GABRIELA YARELIZ

Wonderwall

“And all the roads we have to walk are winding

And all the lights that lead us there are blinding

There are many things that I would like to say to you.” “Wonderwall,” Oasis

By: Gabriela Yareliz

I thought of Mr. H this week. He was my middle school math teacher, the first year I arrived to Florida from Ohio. This teacher was always generous with his time. He also had a good sense of humor and participated in a video project my friend Michelle and I did. He loved seeing my cool new Xanga backgrounds I would code with background music. In fact, if I finished my work, he would let me use his computer. He was best friends with our Language Arts teacher (who would lend me books from her Masters program— I have always been surrounded by generous people), and he LOVED Oasis (the band). He was someone who had presence and made people feel like they mattered because they did.

That first year in Florida was a rough one. My family was fractured; we had just left everything we knew; and we were greeted by a million hurricanes while trying to find a place to settle down. Baptism by earth, wind and fire. As I tried to find my footing and my place, there were two places where I felt accepted in a group of misfits— his math class and running on the track. (Yes, it may sound odd, but I ran track. Long distance).

I think of him periodically (mostly when I think of the injustices of the world gathered). Unfortunately, he passed away not long after I sat in his class. He was a kind and effortlessly cool guy. It always made me sad that he died so young. I wondered what kind of despair he carried in his heart. Years later, I think of him. That’s how memories go. People come to you in different moments. They just sort of materialize and return. I think of him and his family, from time to time. I hope they are ok. I hope his children carry his hilarity and move with ease through the world.

We remember people as they were; and they remain as they are. For me, he will always be that teacher with the longer dark curly hair. White button-down stained with marker and dark pants. A large Ohio State banner by the board. Dry erase marker in one hand, and Oasis playing from his school district computer, speakers angled out. His desk was right by the window which faced the bright front of the old Florida brick school. Bright sunshine and humidity pouring in. A parking lot and Florida trees loaded with Spanish moss swaying in the near distance. Always bopping his head and returning to an open textbook on the lectern. When I sat at his computer to work on my blog (been writing for like 20+ years, people), sometimes, I would organize his pencils in his pencil cup.

He knew life was tough. He loved us annoyingly middle schoolers. In his own way, he was a Wonderwall. Our Wonderwall. And for that, we’ll always be grateful.

Literary Canon

“It’s marvelous to know another person’s entire literary canon by heart. It’s like knowing their secret personal language.” Lauren Groff

Exposure Transforms

By: Gabriela Yareliz

I was in a freezing cold restaurant at a lunch with some acquaintances. The place was like ice and my water was, too. One woman discussed how she loved being able to regularly take her small children to the NYC museums. “Exposure is so important.” Everyone started chiming in with their childhood exposures that made them the sophisticated people they are today.

As I shivered with my ice water quietly listening (nails turning blue and secretly wishing I had kept my coat on), I then started thinking about my own exposure, and how it ties into what I love.

I remembered the Children’s Museum in Downtown Grand Rapids. When I tell you I was obsessed with that place— I am not kidding. You could do experiments, put yourself into a giant bubble and be a fake meteorologist. It was curiosity heaven. My heaven.

We camped often, and nature was a big part of how I grew up. I visited many military museums. Church was a cornerstone of community.

And the exposure that probably impacted me the most (other than church) was the library. A library is my happy place. Ironically, the NYC ones are barely open and mediocre compared to others I have spent hours in. A good library can change a life.

And I think this brings me to my next point. It’s important to reflect on what made us who we are and what made others who they are. Look at the type of person they are. When we raise children, who do we want them to be? Do we absolutely need them to be artistic? Musical? Do you want them to feel at ease with nature? Do you want them to be accustomed to being indoors or outdoors? Do you want them to be athletic? Obviously, there are things a child will simply gravitate toward, but parents have a big impact.

Some exposure comes with grounding. Other exposure will develop an eye for something. Some makes one resilient and others will make one elevated. Some exposure is dangerous and fosters addictions and delusion. Exposure sets standards.

As I sat there, though, listening to the conversation, it was clear to me that values and how we see the world and see others is at play. It sobered me a little, and in some ways, disturbed me a lot. Exposure can determine how connected or detached you are from reality and others.

Exposure is so important.

Ideas for NYC: Open Letter #6

Dear Zohran Mamdani (Mayor),

We have skated, waded, climbed and slid against our will. And that’s those of us able to do so. Others haven’t been as fortunate and are home and/or bruised due to City failure and negligence. This week solidified my belief that mobility training has never been more needed. In the words of Amanda McCants— we are training for life, sweetie.

Welcome to my letters to the Mayor, Mr. Mamdani. This is your very first one— congratulations. Welcome to the endless pile of ideas being graciously shared. Today, I write to you concerning the snow storm we received this past weekend. While olympians were doing backflips with snowboards in Central Park, broke college kids were using heavy duty trash bags as sleds, and you were telling people to stay home and “watch Heated Rivalry,” snow piled high throughout the five boroughs making life dangerous and hard for those over the age of 20 who hold actual responsibilities.

It’s midweek, and still, nothing is cleaned. People have abandoned their cars in the middle of main streets and avenues, and every day, on my way to work, I ruck through snow mountains taller than me, wade through slush pools at intersections and waddle through wet and slippery train platforms and stairs hoping not to end up on the tracks. Imagine how the elderly feel.

When you pass bus stops, they are inaccessible behind tall walls of snow leaving only the snow covered streets.

Gothamist said it all with its headline: “NYC asks for ‘patience’ clearing snow. For the elderly and disabled, it’s a problem now.”

Tax-paying New Yorkers, hard working New Yorkers, disabled New Yorkers, vulnerable New Yorkers, elderly New Yorkers are falling and navigating obstacle courses. Life is ten times harder in a city where we feel the crumble of the infrastructure every day. The trains fail, the streets fail— this is ghetto.

So while photographers photograph you shoveling snow, I am here to tell you to save us the theatrics unless you are going to hit every block of the city.

I thought for sure Manhattan would be better and was prioritized as it usually is, but no. It’s snowy and hard to traverse as well. So essentially only those who can do or afford private cleaning have ease. Isn’t that exactly what you stand against?

A snow storm came with a lot of warning. You had an assignment, and you have failed the assignment. You get an F- for the handling of the storm. (And we are still waiting— no one should have a one-hour commute turn into three hours). The disabled and elderly are homebound for the time being, and that is unacceptable.

Here is a free and simple idea to improve NYC today— clean the streets. That is what the City does. Take the plows we have, hire men—whatever. Make it happen. Make sure train platforms aren’t solid ice. Do something before it all freezes into something more impossible tonight.

90s Chokehold Was Back Last Night

“Hockey pics that go hard.” Image and caption via @nyrangers.

“They [the Boston Bruins] hit through people to possess the puck.” Dave Maloney on Bruins vs. Rangers on January 26, 2026

It’s called playing, Dave. It’s what we want to see from the Rangers.

Last night, the New York Rangers found luck— they won to redeem the brutal loss to Boston (remember when the Rangers stopped playing, and Boston scored 10?).

What was the vibe, though? (This is what we are here for, right?)

The evening started with a moving (and enthusiastic) tribute to the 1994 Stanley Cup Champion team. Mark Messier was reliving that winner’s smile (you know the one), and some players seemed to have tears in their eyes.

The announcers went on about how Mark Messier “redefined” the Captain’s role for the original six franchise. Compared to Messier, our current Captain is a bit of a joke. The man just makes these facial expressions as if he is so tired. Tired of what? I am not quite sure because he isn’t scoring (or trying). J.T. Miller always looks like a Kentucky grandpa out on his porch chair, squinting toward a dusty dirt road ahead, trying to see if he recognizes the pickup truck driving by. Miller is theatrical and exasperating.

It was confirmed that we traded Carson Soucy, yesterday. We keep doing this. Trading the players who play, score and have potential and keeping the ones who do not. Chris Drury’s judgment never sees redemption. I would be perfectly fine if we traded away our grandpa Miller (not because of age but attitude).

The man straddled Jonathan Quick (Rangers goalie) last night, trapping the legendary goalie, leaving him unable to defend their own net. He immobilized our own goalie. His own teammate. It’s exhausting. Then, in every press conference he says in a pathetic tone of voice, “I need to do better.” Bro, it gets old. Just do it. Miller gives me the same vibes as Coach Sullivan. Do with that what you will. They just leave you standing there with their word salad.

If you would have asked me a year ago, I would have argued Vinny Trocheck should be Captain (wrote about it here). Today, I say trade him, too. Yesterday, he did nothing other than glare at teammates who passed the puck to him (he would miss the pass). This man had a lobotomy last season. You cannot convince me otherwise. He behaves like a completely different person. Completely demoralized. A shell of himself. Trade him and let him find life elsewhere à la Chris Kreider Orange County renaissance.

Let’s turn to some of the positives— none involve Mika or Panarin. Quick kept us in the game, as he always does. Quick has that swagger that makes me wonder if he fights his own teammates in the locker room. They deserve it. Quick is a fighter, and he got the win he so deeply deserved after being the only player showing up to play for weeks. He also got an assist in that last Matthew Robertson goal that sealed the deal.

Robertson gave it his all and won the game with Quick. A young player with so much skill and potential who is just wilting here with the moronic veteran players who surround him. The camera captured Robertson’s large white smile as his team pressed him senselessly against the glass when he scored the winning goal. His wildly white mouth guard always throws me off. Watching that man smile is like that episode of Friends where Ross gets his teeth (overly) whitened. Someone give that man a Colgate deal already.

And lastly, speaking of young players with potential— Matt Rempe was back. He kept puck possession and saved Will Cuylle from getting his ass kicked. Welcome back to the Remps. His presence always increases the entertainment value of the game, even if it’s just watching the camera zoom in on him when he is upset and cursing as the commentators talk over his muted image. Rempe always tries, and we love him for that.

Dave Maloney kept saying “snappy” every time someone tried to score. Made me think of turtles. Dave is trying hard to make “snappy” happen.

Basically, last night had everything that had New Yorkers in a chokehold in the 90s— the Stanley Cup Rangers Team (with the opening ceremony), a Kodak moment (at the end with the Quick pass to Robertson), and a Colgate smile (Robertson smashed up against the glass after his winning goal).

It was a glimmer of nostalgia in a sea of losses. We’ll see if Lady Luck left the arena last night on Messier’s arm.

A Whisper

“Turn away from the world this year and begin to listen. Listen to the whispers of your heart.” Sarah Ban Breathnach

In this 2026, what has your heart whispered to you?

Against the Stream

“A dead thing can go with the stream, but only a living thing can go against it.” G.K. Chesterton, The Everlasting Man

Bury Me in the Swamp

“To understand the lowcountry, you have to move through it.” Dairy Boy Campaign

Florida is one of the few states where the bar licensure has no reciprocity with any other state. Why? Because Florida is “unique.” There is no arguing with that.

A few days ago, Dairy Boy’s new campaign turned my head. This was all I saw, and I understood—

One of the things I love about the Dairy Boy’s brand is that it has an all-American feel, sort of in the way Ralph Lauren does. Ralph Lauren channels and creates an American elegance tied to rugged practicality.

Dairy Boy goes for American cool with a side of country, and at times, Nantucket. This time, they are honoring the best state— Florida. Feral Florida, Zora Neale Hurston’s Florida, Lauren Groff’s Florida, Carl Hiaasen’s Florida. My Florida.

Bury me in that swamp.

“Of all the places in the world, she belongs in Florida.” Lauren Groff

The lowcountry camo is an ode to a wild place. A place where seemingly improbable things occur. A place where nature reigns. A place where animal sounds will make your heart beat out of your chest, and where you will experience the darkest night.

“Florida’s a weird place. It’s like a melting pot inside a boiling pot inside a nuclear reactor.” Carl Hiaasen

As someone who claims the state as a home state of my most formative years, I often get a lot of questions— “Do you like Florida?” “But isn’t it so backwards?” “What about all the botoxed women in Palm Beach?” (A special one from my boss— ironically, our colleagues are some of the most botoxed women in the city). I always say glowing things about my state. Palm Beach is a (pretty) spec in the grand scheme of the state. People who only think of South Florida miss the true beauty of Florida— its wilderness.

Paige Lorenze, the founder of Dairy Boy, seems to, at times, find herself in Florida in support of her tennis pro fiancé. I was excited to see that she didn’t just stay in the city. She went to the swamp, and found an abundance of inspiration.

“I was born and raised here [in Florida], so I still have tremendous affection for the state – especially the few wild places that haven’t disappeared under concrete. What’s left is still worth fighting for, and that’s why I stay.” Carl Hiaasen

I am excited to see someone celebrate Florida’s feral side. It’s a strange and healing place. Once you go camping where the mosquitoes sting you through your clothes— once you swim or walk near an alligator and hear its grunt— once you have been baptized by the crystal clear springs— once you have had the wind in your hair while on a boat— there is no going back to tame.