In the context of that reality, sometimes I am bewildered at the enormity of hope that we carry. In listening to our collective stories, I am reminded of how we find hope in many of the familiar phrasings we’ve heard over the years, spoken often en familia. There’s a saying that that immediately comes to mind: “No hay mal que por bien no venga.” In this moment, that phrase seems to fall short and still, there is hope, and in some ways, there is something more.
For as much as we aim to offer bilingual translations of the stories we share here, some things get lost in translation. So, I find it fitting to call on esperanza -not just as a theme for this issue but as a sort of healing song shared best en familia.
As I take in the words, poetry, art, and photography that hold our healing song of esperanza, I am reminded of the many ways that hope is activated and present in our community and en familia. Some would leave us to believe that hope is relayed through huge policy shifts or grand gestures of philanthropy, and while that isn’t untrue, oftentimes it’s the hope in the everyday that sustains us, forging us into guerreras at the ready. We find hope in the apapachos of our grandparents, the laughter of our children, the ferocity and love of our parents, in food shared with friends, through actions in solidarity with community, in music, dance, poetry, and in the eyes of hardworking men in the fullness of their vulnerability postvaccination.
