La Sirena (Award#4 Diaspora Stories)

Award #4 (Winner of the Month! Says Me!)

La Sirena

This is one of those stories I wish I had a picture for, but I never took one. No real excuse—I just stopped trying. I was too caught up trying to understand her.
La Sirena.

She hired me three months ago. Weekly visits. She’s in her 50s, and her main complaint is that she never learned to do “anything.” That’s why, she says, she hires people for everything.

The first day she hired me, she gave me a long list of tasks, with specific instructions, precise timing, and her ideas of how they should be done. And of course, I said:
“No way, mama.”

Still, she hired me.
Her two cats probably helped.
At least we agreed on my homemade lemon-baking soda-vinegar cleaning concoctions. Natural only.

From that first visit, I decided I’d go with the flow and just observe her. She intrigued me. She’d talk about everything, and I’d just listen—throwing in the occasional “yes,” “oh my,” or “noooo” while scrubbing rugs or wiping counters.
Yeah, yeah, I know. Very novela of me.

But slowly, things started to shift.

Discovery #1:

She hates her job.
“Would you believe they give employees free alcohol? Imagine how wasted they get all the time,” she said.
Me thinking: Damn, I can’t even imagine... can I?

Discovery #2:

One day she says, “You know there’s a company that’ll cook and deliver your meals? So convenient!”
I blink. “Why would I do that? I can cook. Real good! Nobody messes with my sazón. Plus, you save money.”

She was shook.
She didn’t know how to cook.

That’s how I got hired for an extra hour—to teach her. We started exploring cookbooks together, spent afternoons in the kitchen, and often ended up eating dinner side by side. She opened up about her divorce. We discovered we both practice Reiki. She told me about naming her cats. I told her about building a cabin with my Dad, about missing my dogs, about my mom’s health.

She confessed being afraid to volunteer in a South Side garden because of “the gangs.”
I said, “Then you shouldn’t go. The community will feel that fear—and they don’t deserve that.”
She fell quiet. Then apologized.

We started talking about white fragility. About Black youth dying in this city. About this fucking system.
Sometimes, we cried.

And just like that, she remembered the music. The one song that always lifts her. I found out she plays six instruments. Six!

I told her:
“I’m hooking you up with my friend Andrew. He’s got a jam-packed basement of instruments—you’d love it!”
She got scared. Said she barely leaves the house.
(I already texted Andrew anyway. He’d be down!)

Somewhere along the way, we became friends.
And we didn’t even notice it happening.

One day I asked:
“Sirena, spring is coming. Any plans?”

From the bathroom, she replied:
“Nothing particular.”

She lives right in front of the Lake Shore trail. While vacuuming, I stopped and stared out the window, wishing I was on my bike instead.
“Do you bike?” I asked.

She came out holding this gorgeous mermaid mirror, braiding her hair. She laughed and said,
“I used to.”

So we made a plan to buy her a bike together. While sipping coffee, she told me stories from her biking days. I told her about my current obsession—this cute mechanic with a beard who builds freak bikes. She cracked up.
“I knew you’d like that story,” I told her.

Then—she admitted she has a crush too.

Before leaving, I finally snapped a picture—of her beautiful mirror.
Not of her. Just the mirror.
But it felt like something sacred.

As I walked home, I was already cooking up a plan to take her out on that first ride of spring.

I truly love La Sirena.
When you’re far from your people, far from your best friends and the ones who feel like home, you start recognizing love and friendship in unexpected places. And honestly, that’s better than isolating yourself.

You gotta survive the Diaspora somehow.

For me, it’s with love and compassion.
(Yes, I know. So cheesy. Whatever. I meant it.)

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