
We Are One: The Radical Truth Hiding in Plain Sight
I grew up in the dirt of a broken heart. Not metaphorically — I mean real dirt. The kind that stains your knees when you’re eight and trying to fix a busted pipe under your uncle’s trailer. The kind that smells like oil, metal, and a hundred years of hands that never stopped working. My childhood wasn’t soft. But it was real. Real like the taco my abuela made on Sundays with her hands stained red from dried chile and fire-roasted tomatoes.
And maybe you didn’t grow up in the dirt. Maybe you grew...
And maybe you didn’t grow up in the dirt. Maybe you grew...