Catyobi

🌿 Note from Catalina:
This blog comes from a neurodivergent mind and an immigrant heart. It’s a mix of memories, plants, recipes, travels, and reflections—no straight lines, just stories from a brain that works differently.
I write to be the voice I once needed—for anyone who’s ever felt out of place, misunderstood, or too much. You’re not alone.

Today began at 5:10 a.m., in that half-awake state where your body moves before your mind has caught up. I left the house early for jury duty (my civic duty to serve as a juror), thinking I had plenty of time to stop for gas and something to eat.

But traffic had other plans.

What should’ve been an hour and a half turned into two.

By the time I arrived, it was pouring rain. I knew from experience that being a bit late wasn’t the end of the world, so I wasn’t panicking… until I reached the parking gate.

And it didn’t open.

I got stuck right in the middle.

I couldn’t go forward or backward.

A long line of cars built up behind me.

People started honking.

I couldn’t get out of the car to show my ticket.

And there was absolutely nothing I could do except sit there and feel the stress tightening my chest.

Eventually the cars behind me backed up, I backed up, and I finally made it inside. More time lost. More adrenaline.

By the time I walked into the building, I was drenched, tired, and honestly fragile. I was also afraid to speak up — afraid of saying the wrong thing, of being inconvenient, of making things worse. They always repeat that you only need to serve every one or two years, and I was pretty sure I had already been there months ago.

But I spoke up anyway.

I asked.

They checked my records and found the problem: I had two juror numbers, which shouldn’t happen. When I explained I renewed my driver’s license last year, it made sense. They fixed it. They were kind.

And they dismissed me.

Just like that, it was over.

From Stress… to Perspective

As I walked back to my car, the rain stopped and the sun came out. I took a real breath — maybe the first one of the whole morning — and something shifted inside me.

Because this wasn’t just any building.

It was the criminal courthouse — a place where cases are heard that can change people’s lives forever.

And while I had been stressed about being late, soaked, embarrassed and overwhelmed, there were people inside that same building living the worst day of their lives.

People being judged and sentenced.

People who may have made terrible mistakes.

People whose lives may have been hard long before today.

Victims who deserve to be heard.

Women who defended themselves.

People who may be innocent and still fighting to prove it.

So many layers. So much humanity. So much pain and complexity in one place.

And there I was — stressed over a gate that wouldn’t open.

That realization didn’t shame me. It softened me.

And it filled me with something unexpected:

Gratitude.

Maybe I Do Have a Star

Earlier that morning, I had been thinking about whether some people are “born lucky,” whether some of us have a star or not. Standing there in the sunshine, finally breathing again, I realized something:

Maybe I really am one of the lucky ones.

Not because I’m rich.

Not because my life has been easy.

Not because everything works out — it doesn’t.

But because I am safe.

Because I can speak up — in English, in Spanish — and be understood.

Because I have rights and responsibilities.

Because I could walk back to my car freely.

Because I get to go home, hug my parents, cook with them, laugh… and live.

That is privilege.

That is fortune.

That is, in its quiet way… a star.

And something beautiful about this court is that they didn’t make jury duty feel like a burden. They made it feel like participation. Like belonging.

And All of This Happened Before 9:30 a.m.

Today began with chaos.

Then stress.

Then embarrassment.

Then relief.

And finally… perspective.

Now I get the gift of going home, hugging the people I love, and moving forward. The morning shook me, yes. But it also softened me. It reminded me that some days are just uncomfortable…

…and others can change lives.

I don’t want to forget that.