There was something intentional about choosing this photograph for the cover of I Am What Remains.
Because that isn't me in the picture.
It's Lorena.
But if you've ever seen us standing next to each other, you understand why that distinction can feel a little blurry. She looks so much like I did at that age that sometimes looking at her feels like looking backward through time.
And maybe that's why I chose her.
Not because this album is about her.
Because, I can see myself in her.
The girl I used to be.
The girl before life had its way with me.
Before I knew what I would lose. Before I knew what I would have to survive. Before I became all of the versions of myself that came afterward.
There is something strangely emotional about seeing your younger self reflected in your own child.
You notice things you haven't looked at in years.
The face you used to have.
The softness you used to carry.
The person you were before you had accumulated all the scars, responsibilities, grief, lessons, defenses, and stories that eventually became part of you.
And for a moment, you realize,
She didn't disappear.
She just grew up.
Maybe that's what this album has been trying to say all along.
I Am What Remains isn't about being the same person I was before everything changed.
I'm not.
And I don't want to be.
It's about looking at everything I've lived through and realizing that somewhere underneath all of it, there is still a piece of that girl.
She survived.
Not untouched.
Not unchanged.
But here.
And seeing her face again, on someone who is, in so many ways, a younger reflection of me, felt like the most honest cover I could have chosen.
Because this album is about what is left when you strip away everything you thought you were supposed to be.
And when I look at that picture, I don't just see my daughter.
I see where I came from.
I see who I was.
I see who I became.
And I see the part of me that never actually left.
The girl is still here.
She just grew into me.