Today, on Indigenous Peoples' Day, I find myself reflecting on what it means to be indigenous. This holiday, celebrated in the United States, honors Indigenous American peoples, their histories, and their rich, vibrant cultures.
As a proud Dominican-American, and the daughter of immigrant parents, I carry within me a history deeply tied to the Taino people, who once inhabited the country now known as the Dominican Republic before Christopher Columbus rerouted our collective history.
Growing up, I learned about Indigenous peoples in school, but always in the past tense—as if they were relics of history, distant and disconnected from the present.
I learned about the Tainos as part of our Dominican past, their legacy surviving only through stories and fragments. However, reading Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer has deeply shifted my perspective. In her book, Kimmerer offers a powerful definition of what it means to be indigenous: "Living and taking care of the land as if the future of kids matter." This resonated with me on a profound level.
Kimmerer’s words expanded my view of indigeneity. No longer something buried deep in my DNA, it’s something alive, relevant, and present. It’s a way of living and connecting to the world, grounded in care, respect, and wisdom. For me, being indigenous is not just about the past, but also about how I carry the traditions of my ancestors into the future.
As I’ve reflected on this, I’ve also started shaping my own definition of what it means to be indigenous, which includes honoring the wisdom of my elders. My parents grew up in the lush, green landscape of Montellano, Salcedo, and I’ve learned so much by listening to their stories about their upbringing. This connection to my roots is more than just history—it’s alive in the way I move through the world today. I see it in the way my mother prepares food, never with a recipe, but with an intuitive wisdom, knowing exactly how much spice or seasoning is needed simply by feeling it.
To honor the indigenous within me means carrying forward the lessons passed down from generation to generation. I find this expression through my art, capturing the lines, the facial expressions, the stories in the portraits I paint. It’s about sharing the colors of my Dominican upbringing, the lessons embedded in my childhood, and offering them to the world. In many ways, this is what La Caribeña Oracle Deck is all about—a gathering of my ancestors' stories, my parents’ teachings, and the vibrant colors of my present-day experience. It is a continuation of what it means to be indigenous, not frozen in the past, but living and breathing through the art I create today.
On this day, as we honor Indigenous peoples, I invite you to reflect on your own roots, your own connection to the land and to the generations that came before you. What wisdom can you carry forward, and how can you ensure it’s preserved for the generations to come?
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