Today we’d like to introduce you to Robin Rodriguez
Hi Robin, can you start by introducing yourself? We’d love to learn more about how you got to where you are today?
Today, I am a poet, writer, interior designer, curator and host of poetry nights, intimate music shows, private dining dinners, and other artistic forms, all done in my home, Mi Clandestina is the name I gave my home and entrepreneurship, business, in part to honor my Latin American roots, and provide a home away from home for those seeking culture, inspiration, healing, and community. Mi Clandestina mission is essentially to design inspiring homes and spaces that honor cultural heritage and foster humanity, promoting authenticity, creativity, and inclusivity within our community.
And so I’ll begin with my roots, as I am grateful for their splendor, the leaves of the trees of my childhood, those that have blossomed since then, and those that have decayed into the ashes of my past and that have created space for new birth. I feel I finally have the courage to reveal all of their colors. Or as Walt Whitman said, “I believe a leave of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.”
I was born in NYC, but I am fortunate that my parents raised me in Santiago, Dominican Republic first as a child, before returning fully to New York City at the age of 8. Santiago was where my parents bought their first home. They’re originally from an impoverished countryside (campo) of Santiago, called Jagua, where I feel lucky also to have seen my own parents and grandparents in their own backyard, where they were once children. Seeing this as a child, and remembering this as an adult now, is a whole other kind of love language, because it leaves a legacy of love for me and my community. So I consider Santiago and Jagua my first home.
I always say I did not find poetry, but poetry found me. Santiago and Jagua is the birthplace of poetry for me, because I have very vivid memories of my childhood in the Dominican Republic. One of the most fondest memories was when my family, friends, acquaintances, and strangers, would show up unannounced to our home. My mom would start making aromatic coffee. My dad would play a perico ripiao (merengue) vinyl record. Sometimes my mom would grab a machete and chop a roosters head off for the sancocho that was about to be cooked for the unannounced guests (yes we had roosters in our backyard. Also seeing my mom carry around a machete at times is symbolic for me now, in how much the women ran the household, and how the men thought they did). When neighbors and more guests would arrive because they heard music and saw my mom cooking a sancocho, this would all of a sudden inspire a party in the home, practically for no reason. And the party wasn’t just a typical party. The house would permeate with storytelling, dancing, a game of dominoes, loud yells of “traeme otra,” or “dame mas sancocho.” That would be followed by a spontaneous road trip on the same day to a local turquoise ocean, or a waterfall, or the greenest of mountains, or a fresh source of river, where we would swim, and where my dad would pick up local merengue musicians and friends of his to play music for the family and unannounced guests (my dad loved to dance) And sometimes, the family would end in Jagua, to visit my grandparents, where I would see my grandmother picking coffee beans from the organic coffee tree she had in her backyard, and how that would also gather community, as they, my mom, dad, tios and tias would be storytelling with coffee in their hands, sometimes till late at night—our countryside lit with stars and candles, since there was a lack of running electricity. I didn’t know this then, but I realize that’s where I fell in love with storytelling, nature, specifically the sunrise and sunsets and stargazing, coffee–all which harvested community (campesinos in my homeland and the rest of Latin America are filled with a history of oral tradition. Gratitude and love for all campesinos in Latin America)
This was daily life for me back then. It was filled with joy, with love, with laughter, with my childhood friends (who I still keep in touch with today), Nature, with music and instruments and dancing, with organic foods, with support, with community. This was love for me.
This is where the birth of Mi Clandestina comes in, a vision I’ve had since I was a child, and that progressed and culminated through my travels in Latin America while in grad school. There’s so much I can share through my travel stories that may not be enough to share in this medium, but I’ll say this for now. When I traveled through Latin America and Europe, I didn’t necessarily find homes or spaces that were designed in an intentional, authentic, stylistic and unique way, that represented culture, community, colorful even, that promoted connection with others, and more importantly with oneself, that also represented where I come from, or where my community comes from, or simply represented someone who wants to feel loved in a space as they embark on their own travel journey for healing. A lot of what I’m creating today with Mi Clandestina, my home, as well as other future homes and spaces I will have (there’s another Mi Clandestina in Washington, DC that travelers love now and I’m so grateful for it), is rooted in this sentiment. And I use also the power of poetry to curate poetry nights (I went to grad school and got my MFA in Creative Writing in Fiction/Poetry so I really care about this) and other artistic endeavors such as intimate music shows, private dining, comedy, women’s gathering, and so much more, is rooted in this sentiment, as well as harnessing a ritual of community through many art forms. Whether I’m designing and creating spaces and homes for myself or others, my intention is to foster authenticity, vulnerability, the magic of simply being ourselves, so that we can harness the power of creativity and belief in our own talents. I think this is why I’m so thoughtful and detailed when I’m creating a space. I want people to feel loved as they enter a home/space. I truly believe people sense how a space makes them feel, and if they feel loved, then that inspires something so much more, something bigger than us. And if my community thrives, then I thrive. There’s strength in solidarity, not in solitary I always say. Essentially, as I said above, my goal with Mi Clandestina is to give people a home away from home. Because God knows I myself was in search of that. For me, my home isn’t just a home. It’s honoring my roots, a home where it leaves a legacy of love, and is felt, just as my parents and grandparents did for me.
My vision then of Mi Clandestina is to have homes, spaces, and a cafe, where the community can absorb culture, inspiration, healing, find support, and reflect the inspiration they carry within. I simply just want to give back to people.
I believe poetry, music, food, and other artistic forms, inside an authentic home is a very powerful tool that inspires change, which is to say, that inspires love. Thank you for listening/reading.
Alright, so let’s dig a little deeper into the story – has it been an easy path overall and if not, what were the challenges you’ve had to overcome?
Absolutely not. When my family decided to leave Dominican Republic and officially move to NYC, my heart was torn. As a kid, I felt like I left everything that I loved back home in Dominican Republic, all the beauty that it offered on the daily was gone at the snap of a finger. That island life was a distant past that turned into cherished memories and nostalgia, and so it was a struggle adjusting to NYC life. Imagine moving from paradise into a box sized apartment with 8 people, all of the siblings sleeping in the same room, in a dangerous neighborhood back then. I never fully understood why they made that move back then. I was like, “Mami, what the hell are we doing here?” I understand now that they were just trying to do what was best for the family, in a financial sense. It’s that typical immigrant dream from parents in that generation, move to the states to make enough money, then come right back to the motherland. But little did they know then that so called American dream wasn’t really a dream. I’m happy my mom kept our Santiago home, as we are able to go back to it whenever we want to now. I’m grateful as an adult I get to relive my childhood memories in Santiago whenever I need to.
Couple me leaving my homeland with being bullied heavily as a kid to the brink of depression, sometimes by my own people for not being “American” enough, my father passing away when I was thirteen, and my mother wound up being evicted twice (luckily a soft hearted and generous Peruvian friend of my mother took us in until my mom was able to get back on her feet). This experience of poverty and homelessness, that seemed to be knocking at our door constantly in New York City, changed me. My dad also passed away, so did a few of my uncles, my grandparents, and close family friends. It seemed like there was a domino effect of death in my family when they moved to New York City. The house felt like we were having funeral prayers often. And to top it all off, I was molested by the neighbor (and never told anyone until my early 30’s). In addition to being involved in relationships I should have never been involved in and a few financial setbacks. Smooth road? I have to laugh at that, and at my past.
And yet, I’m grateful for this all. Something told me back then, an inner voice, that this suffering can’t be life. There is something more to life. And so I held on to love, even if I didn’t understand it. Love for myself that is. I learned that the suffering was my teacher. And I wouldn’t be able to share this today or have the courage I have today to pursue dreams if it wasn’t for the suffering. I know someone else will read this and hopefully be inspired in some way. Because at some point in our lives, we all go through difficulty, but we must know that the past does not define who we are. Our mistakes is not a reflection of who we truly are, and pain serves as a bridge to love. We just have to have the courage to want to change. As Rumi said, “The cure for the pain is in the pain.”
The suffering is why I’m so passionate about what I’m cultivating today with Mi Clandestina. I remind myself that death is not the greatest loss in life. Rather, the greatest loss in life is what dies within us while we’re still alive.
I truly believe we are here to inspire. People are a reflection of each other. I try to have compassion for others whenever I see them suffering as it reminds me of my experiences. Knowing that another’s suffering is my suffering. As Thich Nhat Hanh said, “we are here to make each other suffer less.” I see so often my community with their heads down, like I was. And so I’m just trying to do my part and help as best as I can and let my community know to believe in themselves, that they are truly talented, and to surround yourself with loving and supportive people that also want to see you win.
And so Mi Clandestina is here to cultivate a home away from home. My mission is to design inspiring spaces that honor cultural heritage and fosters humanity, promoting authenticity, creativity, and inclusivity, to connect individuals to the community. We are here to inspire. Nothing less. This is the purpose. Poetry and music inside authentic homes is simply a vessel for travelers, locals, and artists needing this. At the end, we all realize the heart is the destination.
As you know, we’re big fans of you and your work. For our readers who might not be as familiar what can you tell them about what you do?
Funny thing is I am a Financial Advisor by day. I didn’t major in business in college. I actually majored in Journalism. I’ve been a financial advisor for 16 years now. It was my first full time career out of college, and it was something that just kinda fell on my lap because in 2008 no one was hiring due to the market then. I wound up loving becoming a Financial Advisor because I get to change people’s lives through financial literacy, by educating and advising the community on how to invest their money in the market. Financial education isn’t necessarily something they teach you in schools, and I’m utilizing this expertise to also impact the communities I care about and cause change in some way. Especially because I am also an artist, I love educating the artistic community on how to invest, because it allows them to keep reinvesting in their own art.
But poetry and music is my first love. I received my Masters in Fine Arts for Creative Writing in Fiction/Poetry in 2019. I’m super grateful for grad school because it inspired my travels and volunteer experience through Latin America as well, and it was through these travels that I continued to have visions in creating Mi Clandestina. I remember volunteering in Ecuador and Guatemala, helping children without homes or access to schools, and them reminding me of my upbringing, and volunteering in Costa Rica in a coffee farm and seeing the power of community when working in solidarity. And I remember studying in Cartagena while in grad school, and visiting the famed Colombian author Gabriel Garcia Marquez childhood home in Aracataca, where he grew up with his grandparents, and how in reading his work, right in his own grandparents backyard where he himself was inspired, it was like the universe was speaking to me. I literally cried. It transplanted me to the way that I grew up with my own grandparents in Dominican Republic. Life is interesting in that way, in those defining moments where it sets you on a certain path, and even though you don’t know where you’re going at times, you just have this innate feeling you must pursue it, and that you are exactly where you need to be. I have a journal book title that says, “Life’s road may lead you to foreign lands or to a new view. Whatever the case, you meet yourself along the way.” This couldn’t be more accurate for me. And so because of my upbringing in Dominican Republic, my struggles, my travel journey, and now with my experience in LA, I’m grateful to have created Mi Clandestina for the community here. I feel like we need it. I feel like LA needs it. My hope is to continue to expand this vision across other cities in America and especially in Latin America. It makes me feel like life is all connected. And I’m humbled and grateful.
Do you have any advice for those just starting out?
Your past does not define you. Your mistakes does not dictate who you are. You have the power to change. Believe in yourself. Believe in yourself not for others, but because you are worth it. Even when challenges and difficulty arise, remember there is an abundant well of courage within. This courage sets the tone for your discipline, and discipline sets you apart from the rest.
I love Robin Sharma’s quote, “To create magic in the world, own the magic within yourself.” When you love yourself enough, everything else will follow.
Another advice I learned is to surround yourself with people that love and support you and want to see you win. Greatness attracts greatness, so don’t allow someone else to dim your light.
Contact Info:
- Instagram: mi_clandestina
Image Credits
Photos by Camila Hernandez
