friends, comrades, chosen family ~
i’m writing this as i listen to Alice Coltrane’s Journey In Satchidananda, i notice i tend to do this when i feel like crying and need a musical embrace. over the weekend, news of us moving out of our home were solidified after numerous heated debates with our landlord, following their unauthorized destruction of parts of our yard and garden area, as well as their “taking over” the yard, all the while raising our rent 12% and their insistence of having us on no-lease.
if you know me, you know my home is the closest thing i have to a sacred temple - for me, nonhuman kin, friends, community, and chosen family. it’s one of the ways in which i heal from growing up in a home that was at times violent, chaotic, and often a glass house ready to shatter. in my adult life, i have always cultivated my home to be a sort of nucleus of convening and gathering. at times, even overextending myself in the process.
it’s a home that has hosted book clubs, fundraisers for organizations, dinners, birthday parties for me and so many, farewell parties, organizational meetings, gardens, a place where i’ve let folks we bailed out sleep for the night, and so on and so forth.
it’s a home that is adorned by subtropical flora, marxist books scattered across every corner, vinyl records pinned on the walls, and a myriad of musical instruments. over the years, i planted countless flowers, herbs, and medicine. several trees we seeded and cared for will outlast our time here and they have let me know they will protect us in the next chapter of our journey.
in the midst of all the landlord drama and extractive nature of these interactions, a mother hen and about ten of her baby chicks have found refuge in our yard. the momma digs the ground, exposing worms and bugs, while the baby chicks begin to pick at the soil with their beaks. around this same corner, a butterfly blue pea vine has began to grow and climb up the pole sustaining the laundry room. for context, this is one of my favorite flowers i have attempted to grow for years with no luck (ironically it’s a low maintenance plant that even rookies succeed at maintaining) and just this spring, i noticed it accidentally growing out of a pot of extra soil i had set aside. a seed must’ve accidentally dropped into this pot. it’s a beautiful poetic reminder of life stages, and the cyclical pace of change, unraveling, and transformation.
i have had hundreds of people over the years thank me for welcoming them into my home. it brings me such joy, such humility, and it brings tears to my eyes.
this moment feels like a sort of unrequited goodbye, like we say in spanish: no te digo adiós sino un hasta luego. miami will always be my home, even through collapse and ruin. it is the coastal nearly-caribbean place that formed me, that taught me everything, that broke my heart time and time again, the place that saw me fall in love and filled my heart with possibility, where i’ve grieved and endured so much trauma and pain, the place whose area code will forever be etched on my body. everything i have done of meaning i have done with others, and towards a freer miami. i am so proud of what i have been able to contribute and know the ripples of my work are far reaching. to be clear, i am just getting started.
i thank the contradictions of miami for bringing me such profound clarity on the way in which power functions, on how our enemies necessitate culture, and how sometimes, revolution is just 90 miles away.
revolution is just 90 miles away… sending love during this transition!