The Story of GiraSol Descendants…

I lived three summers joyfully buried under wet sand in ocean waters originally stewarded by Chumash people, land now called santa barbara, ca.  Thanks to Armida, the Cali Xicana with the peppered bob haircut, who met my mama waiting tables at La Cocina de Tere, and quickly became one of the handful of women who raised me, I now have a relationship with ocean water that lives in the most sacred places of my future blood & chosen lineage. Armida taught me about floating, and beach sun. Sandcastles and living on boats and salty air in your hair. Side ponytails, and coppery brown lipstick-growing up Xicana by the sea. I was four when I had just learned the ABCs song in English and I remember how much I wanted to sing the song out loud for Armida. I practiced the song all the way to her house. I walked into her room...her body covered in white blankets, her voice soft, her eyes loving. I knew it would be the last time I would ever see her. The last summer we shared together, Armida got sick. I never sang her the song- no words to describe the feelings that come with endings at that time. Armida is an ancestor now. And to this day I know I grew up Xicana by the sea because of her. I stayed soft in body and in heart, spoke quietly, loved fiercely, learned to harness power in empathic solitude.

I don’t know if Armida knew the impact she would have on my life. As I honor her memory remembering the simple mundane acts of humanesss she offered, creating the most joyful glittery aspects of my childhood, I think about the ripple effects we experience in our short lifetimes and wonder if maybe what we can pass on as future ancestors, live in our seemingly simple, regular, old school,  every day weavings between us. Armida loved me. Made a home out of sand and ocean water for both of us to live our joy. Her love is not a social justice movement that everyone knows. But in my childhood, her love WAS justice. Her love, like the love that grounds many of us and inspires us to keep trying even and especially when we fail, when we are heartbroken, is what can help us return, imagine, remember, align, resonate. 

It’s the reason I dare to dream about parenting. 

I’ve been doubtful of many things during my time alive, the only thing I’ve ever been certain of is my dream/wish/calling/commitment to be a mother to Xol one day. In these times of such hurt, dreaming of becoming a mother is terrifying and bold. To have these dreams, commit to them, and do is the work of believing. Trust. The work of love. I write about Xol, speak of and to Xol, often. I used to think I needed to keep Xol to myself, like uttering their name would spoil their arrival, but they came in a dream almost a decade ago and named themselves (They/Them is pronoun I use on purpose as I would like to support Xol in deciding how they want to be gendered.) I know now Xol is an ancestor returning, an ancestor I’m welcoming into this world with an altar of words and love letters, like I do with veladoras and cempazuchitil flowers on Dia de Los Muertos for our dead. The more I speak of them, the more they become. Just like the baby Xol I believe in and love, I share a similar love and deep responsibility for the world I know is possible-  I’ve never seen or touched either of them, but I’m committed to being part of the dreaming, plotting and loving that brings them both into existence. 

GiraSol Descendants is a radical love offering to Xol and to all of our collective descendants across species, across time. A beloved community making project centering love and storytelling as practice and strategy for living and building the world we desire. A love I’ve learned from Armida, my mother, all the beings who grow love with me, and I with them- beloved community made up of queer and trans people of color, blood and chosen family, the land we live alongside, our relatives before and ahead.  

Xol, like GiraSol, is derived from the many words my people offer for sun. Never mind, that GiraSoles (sunflowers) happen to be my favorite and that over the years I’ve developed a deep respect and love for the interdependent ways they build beloved community- they follow sunlight during their early development for support and guidance, they fortify and regenerate the soil they decide to grow with, and perhaps my favorite of their offerings is how they share their own light with each other in the absence of sunlight. 

I hope all of us can deeply know we are GiraSol descendants, making ways for future GiraSol descendants in the same ways our ancestors were GiraSol descendants-not as a response to any particular bloodline, but in the knowing that we too can be as prolific as sunflowers, we too can build generous intentional beloved community, we too can experience our gorgeous life in all its fullness. I hope all of our collective descendants enjoy being keenly aware of our place across generations, to understand our sacred responsibility to our ancestors and our descendants’ descendants.

“May it be So”- Norma Wong

Note: I make an intentional effort to capitalize the Indigenous names of places, and write colonized names in lower case letters. A learning from Edyka Chilome, a brilliant poet, kindling heart, with whom I shared a conversation that changed my life