Dear my something,

Growing up I had no idea you would mean as much to me as you do now. You were always there for me, but for some reason I always seemed to wave you off. I remember learning about you from grade school when I was saying words out loud that I couldn’t even spell yet. Storytelling has been a huge part of me, maybe because as a child my parents would read my brothers and I stories before we fell asleep. Those stories opened up my mind to explore things, it gave me new ideas, it enhanced my thinking, with that I began thinking out of the box. It wasn’t until middle school that I was given an assignment. The assignment was to pick any anime and tell the story through those anime eyes about a particular part of history. During that assignment, I allowed my imagination the freedom it was begging for. As I went on to do the assignment, something came over me. I was enjoying it, I enjoyed it more than basketball at the time. For years you have been by my side, for years you have been my go to. My mother brought me diaries as a young girl, even back then, years ago, you were there. When I assumed you were only here because it was something that was taught to me as a kid, but you made it so I would need you even when I did not know I would need you. I thought my love for basketball would get me to where I wanted to be, you stood there waiting patiently for me to pick you up. When basketball broke my heart and I had no one to talk to about it, you were there, you allowed me to pour out my most inner and deeper thoughts to you with no judgements. You have helped me through my darkest days and cheered me on through my happinest. You never complained about me venting to you about the same issue over and over again, the issue I, myself was constantly putting myself in. Day and night you laid on my nightstand waiting for me to get home, just so I could tell you about my day and the eventures I encountered. There you were, never jealous, always ready to be a listening ear, along with a caring friend when I was friendless. When I abandoned you when I finally made friends, you stood tall and watched over me. That time I lost those same friends, you were there welcoming me back with open arms. It was at that moment that I realized that I loved you. Some may say you are a rebound because I kept coming back to you whenever life failed me, but me, I see more than that. I see something that made a decision to never give up on me. I see something that watched me grow up from a little girl to a beautiful young lady. I see something that is patient and not judgemental. What I’m trying to say is, ink pen and paper I love you.

The serendipity of the fiber arts
I feel serenity when I pick up a hook
Crocheting to feel bliss
To feel like there is control in my messy world

A world in which I suffer on the daily,
Becomes joyous with a new project
Bags, blankets, scarves
The rectangular shapes appeal to me
As a way of comfort,
Often missed in my life

To abandon my hooks would be to disparage myself
Malign the progress and change in my life
The one constant that involves this daily
As to not become melancholicly repetitive

I believe there is love in my yarn
Unraveling, winding and working
All worked by hand, handmade with care in every thread

History woven and set in yarn
Here speaks past voices of the gifted
The activism, the fashion, and the unprecedented
Elating to those in this community
The lovers of the yarn,
Trying to make the world a more tight knit place

To make a mark with ones brushstrokes
Is to hook and twist around
Twisting over or under
Front side or back side
I see the history being made,
One stich at a time

Stiching by hook
I weave in the ends of me
To be as one with my livelihood,
My soul, belongs to crochet

Can I love the way that you linger on my tongue

Sweeter than any maple drizzle

More resonating than the most passionate kiss

But don’t tell, and don’t be mad

Passion is another feeling, yes, but I mention it as an act, a behavior

Not like you

In your own right, you are a “feeling” with a voice

And unique to any other feeling, you are logical, which makes your voice all the more loud

You, a feeling, a process that gives me peace

And cleanses me from the abhorrent

I like you, Reason

You always compliment me so well

And when you leave my tongue, you are hard for certain audiences to ignore, or reject

You are derived from the most knowledgeable parts of my mind

Making you one of the strongest parts of me

You keep me sane, you keep me gratified

That is why I love you

To the House with Purple Shutters,

I’m parked on the street beside you as I write this. My God, it’s been years since I saw you last. You have changed so much, while yet somehow you look exactly the same. You still have that tree my brother and I loved to climb in your backyard. I can see the smoke rising from your chimney, signaling there’s a fire burning in your old wood-powered fireplace. They sure don’t make them like that anymore. And they sure could never make another you. 

I continue to drink in your features and commit you to memory as I notice your shutters, once painted a vibrant shade of purple, are now painted black. The irony isn’t lost on me. It feels like a symbol that you have moved on and now all I get to do is mourn the you I once knew.

There’s a strange, small woman holding a watering can walking unhurriedly around your yard. She stops every so often to water some newly planted flowers. You used to have the most beautiful gardens. I swore yours bloomed more beautifully than anywhere else in the world. My grandmother tended so meticulously to them. I am glad to know your new partner is also quite the anthophile. She looks so content. And so do you.

As I watch her with some semblance of joy in my chest, I can’t help but feel my mind wander. Does she know about us? I wonder if she knows about the time we spent in your kitchen baking peanut butter cookies from scratch or of the double-decker peanut butter and jelly sandwiches my grandmother would make us for breakfast before we would watch one of the shows she and my grandfather had recorded in the living room. It was usually Walker, Texas Ranger. You remeber the one with Chuck Norris in his prime? We thought it was the coolest.

I wonder if, when it’s quiet, she can hear the echoes of my grandmother’s sweet voice as she sang all her favorite songs while washing the dishes. Or if she knows any of the words from Maya Angelou’s poem “Phenomenal Woman” like my grandmother had committed to memory. I like to imagine that at night, if she listens closely, she will be able to hear the stories grandmother would tell us about the adventures she and my grandfather got to take when they finally retired and got to travel the world. Man, there sure were a lot of them.

I wonder if she knows that a few years ago we had to scatter my grandmother’s ashes right there in your backyard. And then grandfather’s too, a few years after that. It was one of the hardest days you and I ever spent together. My grandmother always said she didn’t want to be parted from you. Her magic was meant to stay and grow right there in your gardens. The ones the new woman is now tending to with a sense of peace about her. 

I think back to our last day together.  I remember the stark duality of feeling immense heartbreak and devastation mixed with endless endearment and adoration for all of the joy you have given me over the years. I didn’t have the words then to tell you what you meant to me or the stomach to say goodbye. But looking at you now, I do. I will never be able to thank you enough for all of the joy you have brought into my life or all the ways you shaped me into the person I am today. The impact you have had on me is immeasurable. Even if my feet may never return to your front door, you will always remain one of my most treasured places.

 The place I could escape to as a child and get whisked away by the overwhelming sense of adventure and magic. The place I can turn to as an adult that makes me feel closer to my grandmother on the days where I feel her absence so deep in my bones it makes me tremble. The place that gave my brother and I so many invaluable memories together that we seem to treasure so much more now that we are older and don’t get to see each other as often. Our time together may be over, but the love we share is so deeply rooted it could never be severed by the hands of time, distance, or any inevitable change.  I’ll remember your gardens every spring and the smell of fire in your wood-burning fireplace every winter. In all of life’s seasons, I will remember you as the house with purple shutters.

All my love,

Your Flower In Bloom

To my long-lost pillow, I love you so dearly,
it crushed me to learn I lost you so clearly.
You stayed by my side for more years than I remember,
I treated you like my own family member.
A gift from my sister one cold Christmas Day,
I discovered memory foam is the only way.
I’m impressed you still held the perfect shape,
always cradling my head right at my nape.
You followed me wherever I went,
from Hawaii to Alaska, in my suitcase you were sent.
I couldn’t bear to sleep without you,
for I always felt comforted, even in some place new.
Unexpectedly, on a road trip you were lost,
I had to repack the car but was it worth the cost?
You meant the world to me,
now my bed is empty and you were set free.
Does anyone love their pillow so much?
I suppose it’s good to free myself from a crutch.
My new pillow will never replace you,
for you are the truest of true.
While I’m grateful for all the years we had together,
now, in my memory, you’ll be my treasure.
I love you, my cherished pillow,
I’ll think of you when I see the dreamy willow.
Style Score: 100%

My dear heart,

Persist. I know you are tired, enlarged, and weak. But I need you.

You rebounded when my 5th-grade crush married me at recess and broke you a little by marrying another girl the next day. You healed after friends’ moving trucks pulled away from the curb, enthusiastic tryouts yielded no results, and backstabbing friends spilled our secrets. Over the years, I fell in and out of love, and there you were, strengthening your broken parts after every heartache like beautiful Kintsugi pottery.

And I pushed you to the limits. Running, dancing, singing, and aerobics for hours on end. Sleep deprivation, processed food and Diet Coke, and reckless college and grad school days. You scoffed at me, but you never left–not once.

You sustained not one but two humans during three different pregnancies. Your steady, vigorous rhythms beat in complex syncopation with tiny, speedy ones. Smushed and forced to increase your output for nearly ten months each time, you happily complied.

And running after said tiny ones was no joke. While I was flying around the park chasing three shrieking girls as the Grumpy Old Troll, you fired on all cylinders. Over and over again, you drank the mother’s cocktail of sleep deprivation and self-neglect, and you never complained–you just powered up and gave me the strength to be a good mom.

Of course, when the girls were still little, lymphoma hit. Noxious chemo infusions, followed by radiation within inches of your beautiful, complex aortic system, did a number on you. You were scarred, drained of excess fluid in painful procedures, and changed forever. A heart can only take so much.

You nearly drowned in floods of cortisol and epinephrine over the years. You lost pieces of yourself during a crippling divorce, the deaths of beloved family members, and the bittersweet joy of children striking out on their own. More stressful jobs, more dubious self-care. But you. Never. Quit.

Despite your best efforts, the doctors declared heart failure. But I know you haven’t failed. You’re just getting tired.

Dearest heart, hang on. These days, I can barely feel you; it’s like you’re beating my tiny red drum with a soft pillow, and I can no longer hear. My numb, purple hands and feet are messengers of your exhaustion, my burning chest and gasping breaths your cries of despair. I know you’re weakening, and I promise to let you rest when I can.

I hope to get the call soon, but I’m waiting my turn behind other parents, sons, and daughters—deserving people who are sicker than I am. When the cardiologist finally opens my chest and sets you free, I pray I’ll retain your kindness, resilience, love, and compassion. You’ve served me well and have loved with abandon. My new heart could never fully replace you.

Until then, stay with me. We’ve been in this together always, you and me. I just need more time, and then I’ll give you the stillness you deserve.

I love you, dear heart.

It’s the weight of blankets in the morning’s hush,
The birdsong presented in the dawn’s first blush.
The cold floor beneath my waking feet,
The lingering scents that make spaces sweet.
The warmth of sunlight slipping through the blinds- a quiet echo of simpler times.
It’s the something in everything, subtle yet bright,
Existing without need for sight.
The way life hums in moments small,
A quiet presence embracing all.

Dear Aslan,

I don’t remember how old I was when I got you. I know that I’d read all of the Narnia books, obviously. I know that I was old enough to feel lonely. To need something physical to associate with the kind God my parents were always talking about.

You protected me at night by leading a hoard of other stuffies on guard duty. All of you, lined up along the edges of my bed like a fluffy fence. Most of you were on the ground by morning, and I liked to pretend that it was the result of furiously defending me against some dire enemy, rather than my own restless sleep punting you off the side.

And, of course you remember, my ever so thrilling venture into stealth on your behalf. I was at some sort of camp – God knows I don’t remember now. I didn’t know anyone, and if I did, I certainly didn’t have any friends among the people there. There was one girl though. I often gave my things away to other kids. Presents. I wasn’t about to give you away for good, of course, but I let her borrow you.

And immediately regretted it.

Getting you back was a masterclass in diversion, lies, sneaking around buildings, entering rooms through basement windows… all of that to snatch you away from where she’d put you in her dorm room for the week.

The closest I’ll ever get to spy craft.

College marked a bit of a decline, and potentially some humiliation. With you, I didn’t need a second pillow to hook my leg around as I slept. From defending me from bad things at night to making me more comfortable as I slept. It could be considered a downgrade, I suppose.

Well. You were getting older too, weren’t you? Your mane had already lost its fluffiness, but yes, it was the weight of my leg that eventually squished the stuffing out of your middle.

My foldable stuffed lion.

I’m old now. Maybe if I propped you up in my bed or cuddled you, you could still defend me from the things that come in the middle of the night. But, they don’t stop there anymore. Regret, grief, fear – these things aren’t polite enough to wait for the dark hours but haunt the light ones as well.

Maybe I should put you in my office. Have your slumping head lazily peer over my computer monitor. At the very least it might be fun to see your black bead eyes and bent whiskers looking at me inquisitively when my boss feeds into my imposter syndrome.

Imagining God’s words of confidence in me, of love for me, of pride for who and what I’ve become … or maybe just imagining forgiveness for who and what I’ve become… is beyond me. I can’t.

Imagining Aslan’s words, however…

I can do that.

Of course, I don’t.

I’m old, after all. The only time I see you now a days is when I am putting my daughter’s stuffed animals away for her, or when I look to your place at the top of her stuffy pile. You sit there, somewhat out of reach, not only because I told her to be careful with you, but also because she’s not quite as enamored with you as I was at her age.

That’s fine. Maybe you’ll never be anything but a slightly ratty lion with bent whiskers and a matted mane to her. But, although it gets less likely every day, maybe she’ll come to see you the way that I did.

As something that reminds her that she is loved. She is accepted. That every tear she cries counts for something.

As a reassurance that her pain does not go out into the universe unanswered. The answer can be found in the turn of a yarn stitched mouth silently promising, “It matters.”

You matter.

When she does take you down to play, it’s mommy who inevitably has to pick you up and put you back again.

Well. I don’t begrudge that. You don’t guard my dreams anymore. You don’t help me sleep.

But I can still hug you close as I walk across the room. I can still drop my chin to rest against your fur for a moment.

And you still make me feel better.

Every time.

Dear C,

I see you every day but sometimes there are just no words for me to express how I feel about you. Isn’t that ironic?

You can be so complicated sometimes and some days you leave me puzzled with your complex themes but that is exactly what I love most about you. I love the challenge you give me. You make the gears in my brain turn, which is good for me. You help me to focus, and you improve my vocabulary. You make me a better person.

C, you’re black and white, literally and figuratively. There is one way to figure you out and that familiar, inside the box (pun intended) routine of yours keeps me sane. There are days when you are easier on me which I also enjoy, but I especially adore when you give me some of that tough love.

These days we meet more often online, but I do miss the days where I was very particular and chose my best ink pens to meet with you. I know we both loved that! Solving you was and still is a highlight of my daily routine.

I look forward to seeing you every day and sometimes you are even on my mind when I’m doing other activities. As a parent now, my life has gotten so busy but my love for you has not changed. C, you bring me a special kind of peace and joy amidst my typically hectic schedule. In these quiet moments I can sit with you all alone, they are the ones that I cherish day in and day out.

Even though some may call you boring, you must know you certainly excite me. Thank you, my friend, for the many years we have had together and the many more to come. I look forward to solving all the old and new things you have to offer and to eventually share you and my love for you with my daughter when she gets older.

With love,
Andrea

Dearest Laughter, 

I am so in love with the contagiousness, the shoulder shakes mixed with giggles galore.

The outbursts of happiness. The side pains and wet pants. The rare occasion of “I can not breathe anymore!”

I love to hear familiar voices from the other end of the house with each individual’s sound erupting in an explosion of joyful entertainment. During a phone conversation, the happy reverberation that will stop all talk so I can momentarily enjoy it. 

I love you, Laughter. I love to hear you in any form you wish to present yourself. 

Especially from those closest to me. 

I will stop what I am doing anytime I hear someone laugh or giggle in my vicinity. You instantly awaken and move my heart. I want to sneak a peek around the corner and observe what is making it happen. I want to watch the actions and reactions of the person or persons involved. I just stand in the corner or half of the doorway. Tears well up in my eyes because I am overfilled with joy. I want to be a part of it, but I do not want to mess with whatever you are teaching.

In the grandchildren, it starts with the eyes. The eyes begin to sparkle, then a small smile grows and then out comes the most beautiful sound! The full on laugh! And once it starts, they want to keep it going. Each one wants me to continue making that silly voice, wiggling fingers toward their belly, or pretending to drop a ball. They begin to mimic the action to try to make me laugh, too. You are so contagious! 

The smallest things can start the giggle fire. Like a cat swishing its tail across the feet of the baby to make her laugh. The cat nonchalantly half looks toward the baby as the laughter fades, then swishes again! The cycle continues joyfully while I watch from my stove. You can present yourself instantly at family movie night where the whole room erupts in an outburst at the comedy scene on the screen. 

Small sound or large echoing, private chuckle or public outburst, at family reunion during picture slide time or intimate coffee and table time, you are always invaluable and available.

We must not forget game nights! Some games bring out the most competitive spirits in the room. But all bring plenty of laughter, teasing, fun, and memories. A family that laughs together is way more apt to carry you throughout their lives. A parent constantly worries and hopes they have instilled something for a legacy. I suppose making sure the kids can laugh with and at each other, equally, is a successful legacy trait. Lord knows they have laughed at me plenty of times. 

I remember one time, I was wearing my new apron I got for my birthday. When you are wearing something, you don’t really “see” it. It happened to be a replica of my favorite hero. This hero’s outfit for many years was like a one piece bathing suit. The image consumed the whole apron. As I exited the kitchen to sit down to eat, I caught a glimpse of myself in a glass reflection, I gasped, jumped back and folded my arms across my body in an attempt to cover myself. The roar of laughter from the kids and myself just killed any serious conversation for the next week I think. 

Sometimes, you can creep up on us in the most inopportune time or even in grief. We should never feel guilty about you always being with us. I read somewhere that laughter was a good medicine to take. Maybe that is why you show your lining at these strange times. Maybe it is your way of conveying “Control what we can and enjoy the rest.” Or maybe you are reminding us that deep down we need Laughter for balance in life. 

Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but you, Laughter, reside inside all of us. You are courageous, contagious, infectious, and present. Whether we believe we need you or not. You give strangers common ground, bring families closer, help heal wounds, and help us see the lighter side of life. Life and its struggles and responsibilities can drag us down. You, in your simplicity, lift us up. Thank you. 

Forever Yours,

Becky Reynolds

A thousand times I’ve created you,

Faceless and imaginary,

Your glorious rage only visible,

With your sweet irony,

Tangled in dark scribbles and typed words.

Your sweet voice can be heard,

echoing like a goddess’s harmony,

Like violins and volcanos.

I felt your fire burning the tips of my fingers,

and the pit of my stomach,

The hooks in my skin making me a puppet.

I tasted your essence,

You carry an insatiable hunger,

flavored with midnight and honey.

Your victory smells of defiance and compassion,

Both savage and sweet,

Darkness, violent and biting,

And heavenly rays of light which wrap around.

You are…

The only thing I have ever been proud of,

The only thing that makes life worth living,

The only thing I yearn for when I am happy and sad, alone or surrounded,

The only thing that’s truly mine but never only for me,

The only thing I am obsessed with,

Engrossed with,

You keep me pacing up late at night,

My hair falling out, and dark circles under my eyes.

You are the only thing that is not another human that I care about more than myself,

More than life.

You are a drug that gets me higher than ecstasy,

A drug I never have to come down from,

But the only thing that never leaves when I am sober again.

It doesn’t matter what I twist into,

What situation I find myself

Haphazardly bounding into,

You could never leave-

You would never leave.

I forget I am not you,

I am more…

I just leech your blood into my soul,

Like a vampire,

And let the magic possesses me.

I do what it asks,

I create it so I can see and feel it,

I write so i can understand, smell and taste it,

I sing so I can hear it,

I act so I can become…

I experience it through all of the senses,

The senses of the physical world and the ones reaching beyond.

Every person who lives for even a few moments,

Knows what I speak of…

It may not be recognized here, or ever…

But I know what it’s made of,

And it’s absolutely incredible,

Astonishing,

Inspiring,

Breath-takingly beautiful,

It saved my fucking life.

From suicide,

Whom I almost chose instead.

It saved my fucking life.

From being nothing but time that was wasted.

It saved my happiness,

My joy, my hope, my purpose.

It gave my pain, horror and darkness,

Reason to exist.

Answered the question,

Why?

Why me?

Because without the torment,

The darkness,

…and the ugly….

My echos in those beautiful songs-

The vivid worlds captured between the leather bonds of my written books-

The rainbow hues of a chameleon that appear on an actresses skin,

gleaming off the digital copy of myself-

They would not exist.

Because how could I help anyone escape darkness if I hadn’t done it my damn self?

I would have never attempted to sing, to write, or to act if I had not endured suffering that I desperately needed an escape from.

But I don’t escape my suffering anymore.

Now, I love it just as much as I love what it becomes.

I

Love

My

Talent.

100%

My Dearest Knitted Cardigan,

As time marches forward and we continue to grow older, I find it necessary to express my earnest feelings for you. From the moment I saw you, I knew we would be lifelong companions. Your complimentary shades of blue and brown fill me with tranquility and keep me grounded. When I need comfort and warmth, whether physically or emotionally, you are always there. I’ll never cease showing my gratitude and adoration for you. I hope, after reading this letter, you will understand the depth of the love I hold for you, and you will continue to live on with the knowledge and reassurance that my love for you will never waver.

When I reflect on our life together, I’m reminded of where we started. Although you first belonged to my mother, it isn’t a coincidence that she purchased you while she was pregnant with me. It seemed, even before my birth, our fates were intertwined. Looking back, I often wonder if, when you caught her eye from your position on the rack, she debated on if your chunky, knitted wool blend was practical in our southern climate, or what prompted her to decide that she would not leave that store without you. I wonder if she felt your warmth and comfort as she wore you, even while consoling me, a newborn unable to express my wants and needs. It’s amazing to think that, even as a baby, you could be there for me through my mother’s embrace. 

As a child, I remember admiring your various shades of neutral colors and your thick needlework, whether you were aiding my mother in her daily tasks of raising children, or while you were resting on the back of dining room chairs throughout the years. I would wrap myself in your knitted solace whenever the opportunity appeared. It never mattered that you swallowed me whole. Even back then, I knew I would grow up, making us a perfect fit. To others, you may have seemed like any other cardigan, but to me you have always meant so much more. 

As I grew older and began my journey as a young woman, you followed me from home to college. How would I have ever made it through college without you by my side? Moving away from my family into an apartment in the city, I knew I could persevere as long as I had you with me. From the early morning classes to the late night study sessions, you have always been faithful. Through the harsh winters, you were always there to shield me from the cold; when the summer came, you were there to give me rest at home after exhausting days of double shifts. Early mornings, we would sit together, enjoying coffee and watching the birds sing while sitting on my balcony; late nights, I would curl up in your close-knit embrace to enjoy a movie. You helped me survive sickness and heartbreak, granting me reassurance that things would get better while wrapped in your cable-knit love.

It’s crazy to think that you looked after my mother during her pregnancy, only to turn around 22 years later and accompany me on my journey of becoming a new mother. Bringing you to the hospital when my water broke was a given. I knew that once my beautiful baby was born, I would need you there to help me in my new chapter of life. Like the steadfast ally you’ve always been, you helped me through those late nights and early mornings again. Now, as I watch my baby grow up, I watch her sneaking you off the back of chairs just like I did at her age. Your love and warmth continue to be felt by everyone around you.

We are 30 years old now, and through those years you have changed so much, however my love for you has not. When you lost buttons or became subjected to pulls or snags, I never hesitated to doctor your injuries, restoring you to your splendor–A loving action never done out of obligation, but a kindness that would never repay all you’ve done. Anytime I look at you, I long to immerse myself in your woolen refuge, cherishing every memory I share with you like a blessing. I look forward to spending my mornings with you and a morning cup of coffee, watching the birds like we used to, from now until the end of time. You will always have a special place in my heart, and nothing will ever change that fact. 

All my love for you,

February 27, 2025
Dear Music,
Hello, I am writing this letter in appreciation for the beauty you bring to the world. I want to thank you for being universal. Life gets so tough at times. We deal with the day to day, as human beings we have a pile of stress with that comes much anxiety.
I just want you to know that you help humans find peace, you become the escape from all the hustle and bustle. Music, you are the sounds and notes put together to create a beautiful melody. Some don’t like you, I think it’s just because they don’t truly understand the impact you make.
Music when someone has memory loss or at the end of life you are what they remember, you also help us to remember others with a song. It’s like you’re built in; you know hard wired into the soul. You bring the best parts of humans out. When you hit our ears, our souls light up. It’s what connects us to our spirit. You bring happiness on the inside some of us can’t sit still, we have to let it out. Some might sway, while others get so ignited on the inside they have to dance!
Music you are at our literal fingertips, you produce such a bounty of blessing for humans when they pick up an instrument and play.
Tunes and melodies get stuck in our heads throughout our days. Lyrics fly off the pages as we immerse ourselves in the sounds you create. Not just any sound, the sounds of Joy as well and understanding that come from those lyrics.
In ending I want to say thank you for connecting me to God, preserving my peace, teaching me how to worship my creator whom I love, and being there when it’s hard for others to understand. Blessings!
Love Always,
Kristina J.

To the mark I leave behind,

You are the fire that drives me, the whisper in my soul that refuses to be silenced. Long before my hands touched ink or my voice carried weight, you existed—a shadow of what could be, a promise waiting to be fulfilled.

I have built you from struggle, carved you from sacrifice, and shaped you with love so deep it demands to be remembered. You are more than words on a page, more than echoes in time—you are proof that I was here, that I lived with purpose, that I refused to let the world forget me.

You are written in my children’s laughter, stitched into every lesson I have taught them. You exist in the stories I tell, the battles I have won, the kindness I have given—even when I had nothing left to give.

The world may one day forget my name, but it will not forget you. You will live on in the lives I’ve touched, in the hands that carry my work forward, in the echoes of every love I have left behind.

So I write this to you, my unwritten chapters, my unfinished song, my enduring fire—may you outlive me, outshine me, and carry forward everything I dared to dream.

With all that I am,
A man who refuses to be forgotten.

For so long, I craved a home, a “room of one’s own”, in the words of Virginia Woolf. It seemed like the more I wanted it, the more elusive it became.

Growing up as an older daughter, it was natural that I shared a room with my younger sister to accompany her through the scary night.

When I finally left home to pursue my dreams, my dad’s allowance only covered a shared room with friends, on a second floor in an overcrowded house in the suburbs. A shared room with a shared bed, a shared closet, a shared fridge. An overcrowded house that required turns to cook, to bathe, to do laundry. An overcrowded home where friendship was valued above all, but where I understood the importance of silence, of a moment to gather one’s thoughts, to decompress after a bad day. Those things had never been needed so badly until then.

I kept growing up, starting the climb up the corporate ladder, hearing of glass ceilings I wondered if I could shatter. Suddenly, I was 22, and Taylor Swift’s song captured exactly how I felt: freshly out of college and of my home country, with a bright future ahead. Naturally, I dreamed of having a glamorous apartment that reflected my new and improved life. But the pay wasn’t great, so I resorted to living with roommates in a far less sophisticated setting. In apartment 204 I learned that my bright future wasn’t so, that my good wasn’t good enough, that company can be solitude, that maybe I had been spoiled my entire life. I lived seasons of not wanting to go back home solely to avoid conflict. Then, I changed roommates and changed experiences, certainly improving, but still feeling the need to have a space that was uniquely mine. My own castle where I was queen and subject, and where my personality could shine at the turn of every corner.

Years passed, a pandemic hit, and after years of being in a relationship, I wondered if it was time to take it to the next level. My partner and I moved to a shiny apartment that promised to be everything I wanted out of life. But two years went by and only one piece of art hung in our many walls, solely because we couldn’t agree on that, or on anything. I looked around, and while beautiful and modern, the place felt like I didn’t live there, as if, ironically, there was no room for me. Perhaps we both couldn’t let go of our past identities to blend into one. Maybe I wasn’t ready to commit to shades of grey when all I wanted out of life was pastel hues.

When I decided to leave, I spent months without a home, moving from one friend’s house to another. It was the toughest period of my life, and I had never longed more for a place to lay down the weight I carried. I learned to make a room in my own heart, maybe as it always should have been. Nonetheless, I never stop wishing for a nest, big or small, it didn’t matter anymore; I wanted some place I could claim as mine, the Republic of me.

After what felt like a whirlwind, I finally received the keys to my very own apartment. After 30 years, five big moves, and a dozen smaller ones, I finally sat on the floor of my empty studio on August 11th 2023, appreciating it like a big white canvas I now got to paint with splatters and flowers and glitter and everything I fancied. I played Karol G’s song “Mientras me Curo del Cora” (While my Heart Heals), and made a list of essentials to set this new season of my life in motion.

Almost two years later, every morning, as I wake up and look around my beautiful little home, my heart rejoices as if seeing it for the first time. The process of making it distinctly mine, with all the pink accents, tokens of appreciation from friends and family, souvenirs of trips, pictures of my favorite moments, has been more magical and more rewarding than my wildest fantasies. This is the place where I can be me, where I can embrace my soul, let people in and also retire from the world. Where I can set and break my own rules. Where I can’t get enough of the smell of coffee and vanilla. Where I can have lazy mornings with my love or use those early hours to journal as I like. If I was asked about my favorite place in the world, without hesitation, I’d say: these four walls.

I love this apartment because of what it took, and because of what it means. It is a reflection of everything I am and everything that I hold dear. More than a need fulfilled it is a dream come true.

Red Tulips

Among this sea of tulips,
I fancied only the Red,
Not the Purple or Yellow,
Only Reds I pursue.

In each tulip bed,
I fancied only Red,
Not the Golden or Sky Blue,
Only Reds I’m gonna pluck.

Oh Red Tulip,
So beautiful are you,
When spring is here,
I just can’t pick one or two.

I long for a bouquet of Red Tulips,
Not the mixed colors for sure,
My quest is for Red,
And only the Red ones will do!