One of the reasons I’ve always wanted to move to a city is to enjoy the art scene and its constant change that only thrives in a bustling metropolis. Like many people who visit Miami only for its beaches and night life, I thought I would have no such luck in this new home of mine. 

Turns out, I had gotten it more wrong than I could have imagined.

It was a late Saturday night and my plans consisted of eating take out and binge watching FRIENDS for the millionth time. I was told there was something called an Art Walk at this trendy neighbourhood called Wynwood, only fifteen minutes away from where I lived, where every second Saturday of the month people show up to enjoy the latest exhibitions accompanied by free wine. I had heard of the name Wynwood many times and with it came great recommendations for anyone who had a bohemian soul. So with a not so sincere apology to my chicken tacos, I grabbed my denim jacket and headed out.

The short drive took me through the dark desolated part of the neighbourhood, small houses and storage buildings. For a moment I thought I took a wrong turn but the residue of spray paint on the sidewalks signalled I was close. With every passing street, the concrete walls of one story buildings became canvases for street artists. No building from here on out was untouched by a paint brush, the vibrant colors creating murals with urban motifs. 

One more block, and the avenue was swarmed with visitors and locals who walked around, selecting at a whim the next gallery they would visit. Others just enjoyed the murals, each one different to the next, as if it was an open air museum. The scene was like unadvertised big party that the high heeled wearing and expensive cocktail drinking crowd of South Beach wasn’t invited.

Completely taken by surprise by this burgeoning artistic neighbourhood only a few minutes from my apartment, all I could do was wander in amazement. The enormous murals were the front decoration of small restaurants, boutiques and pubs. Yet these murals were the fruit of the art bud that started everything eight years ago: The Wynwood Walls. Right next to Wynwood Kitchen & Bar, one of the first restaurants to be part of the development, Wynwood Walls are the collaboration of international street artists and the inspiration of many other locals who have left their signature on the nearby walls, slowly expanding the neighborhood.

The place was like nothing I had ever seen yet it felt strangely familiar in all its novelty. Like a home I had been searching without realizing or like the anchor necessary to finally feel I had moved from my country to Miami, and that was all right. It felt like the sparks of art inside my head had managed to escape and explode all around me into something welcoming. Just for me and I no longer had to live inside my head.

My introduction to Wynwood was intense and memorable but having met in the dark and for such short hours made everything feel surreal, like an magical circus passing by and come daylight, it would all be gone. 

I needed to come back, in the harsh light of day, without the buzzing crowd and the drinks, to see it without the allure of night and love it for what it really was.

A -somewhat nostalgic- Girl in Miami

Once upon a time, there was a decision that needed to be made. Do I stay or do I go?

It was by the end of summer last year. I had just arrived from the best experience of my life, a month long trip to Europe, to find a letter of acceptance from the university I had applied to. 

You’d think that piece of news would be the perfect ending to such a memorable summer. But it wasn’t. First, I only had two-weeks-notice to uproot my entire life- I needed to find a place to live, a car and money in a matter of days. Second, I wasn’t as certain about the decision as I had hoped to be.

I should have focused on all the amazing opportunities I was gaining- a Master’s in what I had always wanted to study, a new city to explore, new friends. But instead, I focused on everything I was leaving behind- family, my childhood friendships, the island that had given birth to me and I had loved my whole life. I wasn’t ready to let go. 

I had a choice to make. Did I stay in the familiar surroundings, where I felt safe and everything was predictable to a certain point; or did I pack the essentials and take the biggest leap of faith ever?

I leapt. 

It’s been seven months since then. Every now and then, I cry in public –yes, in public- when suddenly I remember my mom’s cooking or what it felt like to spend all day lying on the beach. But overall, I am glad I pushed myself to do it. If I had stayed, even though I would have been comfortable, I would have always wondered what life in Miami would have been like.

Now I don’t wonder. I’m living it.

The Beginning

I was at work sitting on an old squeaky chair, facing my dated soon-to-be-thrown-out desk, looking at the same papers and pens I had for the past eight months when I suddenly had a glimpse of my future.

        I saw myself three years from now, still working in the same run down office, sitting in the old chair, counting down the hours until I could go home. The same thing, same place every day because that’s what a full time job is about.

        It was this image of a socially acceptable cage built out of trivial responsibilities and utter dullness that ignited cold and brutal panic in me, the kind that makes you want to do something drastic and stupid because at least then you’d free of the boring foreseeable future of steady pay checks and zero creativity.

        I took one more look at my square surroundings, so unlike me and confining, and I felt completely sure that a lifetime of settling was never going to be enough. If I stayed, I would have to let go of what I wanted for what I thought I needed to do. 

        There were so many things I wanted to do, so many places I wanted to escape to, places that would take my breath away and teach me about culture and people. I wanted to see the Machu Pichu, to walk for three days until I made it to the top and took in the view of this forgotten city. I wanted to dive into the beaches of Mikonos in Greece and float in the water; to live in New York City, backpack through Europe. 

        It wasn’t just about traveling to all the beautiful places in the world, but to find wonder and adventure in everything I did, whether it was going on two month trip or just visit the art museum I pass by every day to work. 

        A whole world of beauty and discoveries was just at arm’s reach, far away from the socially accepted and the cookie cutter idea of what life should be. It was full of amazing things, great or small, created by God and men, all equal in their splendour.

        As I kept thinking of all the adventures I wanted to have, all the countries I wanted to visit, I no longer felt panic but a fire in my heart that ignited the courage I needed to escape the everyday life and dive into the world, so vast and daunting but so full of promise and wonders that were meant to fill out the pages of my life.