About me

So... I'm blogging now...


My name is Ilse Gomez. For a long time I've harbored a secret desire to start a blog, and for a while I tried writing on the DL on Medium, which was so on the down low that only like 3 people read my stories. Now I've decided to speak up, and based on how this goes, I may move this to a real website with my own designs or I may combine this with my graphic design portfolio site. We'll see, for now I'm just trying to get this off the ground in an effort to actually do the things I say I'm going to do. 

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A Drop In the Bucket...

The following are a collection of thoughts inspired by the events in the USA this week. I'm not an expert nor am I claiming to have all the information and authority on these issues, but I think that whatever voice I have I need to use to bring these issues to the light. Feel free to make up your own mind and do your own research, but don't just scroll on as if nothing is happening. This one goes out specifically to my brown brothers and sisters, we're not off the hook on this.  I remember watching movies like The Help and Selma and thinking to myself, "I wish I had been there. I wish I could ride the bus with the Freedom Riders of Montgomery or refuse to give up my seat like Rosa Parks..." but those days were gone and there was nothing more to be done... or so I thought.  Enter now the year 2020 and look around. I don't know that the story has changed all that much. And maybe, in some ways, things have gotten worse. Instead of seeing overt Jim Crow laws we ...
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Falling Apart

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A Story About Seasons. She left a piece of herself everywhere she went. For some reason she just couldn’t keep herself together. If you were to see her you might feel sorry, maybe a little sad, perhaps even intrigued by the sight of her being. Only her core remained in tact, while the rest of her shed like a tree in the autumn. She wasn’t sure how it started, but what she did know was that everyone else seemed to keep it together. It didn’t really matter to her, though, because she was never angry at the trees for being bare in the winter nor the animals for hibernating in the cold — she knew that the most natural things in life have their seasons and she refused to believe she was an exception to that rule. So she looked more closely at those who “had it together,” their own leaves hot glued to their branches, dyed green to keep them vibrant, plastic branches taped to their hand-painted trunks, and she thought to herself if only they knew, withering does not mean death and...
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NO.

No. I will not be bitter. No. I will not hold a grudge. No. I will not be defined by what happened to me. Who said that events had the right to become titles? Who told your mistakes had to define your shape? Who said that? I don't want to be angry anymore, I don't want to feel that knot. I refuse to let the past become the lens through which I decide my future. I am light, I am salt–I am meant to be different. Why would I refuse to cuss or be addicted or abstain from any other form of "sinful" behavior and then fall into the same old patterns of the world I was redeemed from? A price was paid for me to break patterns. In fact, a road map was written so I wouldn't get lost in this new world. So I'll do that. I'll walk by faith. I'll choose to believe His mercy is new everyday. I refuse to lose hope and sulk in the pity party so many have been ready to throw for me. NO. That is not who I am, it is not who I was saved to be. When I received my...
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