed — but no, it was still absolutely freezing! It was both magical and slightly confusing, a perfect introduction to life in the UK. London was quieter than I imagined, almost reserved. Clean, tidy, orderly — far more structured than the vibrant chaos I was used to back home. There was a calmness to everything, even in the busiest parts of the city, that felt both strange and fascinating.
I lived with family I barely knew, in a city that felt unfamiliar and cold, both in climate and spirit. But everything changed a year later when my mother arrived in the summer of 1984. Her presence brought warmth, comfort, and a sense of home. From that moment on, I felt liberated and truly happy. We didn’t have many toys or designer clothes, but we had Friday night takeaways, weekend video marathons, and a real sense of comfort. I genuinely felt content.
Visiting Inner Temple for the first time was a turning point. I was a teenager and I remember the grandeur of the space, the history in the walls, and the feeling that I had stepped into a world I wanted — and needed — to be part of. It was the first time I truly saw the Bar not just as a profession, but as a goal I was determined to reach.
Living with a disability has been one of my greatest challenges — not because of the condition itself, but because it requires constant forward planning. I’ve had to master the logistics of my own mobility and professional life to perform at the level my work demands. I’ve also had to persevere through challenges that many can’t see. And I’ve always refused to accept the word “no” as the end of any conversation.
Once, my brother and I were racing down a hill in wheelchairs. At one point, he flew out of his chair and landed in a heap on the pavement. A lorry driver, bless him, stopped in a panic to help... only to realise my brother isn’t actually disabled. Needless to say, the look on his face was priceless.
Sometimes people in power have taken issue with my presence, whether it’s due to my disability or my ethnicity. But thankfully, those voices are in the minority. I deal with them by doing what I’ve always done: showing up, doing the work, and excelling.
One of the biggest hurdles was securing funding for a personal assistant while I was at university. Attending my lectures and participating fully in academic life would have been impossible. Thankfully, with the backing of my professors, we brought a legal action against the responsible public authority — and we won.
My most satisfying milestone was winning a case in court against a barrister who, 12 years earlier, had told me I was too disabled to ever practise at the Bar.
Being Latin American gives me a different rhythm — literally and metaphorically. It allows me to approach even the most complex legal issues with a bit more flexibility and creativity. Sometimes that means stepping away from rigid frameworks, putting on a great salsa tune, enjoying a buñuelo with a Supermalt, and asking myself, “How would they explain this in Palmira?” That shift in mindset often leads to surprising clarity. Even though some people were prejudiced or, on occasions, openly racist, t thankfully, they were the exception, not the rule — and I never let them define my experience.
What inspires me is a. the ability to change my client’s reality — to offer hope, justice, or a way forward, b. the rare but incredible opportunity to influence how the law is interpreted or applied. C. the intellectual thrill of uncovering what the law truly is — and arguing what it ought to be.d. Competing at the highest level, where my physical difference becomes irrelevant and my mind does the talking. e. Operating in a space that feels almost otherworldly — where reason, structure, and persuasion rule, and where every word must be weighed carefully.
My life in London is shaped by purpose and curiosity in everything I do. I know who I am and where I belong and I remain ambitious, always aiming higher, not for status, but for impact.
My memorable encounter with a stranger was meeting my first real, official girlfriend at a relative’s birthday party. She came over, we had a great chat, and before the evening was over, she offered me her mobile number — just in case I fancied going to the cinema sometime. Obviously, I said YES!. It was simple, unexpected, and unforgettable.
I love London’s diversity — the incredible mix of races, cultures, and backgrounds all sharing the same city. I also appreciate the general English politeness you find in everyday interactions; it creates a sense of quiet respect. The access to world-class education is something I’ve benefitted from and never take for granted. And the NHS remains one of the most remarkable and valuable aspects of life here.
I find tedious anyone who disregards the value of human life. Whether through cruelty, indifference, or arrogance — that lack of empathy is something I have no patience for. It reveals a kind of spiritual laziness that I find both tedious and dangerous.
Acts of kindness that stand out…When I was at university, a complete stranger spent six months helping me raise funds for private tuition. My Inn of Court provided funding that covered both my Bar school education and accessibility needs. I was offered pupillage — not just once, but twice. And finally, being granted a permanent place in chambers was a moment of true affirmation. Each of these moments reminded me that kindness, especially when unexpected, can change a life.
My perfect Sunday in London It starts with brunch — calentao, of course — shared with a beautiful lady and some easy conversation. In the evening, it’s dinner with my mum and my brother’s family: bistec and Colombian potato salad, just the way we like it. Then, feet up and a couple of films on the sofa with my brother — simple, familiar, perfect.
When I think of home I think of my mum’s cooking — always the heart of the home. I think of my study, where I find clarity and focus. And, of course, I think of my TV, where I can unwind and lose myself in a good show or film.
I’d tell my younger self “You are going to be amazing! Trust your instincts, and don’t waste time worrying about what others think — your path is yours, and it’s going to be extraordinary”!
Over time, I’ve learnt to value Time. When you’re young, it feels endless — but as you grow, you realise it’s your most precious asset. I’ve learned to treat it with the respect, and to spend it only on things, people, and causes that truly matter.
My favourite word in English is Anthropomorphic. It’s a word that captures the fascinating way we humanise the non-human. Plus, it’s fun to say.
The word I most dislike in English? No. It’s a word that shuts things down before they even have a chance to grow. I’ve never been one to accept it without a fight.
