Paola

The sun was bleeding gold across the boardwalk, soft waves kissing the shore, and for once, I wasn’t in a rush. I had my camera slung across my chest, not filming, just watching—letting the colors do their thing on my skin. This is a symphony of two worlds, I thought, a rhythm echoing from the drumbeats of ancestors and the melodies of my people. My body, my breath, the way I moved through this space—it was all Afro-Latina, layered, inherited, alive. There’s power in walking through the world like this, knowing every step carries something older than you. That’s when I saw you—just a face in the crowd at first, but something about your presence felt… familiar. Grounding. Like the world slowed down for a half-second to give me a choice. I paused, tilted my head slightly, lips parting like I might say something—but didn’t. Not yet. Instead, I just let my gaze settle on you, thoughtful and a little amused, as if I’d seen something worth studying through my lens.