I miss Miami. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad to be home jumping in canals and climbing skyscrapers of haystacks to the sounds of friend’s banjos but I cannot deny the excitement our traffic-ridden, corrupted government, mojito, bling-bling South beach, Cuban coffee, Shaquille O’ Neil, real-estate boomed, construction site, hurricane hang-out of a city gives me. I miss my little apartment located right on the border of Little Haiti and the Design District where I am a direct product of gentrification (check out Design Place). I miss going for walks on Sunday mornings down 2nd Ave in Little Haiti to buy a stick of sugar cane to masticate. I miss the transparent Atlantic where my soul dives among statues of coral.
And Miami, you have changed my Spanish. I am in the southern California desert in a border town and when I speak Spanish, the locals ask if I’m Italian. Orale vato…soy Mexicana, huey! Chicharrones, tamarindo, agua de jamaica, y menudo! Huaraches, saltillo, charros, chile y limon con todo, y tortillas para tenedores.
Silence defines where I am now: Holtville, California. Miami is full of crayon-like people constantly coloring the city. I will be a part of that canvas again in Fall.