We bought our house a year ago, and slowly and carefully, we’ve begun making a home. We’ve demolished the insides down to the studs, we’ve revived the outside adding color and life. We’ve created such a welcoming and open environment, for those we love to enjoy with us.

Everything we’ve done with the intention of bringing in pieces of our roots while still keeping it modern, but somehow you can tell the air is still tinged in our ancestry. It’s almost as if we changed the make-up but it’s the same girl. We changed the style but the set up carried over, the way we organize the cabinets, how we keep a mirror by the door. Little quirks, we thought were quirks until we noticed others sharing in it. Some habits we can explain and others, we just instinctively know.

And all of this was brought up when I opened my first tub of Vix, I realized I had never in my life seen a new bottle of.

I opened it slowly, holding it in my hand I can feel the weight difference, I know the colors are different; whether faded due to exposure to light, or time. I had never seen this, it was like watching something surreal unfolding, like I was opening up a plastic toy.

It couldn’t be real these little tubs aren’t bought, they’re borrowed from moms or abuelas, or stolen from your grandfather’s old med kit. I had never thought something like this could stir up so much but it did, I can’t believe I’m the one who bought this little tub that will last me a lifetime. At least that’s how it feels, like I’ve just opened a tiny bottle of commitment, something I’ll use during cold and flu seasons this point forward.

It reminded me that I am both an individual, one soul, contrived from the many.