Photo by Andrea Plazas
Audio By Carbonatix
At Miami Lakes Educational Center, there was only one classroom painted coral-flower pink. It belonged to Mrs. Borges, head of the English department and Queen Bee of the school’s journalism program. Every day she wore four-inch heels perfectly paired with a seasonal dress — sometimes polka dots, sometimes pink — and carried herself like someone who truly understood the weight of words and punctuation.
I wasn’t supposed to end up there.
I had enrolled in the forensics track because, at the impressionable age of 14, I was convinced that binge-watching Criminal Minds had prepared me to solve crimes. But after my AP World History teacher read the first paragraph of my first high-school essay, she looked up and asked a question that sounded more like a command: “Have you talked to Mrs. Borges yet?”
I remember freezing for a second, then mentally filing that moment away. It felt important, though I didn’t know why. A year later, I would walk into the Pink Room — the classroom that would spark a lifelong chain of serendipitous moments, eventually leading me here, as the new social media editor at Miami New Times.
Baby’s First Byline
My first assignment was to create a Twitter account and use it to share observations about the world around me. We ran our own student paper and yearbook, complete with real deadlines and local ads. Yes, we sold ads! Which meant The Harbinger was an independent student newspaper. My first published story was about “#SpiritWeek.” Though it wasn’t a hard-hitting expose, it gave me my first-ever byline.
That year, the Miami Book Fair announced a social media challenge inviting people to write a story small enough to fit on a Post-it note. I used my freshly made Twitter account to publish my submission. It was about lovebugs: teenage love and longing, messy and sweet.
To my surprise, my Post-it note was selected for a live reading, and I stood before 50 strangers, my hands shaking as I unfolded that tiny square.
Even now, whenever I sigh at a social post that gets “only” 50 likes, I remember how big 50 people felt when they were right in front of me, listening with their full hearts’ intent.
I approached one of the coordinators from that fateful literary event, eager to know more about her career. She told me she worked for a local public radio station (WLRN, for my chismosas). When I asked where she’d gone to school, she said the University of Florida.
Suddenly, I could see my future unfolding.
My College Burnout Era
I graduated from high school with real newsroom experience, an editor’s title, and an acceptance letter to UF. In Gainesville, I joined countless publications, including The Independent Florida Alligator as the East Gainesville reporter, focusing on stories about residents who lived beyond the university bubble.
Then the pandemic hit. Well-established papers were folding, veteran reporters were being laid off, and by the time I graduated, I was a total college burnout, unsure of where I would fit in such a tumultuous industry.
I moved back to Miami with $200 and no plan. I wasn’t ready to write again, but I craved community. So I took a job at Las Rosas, a beloved dive bar in Allapattah. On paper, this unexpected move looked like a detour. In reality, I was hitting the reset button.
I traded my bylines and press passes for tapping kegs and cutting lemon wedges until my fingers turned wrinkly. But the energy of Miami’s alternative nightlife kept my hands busy and my mental health steady, even with a head full of metalcore, punk, and post-wave goth synthpop.
The people there — bartenders, musicians, and regulars — were storytellers too, just in a different language. Albeit a colorful one.
They reminded me that creativity can also live in spaces where people gather, swap playlists, and stay until last call.
The Road to Rediscovery
After a while, I started taking on freelance writing again, this time as a social media copywriter for the Girl Scouts of Tropical Florida. There, I learned that digital communications could still serve the community, reminding people why they should care. Instead of using words to inform or entertain, I used my words to mobilize.
I joined a years-long habitat restoration project, not realizing something even more meaningful than a byline would come from it. Today, my name is etched into a bronze plaque at the entrance of Camp Mahachee, on a rock that will outlive me. That experience opened the door to my first full-time social media role at an environmental nonprofit.
Through it all, I remained an avid reader of Miami New Times. The paper’s coverage of the city — its chaos, culture, and contradictions — reminded me of the stories Mrs. Borges used to share in the Pink Room.
We’d gather around her as she turned the pages of Time magazine, narrating the images like bedtime stories. Each photograph was a window into history. New Times captured Miami’s pulse in that same way: vivid, unfiltered, and deeply human. It was the kind of storytelling I once tried to emulate in my high school and university work.
So when I saw the posting for social media editor at this very publication, I couldn’t help but notice the serendipity. From reading my Post-it note at the Miami Book Fair to sharpening my eyeliner game at a rowdy dive bar in Allapattah, up until this very moment, with every small choice, every detour, every happy mistake leading me here.
New Girl in the Newsroom
There’s a special feeling all journalists share. It’s that spark of excitement when curiosity turns into conversation and questions lead to debate. On my first day at Miami New Times, sitting around a table with Tom Finkel and our talented editors, I felt that spark again. We jumped straight into the ruckus of election coverage, festival madness, and end-of-year Florida Man encounters. In that round-table room surrounded by people who care deeply about this city and its stories, I felt encouraged to rediscover my voice.
Filled with both hope and humility, I sincerely look forward to amplifying the work of the New Times staff across our social channels while also introducing this outstanding publication to new audiences in the city I call home.
Journalism was my first real love. Not just for the craft of writing, but for the connections it can create — and I admit that I’ve been waiting patiently to seize yet another chance to tell Miami stories.
