The World Demonique.
…and we’re blogging again! If you’ve followed my journey, you’ve watched as I’ve explored various creative expressions. From music and writing to movement, beauty, and wellness. You may have also read my shares about self-discovery while navigating heavy shit. It hasn't been the prettiest journey—shit can get awkward and messy 'round these parts. One thing is for sure, it's always an adventure. So if you're new here, buckle up! A lot is going on and I have a lot to say—some things may land well, some things may upset or challenge you. Know that I'm writing from the ground—not a soapbox. alright now, let's have some fun exploring different topics—today's is community.
while i’ve lived in NY for damn near 18 years, california raised me. i was born in long beach, and raised in Lynwood by my mom. i also spent a great deal of time with my grandparents who lived where carson meets long beach (iykyk).
At Abuelo’s crib, anyone who came over was treated like family and there were frequent visitors. Some kind of function was always going down in that house, special occasion or not. It often started with Abuela frying up bake and pastrami or Abuelo firing up the grill. at some point, family, friends, and neighbors were invited to come and “nyam.” Chip and Gussie, a sweet couple who lived across the street, were often the first to arrive. An hour or two later, a bunch of loud ass Panamanians would start trickling in talmbout "Whaaaapen, loco," an indicator that the party had begun. The grown ups usually gathered in groups to shoot the shit and kiki. We, the kids, occupied ourselves by eavesdropping on adult conversations or playing freeze tag. Eventually, Uncle Chris would cue up some salsa or merengue, reggae or soca, or joints from the 80s and 90s. "Lloraras" or "Tu Pun Pun" was the call to the dancefloor. A football game was being "watched" on mute somewhere in the house while the men played dominoes. Everyone ate on their own time and when the night was over, everyone left with a plate.
Our family was known to have a good time. But, we were also appreciated for our kindness and willingness to serve others. If you needed a ride to/from the airport, we were there. If someone familiar was hospitalized, we'd go visit them as much as possible. If someone passed on, we were there to support their family. Extending care to others with no strings attached was customary.
Adulthood has taught me that communal care is not everyone's default. Or maybe it is, and collective complex trauma has caused a severe lapse in our memories. Either way, many of us have forgotten how to care for ourselves and others. We're disconnected and while we long for connection, reaching out for it can bring up big feelings. Holding space for grief and its symptoms is a practice that often feels daunting. It asks us to accept and witness another's raw pain (or our own). It requires empathy, patience, and the ability to sit with discomfort. It means freeing ourselves of the need to "fix" or deny someone's reality. Holding space is a commitment to be present with someone in vulnerable moments... and to do so without judgment. Let's be honest—a lot of us don't got it. And it isn't anyone's fault. The oppressor's tool of division truly works. And division thrives when the threads of community are loose.
“Community” has become a trendy little buzzword. The internet is rife with brands and "influencers" that seem to throw it around to appeal to the masses, pero liiiiiike... are we aware that community is more than a cute idea that sells? It is a labor of love. It requires action and the will to learn, practice, and serve. Platforms like Meta, TikTok, and Twitter gave us new ways to stay in touch with loved ones, scale businesses, collaborate with brands, and even find love. But since quarantine, there's been a shift. Somehow, relationships have become more transactional, and the cost is high. We seem to have prioritized convenience and accepted a false sense of connection with others. And for what? Engagement? Let's be so for real.
As more truths come to light about those in power, we see that our disconnected existence is unnatural... and quite frankly, it's fucking us up. the world is burning. from Palestine to Sudan, Congo, Haiti, and most recently, Los Angeles. The global elite's greed, violence, and perverse obsession with conquest have thrown off nature's balance. And Earth is raging to cleanse and restore. Community is the only sustainable path forward.
The tragedies we’ve seen in the last two years alone have shown us there is power in coming together—change happens. We've organized global protests, set up aid for displaced families, and more. We are awakening (or returning) to community care. As we do, let us fully assume the responsibility it comes with.
Here are a few practical ways to extend community care this week:
Support local businesses. Skip Amazon as much as possible. Their CEO’s wallet doesn’t need any more fattening. Why not contribute to the economic well-being of your hood, instead?
be the village. Childcare is expensive…. like cost of rent expensive. and more than likely, the parent you know is overwhelmed. offering to babysit or complete a task for friends raising children can go a long way.
Talk to your neighbors, especially the elders. They likely have many stories to share and wisdom to impart. Plus, they’ll likely just be happy to be in your company.
Organize a gathering in your home. We’re kicking off this week with oligarchy, YAY! break out your charcuterie boards since y’all love them so much, and invite some friends over to discuss what care can look like for each of you.
donate to mutual aid efforts. This spreadsheet contains a List of Displaced Black families in los angeles who need our support.
That’s all I’ve got for now. Comment below with some of your favorite ways to show up for community (Or list a few of your favorite local shops In your city).
Thank you for showing up! Take good care. xx