2016 was supposed to be a big year. I had imagined a five-year anniversary party celebrating the blog’s fifth birthday, complete with local bands, brews, and all-around good vibes.
But instead…crickets. 2016 came and went. It’s been a ghost town around here on i am san fernando, and there’s no one more aware than me.
To say I’ve had a couple of busy years would be an excuse. To say my heart isn’t in it would be a lie.
Simply, circumstances have changed and I’m no longer able to devote time and energy to i am sf the way I once could.
I haven’t said anything because I haven’t had the guts. Saying it out loud means letting go.
Had you been there the early morning of launch, you’d get it.
I stayed up all night going over every detail I spent months perfecting—the artwork, the layout, the content, the first “welcome” post.
I was in that 2 a.m. creative flow—typing as the hours passed, somewhat connected to my motions but also cognizant that whatever was happening was crystallizing through me and not because of me.
I typed until I knew I could do nothing else but publish. Launch. Go live. Make. It. Real.
At 5 a.m., I pressed the go button and my soul soared because I did something that mattered, for myself. For my community. Nothing could bring me down from that high, not even the 9-to-5 I had to deal with a few hours later.
That’s what I keep coming back to. The fact that this was more than a “little side project”, as one privileged job interviewer called it. This was bigger than me and how could I abandon something that felt like a calling?
Truth is, you can never really abandon what once gave you life. I will always recognize what this “little side project” did for me. For the lessons it taught me about my Self, my ego, my identity, my home. For the women I met and came to respect throughout the years—hi Angie, hi Kristy, hi HOODsisters, hi Trini. For it all.
But now it’s time to move on. And maybe it’s been time for a while but now is the moment to acknowledge it. To say, “Esto estuvo bueno. Esto ya se acabó.”
So I think that’s where I’ll leave you, without the streamers and confetti or fanfare of an anniversary party.
Just the quiet knowledge that there was once something beautiful here.
We had a good run, didn’t we?