When I started writing online in 2006, my intention was to share my thoughts — to make public the private thoughts not too private to be made public. I was extricating myself from the hole of working too much and being too little — being as in just being a person in the world. I observe the race in our beautiful vibrant city to race past its beauties and dive into hyperactivity.

What could have been the hustle of poverty or slavery or sugarcane workers had become the daily movements of the busy human  bee. Here we are, eight years later and I found myself at home, daydreaming, and baffled at how the slowed down pace seems such a rare gift — a jewel.

And the man, I thought so beautiful, fell away due to his pace. A pace that spoke of having no desire to feel, be or be present. The green apple I am eating right now is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

I landed, but softly this time. And how would this fit into the AfroPuerto Rican life?

Slavery’s seeds no longer get watered.

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