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Feeling better today.
I finished selling early. I wanted to come home, breathe a little, write, and draw.
Take time to smell the roses. Work is necessary, but an overabundance has started to feel suffocating.
Something interesting I’ve carried for a long time is my desire to go to Italy.
But it always felt like a dream — the kind where you wake up smiling, thinking, “damn, that was beautiful,” and then your real world hits you like a shock:
Oh… I’m still here.
Last night, while I was winding down, the algorithm threw something at me that caught me off guard — a Japanese woman who moved to Mexico as an exchange student and fell in love with the culture so deeply that she learned the language.
She said:
“I am Japanese by birth, but I feel Mexicana in my soul.”
That line hit me.
Why?
Because she said soul.
To wake that feeling… it must be precious. It must be beautiful.
And I want that feeling.
Earlier today, walking through the farmers market off Crenshaw, I did a delivery. While waiting to get paid, I watched an American gringa hug the Mexican vendor like she was family. Then she turned to the woman paying and said:
“Hey güera, qué pedo?”
Then she introduced her friend — an African American guy — who started speaking perfect Spanish.
I stood there thinking, damn… no more wondering what people who don’t look like me feel or think. We can talk.
We’re not strangers once language opens the door.
The idea of laughing and dancing with another person from another culture — meeting in the middle, soul to soul — ahh, what beauty.
At least to me.
I guess all I can do now is bend the knee and say,
“Lord, if it is Your will… then it will be.”
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