I come from a place where people leave and truth is whatever she decides it to be. From cardboard boxes and new zip codes and numerous first days of school. I come from foreign lands across the Pacific. hazy cities of concrete structures. apartment buildings near the shore and my very first best friend is the kid Orland Navarro who lives Nextdoor. I come from a place where I begged for more - something resembling a life like the girls I met on the playgrounds floors. I come from a place where I couldn’t wait for something more I couldn’t wait until it was my turn.
But they, they come from a small town that smells of citrus and the neighbors care to know your name. Where doors aren’t locked and the barista knows your tastes and the schools are peppered with love and care the moms and dads stay together there.
And in a way that’s where I come from too. A place I created and curated and pick and choose - all the goodness of life, no matter the cards dealt to you.
In this hundred-year-old home we measure our days in love and snack plates and elaborate playdates. A place where traumas still exist but we move through them with depth and grace. It’s ok to cry here they know it’s safe and the house is the backdrop for all our beautiful days.
Seasons change and dreams fall away and in their place new shapes begin to reinvent our days. I come from a place where I couldn’t wait for my turn and I created something more.
