What Grows in Silence

What matters is remembering that not everything that grows has roots. And not everything that shines on billboards will become home.

What grows in silence

By Sebastián del Mar

There’s an hour — just before the sun becomes unbearable — when cities seem to beat slowly.

The construction workers have already climbed their scaffolds.

The women cleaning offices cross paths with those unlocking the gates of cafés.

The May wind, if it exists at all, is just a tired breeze descending from the hills.

In La Paz, in San José, in Loreto… the walls are rising.

The streets stretch further.

Machines dig dreams and raise promises.

But beneath every polished floor, beneath each lot with an ocean view, there is something else:

there is history, ancient dust, names no longer spoken.

Sometimes I think the real city map is made of invisible footprints.

Of the one who planted a mesquite where a showroom now stands.

Of the one who sold land that once belonged to their grandfather.

Of the one who walks among developments they’ll never inhabit, but still watches with a mix of resignation and wonder.

I’m not against progress.I just believe that progress should be greeted the way we greet the sea: with respect, with humility, with our feet firmly grounded.

May in Baja California Sur is a promise of heat.But also of growth.

What matters is remembering that not everything that grows has roots. And not everything that shines on billboards will become home.

From this corner of the South, where stories are written in salt and concrete, I keep watching.And I keep writing.

—

Sebastián del Mar