Skip to main content

apr.16 {i heart Boston}



I was hesitant to go online this morning, to see the headlines (which I haven't looked at yet), and find the number of injured and fatalities had risen over night while most of us were tucked safely in our beds.  I was worried at the top of my facebook feed would be posts from my friends who discovered there was someone they knew who was caught in the melee.  Yet this tragedy already feels like a dear old friend was badly traumatized and hurt.

Boston is the taproot of this small eastern state, and in many ways my life.  Having always lived little more than a thirty minute drive into the throng, it's a place that feels like home in so many ways:  It is where I became a citizen of the United States when I was 4.  It's where my father worked when I was growing up and where my mom would sometimes take my brother and I on special trips into the city to watch him play softball in the shadow of the big skyline along the Charles.  It is the place where I saw the Nutcracker as a little girl, year after year, a special treat for me and my mom followed by ice cream sundaes at Baily's.  Where countless times there after I've gathered with friends in the theater district amidst the bright lights and excitement of a night out on the town, or in the mad crush of Faneuil Hall eating decadent food and buying souvenirs with family here visiting our corner of the world.  It is where I celebrated the most special occasions, like the night at the Top of the Hub after my Nana had finished chemo and a victorious round against cancer - where one of my most favorite and memorable photographs of her was taken with the lights of the city and the magic of that evening sparkling around us.  It's where my dad's cancer was battled and cured as well.  This topography is what I first see from an airplane and immediately think and feel with every bone, home.

This city is also where Alex and I first lived, on the fringe of the urban pulse and on the edge of what would be our life together, Boston was our playground.  We stayed up all night in the park, kissed unabashedly in taxi's in the wee hours of the morning, partied on rooftops with close friends, and have spent more happy times in the nooks and crannies of Beantown than I could possibly recall.  It's where Alex now works and where I get to take my own kids, just like my parents took me, to explore and fall in love with this city one memory at a time.  My boys don't know it yet, but Boston is already a part of them as well.

So sitting here on the morning after I don't even really know what to say.  This is crushing for so many reasons.  My beloved town and the hearts and spirits within and surrounding are hurting, and even though I am blessed enough to not know anyone personally who was afflicted (my love goes out to all who were), those of us who consider Boston home, I imagine, have all been effected by this tragedy.  Although surely goodness will prevail, my heart is a little broken for each and every one of us.




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Inner Alchemy Cards: Build A New World Deck

Our next make-your-own card adventure is finally here! Inner Alchemy Collage: Build A New World Deck (online) is an artful exploration of language, learning, inspiration, and collaboration, that delves into important ideas around activism and systems of oppression. This is a way for us to examine and disrupt harmful dominant narratives, tell new stories, and inspire one another to use our creativity and personal power to help build the collective world we all want to live in! In the end you will have a beautiful and meaningful handmade deck of 35 oracle cards to use as unique a tool for guidance and reflection whenever you need it.  I'm your host,  Mindy Tsonas Choi , an artist, organizer, radical belonging activist, and the founder of the Be Seen Project - a grassroots initiative resourcing BIPOC artist and makers working in activism. Join me along with other stellar artists, makers and co-creators who have also been exploring social justice and activism as part of their creativ

The Cost of Selling Belonging

As someone who use to sell belonging and believed I was creating something universally magical , I now have fresh eyes on the harm that I once caused. I understand what can (and was) incredibly healing and impactful for some, was at the same time excluding, marginalizing and undervaluing others. First, to anyone who ever felt like they did not belong to anything I created because they were unable to afford it or felt like they did not have the social capitol to join -  I am sincerely sorry for not seeing you sooner .   To our entire creative community as a whole, I urge us all to think about belonging in new and equitable ways, and to do the work of dismantling these hierarchical structures that leave so many people out of the circle. We all deserve to have access to creativity and belonging, and I'd go so far as to say both are fundamental basic human needs and rights. Selling belonging can look like... Creating spaces and experiences that can only be accessed by buying in at one,

what's in a name?

It’s May 14, 2020 and I’m on a transnational call with a social worker and translator of the SOS Children’s Village offices in South Korea. It’s 7pm my time and 9am the next day in Korea, which adds to the surreal quality of the moment. It is my first long distance call following my inquiry with the organization documented to be my first place of entry into the system, found in my Korean records (the acquisition of which is an incredible story in and of itself). It was July 21, 1972 and I was 5 months old. It’s a small miracle the organization still exists, and an even bigger blessing that they took such time and care in searching for information and to talk it all through with me in person. I try not to cry as the call connects. What I learn is a lot of small details about that fateful evening which amount to nothing traceable, but still feel like huge missing pieces of my life. I was left near the entrance around 7pm under a small tree, wrapped in a blanket with only a name scribble