A thoughtless comment about Dominican identity became the catalyst for an unexpected journey into memory, heritage, and the stories we choose to forget. What began as a simple observation about how Dominicans often embrace their Spanish roots while minimizing African and Taíno influences sparked a firestorm of criticism that changed everything about my writing and my understanding of cultural identity.

The backlash was intense—being called a traitor, uneducated, and a “pick me” for daring to suggest we might need to reclaim parts of our heritage. But one comment struck deeper than the rest: “Dominicans don’t need to reclaim anything. We already know who we are.” This assertion, contradicted by the same voices that elevate Spanish heritage while remaining silent about other influences, revealed a profound disconnection that I couldn’t ignore. It forced me to ask: What happens when we forget who we are? What becomes of someone taught not to explore their lineage? And what occurs when that person begins to remember?

These questions transformed “The Ordinary Bruja” from a lighthearted comfort story into something more profound. Marisol’s journey became a reflection of generational amnesia—the way communities cling to what’s acceptable while abandoning what makes them whole. Hollowthorn Hill evolved from a simple setting to a place of ancestral memory, calling to Marisol even as she runs from it. Her magic stopped being merely aesthetic and became necessary, ancestral, and complicated. The story now explores returning to yourself even when everything around you says it’s better to forget. Join me next week as we delve into the mothers—those complicated, often inadequate, always human women who shaped this story and our understanding of identity. Have you ever had to unlearn something about your own heritage? I’d love to hear your story as we remember together.