Still, Untitled.

I tutor Pia on Wednesdays, and it’s one of my favorite things of the week. I get to spend time with a great reader and writer, and I also enjoy driving to and from her house.

On one of those Wednesdays, I met her as usual by the elevator of her building. When she came out, she handed me this bag of cookies, and I recognized them immediately. Her mom had recently traveled to Venezuela, so she thought I’d enjoy these cookies—and she was right because I used to eat them when I was little. I hugged Pia and proceeded to munch on one cookie after the next while she told me about the last story she had written.

Within seconds, all cookies were gone, and my heart was whole. I chose to take a photo of the empty bag because it reminded me of something I clearly had forgotten. Then, I wrote this line in my notebook before starting our word work for the day: Write what you know, honor what made you.

For the past few weeks, I’ve been writing a fiction story about a girl who enters a writing contest at her school. I originally named her Nina and set out to create this whole narrative based on a character who lives somewhere in the US. She rides the bus to school, walks to her aunt’s house, and meets friends at the park. On two occasions, I asked myself why I went in that direction, and the answer is simple: I’m surrounded by mostly American narratives because of my teaching. I guess it makes sense for me to mirror such characters. But then, as I scrolled through my phone, I found this photo of the empty bag of cookies, and I remembered the line I wrote in my notebook.

Honor what made you.

After some thinking, a ton of hesitation, and advice from my young writing peers, I decided to rename the character and make her origins an essential part of the plot. She will be a girl who lives with her dad in Venezuela, and that fact will bleed into every bit of the story. I will still write in English, even if my tense shoulders rise all the way up to my ears as I admit that.

Finally, and just because I tend to end posts awkwardly, I will make a public promise to this girl: I will not forget you or your story like I’ve done with so many others. You will be the fuel to this writing habit I keep trying to shape.