It’s been over a decade since I’ve visited, and even though I’m accustomed to New York’s 90-degree summers, I am taken off guard by the island’s heat and humidity. As my eyes are getting adjusted to the tropical climate, I find myself choking up, overwhelmed by the sheer Essence of the island.

The Olin Nature preserve is eerily quiet. So quiet you can hear fallen leaves crunch beneath your feet. I imagine the courage it must have taken for our ancestors to walk these woods at night, guided solely by the faith they were headed toward something better than the violence they were leaving behind.

I ache for a world where our wounds awaken us to compassion not strengthen our resolve to build walls. This is what pushes me to write, speak, protest (whether online or in-person) against all forms of oppression. 

When the child was born they didn’t tell her mother and father she was cursed. As soon as she opened her eyes, they saw what would be the end of the entire village.

I knew that I only felt sexually attracted to or wanted to have sex with people that I actually felt an actual, deep connection with. But like, like I said, LANGUAGE IS EVERYTHING and I didn’t have the language.

I was born in the desert, under July monsoon clouds and mist. My parents were young, from different worlds, different means, and tried to make their obviously disjointed pieces fit together.