It’s been over 2 years since I’ve been home. It feels so good to see my family in person instead of on a talking on the phone or through a computer screen- especially a computer screen. A small window into their lives for just a few moments until the call is over and you feel slightly satisfied but mostly empty. An interaction eerily devoid of warmth or intimacy, a tiny something missing you can’t put your finger on but ignore because this is all you can work with for the foreseeable future. I realized this year that I definitely took human interaction for granted, namely family in-person meetings and events. It was such a struggle last year to see family gather without me or hear of people visiting each other within their respective bubbles - socially distance but in person. I wished I took more trips to Florida and wished I hugged people more and wished I basked in moments of comfortable silence with people I love. I am so grateful to be here and see my mom, my brother and my sister, my grandmother, my aunt, and my cousin so far. I’m even grateful to be in Miami even though it’s a danger zone, to smell familiar scents- my mom’s cooking, grass freshly rained on, and be surprised by how much has changed. Getting that first Pub sub and experiencing the uniquely careless, reckless driving, I’ve finally come back to the place I called home for so many years.
I got to see my grandmother the day before yesterday and she told me stories about moving to NY and being a model. She pulled out photographs of her growing up, our relatives, a magazine and newspaper clippings that were snapshots of history and reminders of her life before me. My grandmother doesn’t like to talk about herself but she comes from a strength and resilience that has faced slavery, Jim Crow, and discrimination with a fierceness and vulnerability that makes me not only proud but thankful for where we came from. I was named after Christina, her mother. She was plainly a bad ass. A woman who didn’t take slack from anyone and protected her family with admirable ferocity and loved them just as intensely. I wish I could’ve met her and I can only hope she would be even mildly proud of of me.
Luckily on top of being a fiery woman she was a nostalgic one, too. She kept pictures of her family intact and passed them along to my grandmother who shared them with me. I snapped as many as I could because I couldn’t believe they were in such good condition and that all of these wildly attractive black people were somehow related to me.
A lot of things went through our minds as we (my mom, my grandmother, and me) went through image after image of dapper men and women. We wondered the occasions for which they took these pictures and how expensive it might’ve been to have them taken. We wondered if these were clothes they typically wore or if they dressed in their Sundays finest just for these shots. We wondered where they lived and what they did after the picture was taken. Who were their families and where did they live? Where they happy? Where they languishing? What was the climate like in the cities/suburbs/rural towns they lived in? Who exactly where they? These questions still linger and I can’t stop thinking about these people who were my family and whose entire lives I may never know about save for these photographs. People take for granted that they can trace their lineage back to this country or another. I simply can’t do that and even though I have pictures, there’s not much else I do have to go on to find our who all of these people were and how they are my relations. It’s heartbreaking really and tragic. It’s like holding onto a small leaf connected to an invisible tree that has roots I’ll never find. Maybe one day I’ll do some digging and see if I can identify any of the beautiful brown faces in these photos. At least sharing them gives me some modicum of solace, knowing that even just an infinitesimal piece of their lives can be shared and celebrated. Below are some of the photos I was lucky enough to see starting with this portrait that looks like it was done in a studio or living room…
When I first saw this one it took my breath away. I find her absolutely stunning.
Those kids are too cute!
I love all of these outfits. Such style!
I thought this was a real car at first!
Our history is so rich and deep. Seeing these just brings me so much joy and I hope everyone in these pictures lived long and happy lives even though I know that’s naive. I don’t care. I love them all and forever grateful for them because with them there would be no me. <3
I’m going to share some more photos throughout this week leading up to a post about my grandmother (if she allows it haha).