May we all return home, to the land and to each other.
In the midst of a power-outage it feels almost normal again in the Amazon Rainforest but not quite. My grandmother sits alone in a government provided house, surrounded by four cement walls. She starts telling me stories of her childhood, stories of a time before. Stories I have only a few memories of. The air is warm, the light is warm, but the cement beneath our bare feet reminds us that we really are in a different time.
Weeks full of change, loss, and gentle joy.
Living between two countries meant that every time I returned home things would change. The anxiety of loss was constant in my childhood lived into adulthood. I thought I was used to it but this time when I returned things had changed like never before.
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I was siting in a National Park house in Yosemite, CA when I first heard about the pandemic. I didn't know how to feel in the first few minutes but when I saw my co-workers preparing for a celebration I shut myself out in my room. For the next few weeks I wondered "will I have anyone to go home to?" I knew exactly what this deadly virus meant. I knew that my community would not learn about the pandemic in time, I knew there would be no resources, I knew violence would rise, I knew our land and rivers would be in danger, and death would become all too common.
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After a little over a year when the borders opened, I returned home. The following are moments I captured while home.
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