"Where Memory Flickers Like a False Flame"

The alley wasn’t burning, though the camera insisted otherwise. It was only a light—ordinary, steady—but the lens transformed it into something feral, something alive. Maybe that’s why I kept the shot. It reminded me of those Tenderloin nights when nothing was quite what it seemed, and everything carried a pulse beneath the surface.

​Reflections on a Challenging Week
Some weeks arrive with a strange mix of clarity and confusion—highs that lift you, lows that knock the wind out of you. This one has been no exception. There were days I felt steady, even victorious, and others when I wished I had stayed under the covers and let the world spin without me. But life doesn’t pause for our moods. We get up, face what’s in front of us, and try to make peace with what’s missing.

A Quiet City and Lost Work
Dark clouds rolled over Peekskill today, and the city felt unusually still. The after‑school kids who usually flood Main Street were nowhere to be found—probably tucked away at home, or scattered between Field Library and the Youth Center. I stopped by the library myself, not to trouble Frank, who always prints things for me without hesitation, but to search for something I thought I had saved.

Instead, I discovered the opposite: in a moment of distraction, I deleted everything. Gone. Just like that. Now I have to rebuild from scratch, and the weight of that loss sat with me longer than I expected.

Lingering Thoughts and Unexpected Bonds
Maybe that’s why my mind kept drifting back to last night—running into Salah, the warmth of that embrace, the way it lingered longer than it should have. Our bond has grown into something deeper than I ever anticipated. I’m not someone who lets people in easily; I keep my walls high until I feel safe. But once I do, everything shifts. Something about him has shifted things.

The Painted People Story
Most of my creative energy lately has gone into the Painted People Story. Some days, the characters feel so real that I have to remind myself they’re not living in the room with me. They breathe, argue, love, and unravel with such intensity that it feels like I’m carrying their emotions alongside my own. When it gets too heavy, I sit quietly and remind both them—and myself—that I’m still me, separate from their world.

The cover image I attached today echoes the darker corners of their universe, especially the Tenderloin threads woven through their past. Those alleys and shadows are familiar to me in ways I don’t regret, even if they belonged to a version of myself I no longer inhabit.

Weather and City Life
Snow and rain traded places throughout the day, washing away some of the white still clinging to rooftops and sidewalks. But Peekskill’s hills remain treacherous—if you’re not wearing track shoes, prepare to slide your way through town.

Emotional Connections and Cultural Pride
I spent time with my best friend Emma today. She told me she cried during Bad Bunny’s Halftime show—tears of pride, of recognition. As a Dominican, seeing the performance open in a sugar cane field from the DR hit her deeply. And hearing how he refused to charge locals for tickets, boosting Puerto Rico’s economy by drawing tourists instead, only made her love him more. Her emotion was contagious.

Apartment Life
Outside, the cold bites. Inside, my apartment feels like a furnace. Even with the heat off, I have to keep the terrace door open and the windows cracked just to breathe. Winter on the street, summer in the living room.