photos, Visual Journal

Tulum, Quintana Roo, Mexico

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Tulum is the first place to see the dawn in Mexico. At this time of the year, the sun crowns the horizon at 7:30am, and splashes gold into the sea, the trees, and the people. Each morning of our trip, the Yucatán Peninsula would welcome us with a warm breeze that smelled so sweet. We’d wake up to the birds tweeting outside our hut on the beach. Whether we’d spend the day reading next to the waves, or touring sacred Mayan grounds, we’d always end the day flopping into the Caribbean sea at sunset, bellies full of beer and ceviche.

The Land.

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The Water.

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Us.

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We lived in paradise for six days, and returned to the Pacific seaside just in time for the holidays. There was so much more we did on our trip not pictured here, so check out my Facebook post if you want to see us in an underground cenote or climb half of a Mayan estructura (or eat lots of fresh fish).

– Tyler

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photos, Visual Journal

Post-New York Blues

September—I’m on the L train into the city and I haven’t written in a while. I’ve been reading a lot of James Baldwin, New York’s black literary hero. I’ve been living in Brooklyn for these past weeks, staying in a townhouse in Carroll’s Garden and then in a warehouse loft in Williamsburg. I love it all: the trash-lined sidewalks, the thick air, the cicadas buzzing in the trees. New York has always been somewhere on the vaguely familiar side of my soul’s navigation—I think I lived here in my past life. In a hippie life, I soaked in the fountain at Washington Square Park and spent my days crawling up and downtown across the islands. I sing aloud as I walk here. I walk with conviction and shove past people like I always know where I’m going—even if I don’t. I didn’t think the end of summer would cling on to the sticky summer heat. And as the muggy nights dull into muggier days, it dawns on me I don’t know New York at all. Yet, here I am melting on the subway platform, waiting for another F train to take me back down to Brooklyn.

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—Tyler

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