A personal archive
Mis Raíces
The family stories behind the collection: names remembered, places revisited, recipes inherited, and questions still being asked.
A note from home
My Honduras lives in fragments.
It is the sound of coffee being poured before everyone is awake. It is a surname spoken by an aunt who remembers three generations farther back than anyone else.
This space is not a family tree with every branch resolved. It is a table where photographs, recipes, land stories, and remembered voices can sit beside one another.
Archive notes
The names we carry
Lineage, nicknames, and the people who kept family memory alive.
Land and belonging
What a village, a parcel of land, or a department can mean across distance.
The kitchen remembers
Recipes measured by feel, holiday rituals, and flavors that resist translation.