Kendall

The House on the Outskirts of Kendall

I've been fortunate to live in the same house my whole life. Throughout my time there, I've seen it go through so many changes. I live in a family home in the suburbs of Miami, out on the outskirts of Kendall, and if you lined up a picture of it from when I was a kid next to a picture of it now, you probably wouldn't believe it was the same house. Growing up, the walls were painted yellow. The kitchen had these bright white cabinets, and we had a Chinese-themed dining room table that always felt a little too fancy for everyday dinners. On either side of the TV stood two giant statues, a tribute to the Cuban patron saints, keeping an eye on all of us. The backyard was sectioned off by wooden fences carved with Chinese characters, and over the years that backyard saw a rotating cast of animals: five tortoises, four dogs, a couple of pygmy marmosets, and even an emu at one point, just to name a few. And in the middle of the living room sat a fish tank that went through just as many phases as the rest of the house, holding giant koi fish at one point, poison dart frogs at another, switching back and forth between freshwater and saltwater setups depending on the year. As I grew up, the house evolved right alongside me. Now it's almost unrecognizable from my childhood home. The kitchen's been renovated, the outside is painted an off-white with grey tile on the ceiling, a much more modern look for the times. And I think, in the same way we become more conforming to the people around us as we get older, my house did too. It started looking like a lot of the other homes around it, following that same wave of sleek, minimalist design, with muted cool-toned interiors and pops of navy blue and emerald green. Even with all that change, I still find myself passing by the same places I used to frequent when I was younger. It's something I've come to appreciate more the older I get. Experiences feel more fleeting now, time feels like it's moving faster every year, and those old familiar spots give me a chance at stillness. It's like they're frozen in time in a city that never really stops moving, always tearing something down and putting something newer up in its place. I've learned my city like the back of my hand at this point, taking the time to actually explore every nook and cranny the way a true local would, not just the parts everyone already knows about. It's a strange thing, watching a house and a city change at the same time you're changing. None of it happens all at once. You don't notice the yellow walls are gone until you try to picture them and can't quite get the shade right in your head anymore. You don't notice the koi are gone until you realize you can't remember the last time you saw them. It just happens gradually, in the background, while you're busy growing up in it. And the older I get, the more I want to stay. The more I hope I get to keep living here and building my career in this city, a place that isn't perfect and has plenty of flaws, but is my city all the same. I don't need it to look like it used to. I just need it to still be the place I know, even if the walls keep changing color.