I’m in one of the few places surrounded with people that look like me.

The occasional weekend trip to Chicago from the suburbs with my family.

My family and I would go to church every Sunday.
We’d sometimes drive to Chicago for brunch afterwards.
We’d eat at El Milagro on 26th street every time.

Growing up in white suburbia, it was almost a culture shock being surrounded by so many people that looked like me. I was so used to being the only “brown person” in most spaces. I didn’t understand it then, but I what I felt at El Milagro was community. Probably for the first time in my life.

The older I get, the more I cherish those small moments as a kid. We moved around a lot, nearly always to places that were both unfamiliar and sometimes unwelcoming. El Milagro was a constant for us as a family. For me, it was a place where I got to better understand who I was and where I came from. Even if it was just sitting and eating brunch with families that looked just like us. It seems so normal and uneventful writing it, but to a confused, lost younger me, it felt like belonging.