The home I chose, and the road that led here.

I was born in Puerto Rico, where the front porch was the council chamber and you knew everybody on your block by their first name. After hurricanes, neighbors didn’t wait for a permit — they showed up with a saw and a casserole. That’s the standard I still measure a community by.

Port Saint Lucie was where I watched a small town become a city without quite deciding to. Roads got widened before the schools got built. Drainage promises got made and quietly walked back. It taught me that growth without a plan is just sprawl with a logo.

In West Palm I worked alongside neighborhood associations, school PTAs, and a handful of city commissioners who actually read their own packets. I saw what a council looks like when public materials go out three days early and budgets are explained in plain English. I also saw what happens when they don’t.

Trailer Park is the chapter that changed how I work. I came in with a clipboard and a plan; I left with a notebook full of questions I hadn’t thought to ask. Nobody there needed me to explain their own water bill. They needed someone who would take the answers back to the people writing the rules. That’s the job I’m running for.

Indiantown is where my family decided to plant. It’s the first place I’ve lived where I knew on the second visit that I wanted to stay. We chose the schools, we chose the church, we chose the block. I’m running because Seat 4 should belong to someone who chose Indiantown the same way you did — and who is willing to show their work.

The next council will decide how Indiantown handles water that keeps testing over legal limits, contracts that change without warning, and a generation of kids who deserve a real place to play. I’m running because those three things will not get fixed by accident, and because the way to fix them is to listen first, then write it down, then come back with what we heard.