The tears came early today, close to 10am. Usually they don’t arrive until evening, when the busy-work of the day gives way to more quiet and time for reflection, and when my husband sometimes puts on the news so that I am bombarded by news about this virus. I can’t escape the tears then, they just come.

But today, I was walking my dog — late, as I’m usually out of the house earlier for his morning potty stroll — taking our usual route, down the street where our neighborhood church, home to a fairly large, popular congregation that offers…

Me and My Mom in San Francisco, 2008

I have not been sleeping well lately. I’m not a good sleeper in general, especially when I’m stressed or emotional. I stay up on my phone, reading things, Facebooking, arranging my calendar, trying to assert control over my unruly life. Since reading the late Alex Tizon’s groundbreaking essay about the woman he called Lola—whose actual name was Eudocia Tomas Pulido, and whose family nickname was Cosiang—and many of the responses to it, a full night’s sleep feels like a distant memory.

I call Tizon’s article groundbreaking not to glorify his story or romanticize his family’s role in the enslavement of…

Rona Fernandez

Writer, fundraiser, activist, dancer, wife and #stillmother, not necessarily in that, or any, order. More words at

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