I’m grateful for Miami at four in the morning when everyone’s asleep, and the city is peaceful.
I’m grateful for Little Havana, cafecitos, and café con leches.
I’m grateful I can see my mother’s face every weekend when I come home to the harbor of my bedroom.
I’m grateful for empanadas, for El Palacio de los Jugos: for mangos and breakfast at 6 in the morning.
I’m grateful for my walks on Miracle Mile. For the coral rock at Venetian Pool when I was a kid and played with my cousins. For my bike rides up the bridge on the Rickenbacker Causeway where I can see the sunset. For my quinces pics at Vizcaya.
Yes, I know: I’m so Latina.
For my time singing Christmas carols in the choir at Coral Gables Senior.
I’m grateful to be in Miami, a place where people don’t get as much racism for speaking Spanish. A place where salsa is heard on street corners. A place where the snow is forgotten. A place I’ve known my whole life. A place I love even when the traffic gets me angry, even with the high cost of living, I still love Miami, this city where I was raised.
