Storytelling is an act of social, restorative justice; it centers disenfranchised narratives, amplifies the voices ignored by or lost in the crowd, provides the shoes of another for us to walk in, gifts catharsis, heals trauma through laughter or tears or new thoughts. Or rather, storytelling should be all these things, yet too often that responsibility is abdicated or ignored. Too often those who say they wish to lift or care for disenfranchised voices miss, ignore, and/or are too lazy to truly do so; usually this is because the people tasked with or celebrated for uplifting and writing the narratives for marginalized voices are often not part of the marginalized group. In the year two thousand and nineteen, the United States of America was keeping children in cages and West Side Story was revived on Broadway and adapted for the silver screen again. In the year two thousand and nineteen, thirty-five states in the US tax tampons as a luxury item and both the showrunner and the main director for The Handmaid’s Tale are men.

When does it stop? How does it stop? In all aspects in life, all I can do is control my own actions. As such, I take the responsibility of adding my voice so that it can never be said that there are not Afro-Boricua women telling their stories. I am a storyteller, most often as an actor and writer. I tell stories for mi gente because the power of art to stir and awaken the soul is the surest way to change the world. My stories are my tools to bring justice and healing to the world. With that guiding principle, I endeavor to make my tools sharper, more vibrant, more daring, and more specific with every day and every play.