I only knew you for a little bit. You were my grandmother's younger sister. You were joy, culture, roots, and fuzzy fruits off a tree. You stirred the cow milk in a pot and I watched as you made it thick; "requeson" you called it. You served it on a plate and poured honey on it, fresh from the fields. You did this when we came to visit back when I was fourteen. It's now three days after a strange man emails me, a man who tells me my cousins' mother is gone, you are gone. The funny thing is, I thought about you at a party yesterday. Someone talked about cheese, and I described the most amazing treat I ever had. I talked about eating "requeson" with honey once upon a time in Pachamanca, Perú. Thank you for being beautiful. Thank you for being soft. Thank you for smiling and making me feel at home. Thank you for the glimpse of my grandmother Carlota through the spark in your eye. With you it always felt like home. I wish I knew you better. In your memory, I will say Amen. I will continue to step forward and push through barriers, in your memory. I will learn to be fearless because you were in your own way. Rest in peace.