HAZY HEAT

This weekend began the process of cleaning out my aunt's home. She lived in the same house her entire life, from childhood until the day she died. I don't know if she ever wanted to move, or if she was ever offered the opportunity. I wish I could ask about her about things she may have wanted but never had. Whether marriage and children were dreams of hers left unrealized or if she happily took a different path from the beginning. I have a feeling I know what she'd say, but that's not the type of question with a clear cut answer, is it? I have no doubt her answer would be the same way. But her life was never lacking in love. I hope she knew that. However she may have felt, her lack of familial and housing expenses left an abundance of time and disposable income. My aunt was a woman of unquestionable style. Chanel and Prada were here typical designers of choice. A timeless flat or loafer, elegant blazers and blouses tailored to a T, a classic red lip every time. Her sign

On Sunday, my aunt was killed in a car accident. The driver ran a red light at 76 mph through Chicago traffic and sideswiped my aunt. She was on her way back home from dropping off a gift. He stepped away with minor injuries, albeit in custody. My aunt was killed instantly on impact. Pictures and video of her car posted by local news outlets show her tiny outdated Honda severed in half, the inner workings of the car gutted and charred. The driver was high on PCP. It was approximately 4:45 in the afternoon.  Losing someone you love is a tragically common experience. Couples break up, friends move away or move on. People die. Loving and losing are both weaved into our humanity. They exist together with such synchronicity that it can be hard to pull them apart; one cannot exist in this world without the other. When I allow myself some "big picture" perspective and try to look at myself from the outside, I believe that the awareness of this synchronicity at a young age has shaped

There are important conversations happening in the world right now and everyone is trying to find their place within them. Sometimes it is at the forefront with a megaphone. Sometimes it is with your social media, your art, your wallet. But sometimes the move is to stay muted with the goal of letting other voices be heard. I am a person who likes to know what I'm talking about — I think I get that from my grandmother. Listening and learning have always been my comfortable default. So I'm well equipped, in a sense, to take the influx of information being thrown my way. But if I want to speak in "always"-s, which I try to stay away from, I can also say that life always finds a way to smack me in the face with the things that hurt the most. These are the things I must acknowledge in order to survive. This spring and summer we have experienced the brutal deaths of Breonna Taylor, George Floyd,  Elijah McClain, and so many other Black individuals at the hands of the police

I've been thinking for a long time. Thinking about creation, stagnancy, vulnerability, and self-fulfilling prophecies. About the concept of myself and all the ways I've existed in the past. About the lens of my own life. The person I am, the parts of me that deserve to be watered & tended, the parts of me that need to be let go. About the emotions I've boxed up for years. They've managed to somehow collect dust while thrashing around inside my chest. Overwhelmed, numb, overwhelmed, numb. Repeat.  But it all leads to this concept: introduction vs continuation. Beginning this blog at 28 makes me feel a bit displaced. I've filled journals for years. My phone's notes section is ripe with written thoughts, from one-liners to full on elegies. But creating space for myself in the world has always seemed out of reach. Right now it feels close to impossible.  What have I been doing since college? Where has the time gone? What is it I want to say? Do I have something