When I got my car, the first thing that went in it was a red ribbon around the rear-view mirror, to keep me safe.

At my first Santeria party, I saw musicians dressed in white play the congos to the rhythm of gods they’ve never met.

My people have a rich culture of beliefs coming from west Africa, that bring together ideas of santos and voodoo, with many names but commonly referred to as brujeria.

Latin America is filled with brujeria practices but it is especially prominent in the carribean islands.

As a child, I made potions and spells. I had these glass and copper bottles in the corner of my room that held my things, they’re still there today.

When my chemistry teacher in high school was heart broken, I wrote him instructions for a spell that would cure his heart.

When my heart was broken, I told my best friend to drive me to the nearest ocean. After a two hour drive, I went into the sea and gave an offering to her. I told Yemayah to give me her strength, to remind me that I am more than hurt.

The older I get, the more I dive in to a world that my people have tried to keep with them in little pieces. I will teach my children of it too, remind them that they are filled with all the power they will ever need.

Grandma Cromwell taught me that it was ok to believe in what I did.
She taught me to stay weird.
That my culture was valid.
And although I didn’t believe in God, I believed in words
and plants
and spirit
and wishes
and oceans
and my ancestors
and water
and sugar
And myself
And that that, was more than ok.

Gracias Debbie Reynolds, for helping a little Cuban girl feel valid in her beliefs.

I will always be proud of my ways.

Descansa.