I come from a place where the wind carries memory. Haiti: loud, beautiful, broken, sacred. Where the drums never stopped talking and the people never stopped fighting. That rhythm, it's in my chest. That resistance, it's in my bones.I write because I have to. Because the words don't leave me alone. Because the silence is too full sometimes and writing gives it shape. Not always clean. Not always clear. But real. Honest. Messy, even.My stories... they aren't just stories. They're pieces of people