Alana Rodriguez

Alana Rodriguez is an MFA Poetry student from Chula Vista, CA. She is the Social Media & Marketing Coordinator for the San Diego Poetry Annual and an intern for Poetry International. Find her work in Boats Against the Current, Unfortunately, Lit Mag, and forthcoming in Zone 3. Alana is passionate about encouraging young poets in both the Latinx and LGBTQ+ communities to pursue publication and share their work with the world.

Connect with Alana on IG: @pressmynumber

Tell me about your favorite pair of shoes:

In third grade, my elementary school took me and a group of students to a local Payless to pick out a free pair of shoes with some players from the San Diego Chargers. I had no idea why I was chosen or what it meant, but I was excited. Instead of choosing practical everyday sneakers, I chose a High School Musical sneaker/flat hybrid. They were as atrocious as you could imagine. I stepped on Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens everyday until their faces became indiscernible. I loved those shoes so much, but I can’t even find a picture of them on Google to prove they were real. It wasn’t until I was older did I realize I got the free shoes because I was a “child in need.”

Tell me about your favorite car:

Growing up, my mom would sell her cars then buy a different used one every couple years. It’s for that reason I don’t have one single childhood car to be attached to. Instead, I have memories of car auctions and Craigslist shopping.

When I was 19, I bought my first car—used from OfferUp, of course—a 2014 Chevy Sonic. Short and stubby just like me. The backseat is full of Squishmallows and tote bags. It’s cute, but fussy. I drop 100s on it every few months for whatever new issue pops up. It’s been five years and my mom urges me to just sell it and look for another used. I love my car too much and I hate how everything is replaceable.

What parts of San Diego feel like they belong to you alone? Which places capture the essence of “true” San Diego for you, and which ones feel like they’re just playing the part?

West Chula Vista. I swear I know each street like the back of my hand. It feels personal anytime I hear a negative comment. I feel like gatekeeping everything we have. I can tell when someone isn’t from here. Next year, there’s a billion dollar hotel opening and I’m afraid it’s going to change the atmosphere of the place I’ve known my entire life.

East Chula Vista on the other hand is so manicured and manufactured. The neighborhoods have no personality and I swear I’ve gotten lost because every house looks the same. It’s like stepping into a different world because the tax brackets are higher and everyone has an HOA. It’s weird. But I will admit, I’m jealous they get a Trader Joe’s.

What was it like growing up in San Diego? Was there ever a time you dreamt of leaving? If you could go anywhere, where would you go—and would you eventually find yourself back here?

I’ve only ever felt pride for being San Diegan. People spend thousands just to visit us, eat our food, and see the attractions that are so close they might as well be our backyards. The issue with being here so long, though, is you end up realizing how small this big city is. You see the same people and the same things for years. It’s a gift and a curse.

I’ve always imagined living in New York City, but then I think, “Where would I get good carne asada fries?” So then I imagine Los Angeles. Close enough. Then I realize, everyone is imagining Los Angeles. I think someday I’ll find myself in either of two places, but if I leave San Diego, it would have to be for a good reason. Regardless, I’ll always come back.

Tell me about your parents. What are the stories you hold about their connection to this city? Were they born here, or did life bring them here? What was San Diego to them?

My mom is a San Diego native. She spent her early childhood in Old Town in a house that no longer exists. She went to Crawford High, painted at Chicano Park, and eventually moved to LA. She had another life up there, but all roads lead to San Diego. She came back down, raised my brother, then had me some time later.

My dad is from TJ. He crossed as a young man and was raised in this half-and-half world, learning English from oldies, classic television, and the people around him. I think he claims San Diego more than TJ these days. He loves the Padres but loves the Chargers even more. (Yes, even after they moved). He even has the bolt logo tattooed on his forearm.

Where do you go when you crave romance? What place draws you back to friendship, to childhood? Where do you go to feel free, to unleash anger, to find unfiltered joy?

Whenever I have a really awful day, I grab lunch and head to the J Street Marina. I sit at the tables, people watch, and listen to the water. Romance is in the old couples walking their dog, in the children running on the grass, and the car clubs blasting oldies in the parking lot.

Favorite Beach:

Imperial Beach

Favorite Park:

J St. Marina, Duh. 

Favorite Teacher(s):

Craig Collins, Clare Colquitt, Blas Falconer

Do you know where the wild parrots came from?

No… Should, I? 

What memories do you carry with you from Horton Plaza? What does its absence mean for you?

None. If I went to a mall, it was Chula Vista, Plaza Bonita, or Las Americas Outlets. If any of those became defunct, I’d definitely feel a loss.

What’s changed most about San Diego in the past 10 years, or even the past 20? What parts of it never change, no matter what?

I think local businesses have gotten more trendy and hip—for the better, hopefully. Alot of people are choosing to shop small rather than in big department stores. As for what never changes: taco shops and liquor stores. There are no better childhood memories than grabbing a burrito and Arizona Tea with your cousins or friends. You can still do that now and it hits just the same.

San Diego has such a mix of people from different places. Who is a person you’ve met here who changed you unexpectedly? Tell us about them.

I was completely unaware of the San Diego poetry scene until 2021 when I joined the San Diego Poetry Annual team. Shoutout Michael Klam for giving me a chance after a random one-off email. His involvement in local literary events is what helped confirm my passions and the reason why I am pursuing an MFA in poetry today. He is someone who not only writes with heart but is active in the scene because he truly loves it. I really learned the gift of community through the SDPA.

Tell me about that moment of transcendence that sealed your destiny as a writer:

I’ve always been better at writing than anything else, but it wasn’t until high school that I felt like poetry was something I could do. My 10th grade English teacher gave us an open-ended assignment: Give yourself a 30-day challenge and commit to it. Many people chose to eat healthier or save money. I challenged myself to write a new poem everyday. After I submitted it, my teacher sat me down and told me that I had an untapped talent. He encouraged me to pursue publication. I didn’t submit my first poems until I was 19.

Who are your inspirations? Name a few that are constant and a few that are new. 

While Emily Dickinson and Lucille Clifton will always be those girls for me. I actually take alot of writing inspiration from songwriters. Taylor Swift (of course the OG), Joni Mitchell, Lucy Dacus, Clairo, and Lizzy McAlpine are a few I turn to when I need to get my creativity flowing.

What was your favorite book growing up? Favorite book(s) as an adult? Recent read that you loved? Name all the books! 

Cringe, but I LOVED John Green’s Looking for Alaska. I recently read What My Mother and I Don’t Talk About edited by Michele Filgate. I find essays and non-fiction to be most helpful for my writing. I also enjoyed Red Clay Suzie by Jeffrey Dale Lofton.

What words are you attached to? Which words do you not like?

I’ve recently found a fixation with “once” and “unearthing.” I have a weird distaste for adverbs, though. They have to be used tastefully (like that.)

What kinds of themes do you subconsciously return to? 

Family, always. Even when I make an effort not to, they find themselves woven into my words.

Do you have any superstitions about the writing process that you absolutely stick to? 

I need to be under some kind of pressure or it won’t be a good piece.

What does a writing process even look like to you?

I wish I had a process. A random voice gives me a word or a phrase and I jot it down in my notes. I come back to it a few times until I realize it’s not good enough. Then something like a prompt or an incident makes me want to sit down at my laptop and an entire piece just comes from nowhere.

How does life inform your poetry? How does your poetry inform life? Do you think writing is more about observing life or living it? Where do you draw the line?

My poetry is my life—as in, every piece you read from me has some lived experience tied to it. If you were to watch a movie of my life, you could find timestamps to reference back to, even in the smallest of corners. There are easter eggs I leave for myself or for others.

I also think my writing taps into some new perspectives I haven’t consciously considered. Everything is subject matter. Whether or not I write about it, the experience informs anything I do write. There is no line.

What question do you wish people asked you about your writing or your life that they rarely do?

“Can I read some of your work?”

What crafts and hobbies do you love and take part in? Is there a specific craft or hobby you are proud of that many people might not know about you?

I’ve been playing guitar for 13 years. (Though, quantity of time does not equal quality of skill.) I also love drawing. I used to do alot of pencil sketches, now I mess around on Procreate. Sometimes I do paper crafts! In undergrad, I made broadsides of Lucille Clifton’s “my dream about time” and Taylor Swift’s “mirrorball” using construction paper, letter stamps, markers, etc etc. I’ve made a few crochet hats and bags, as well.

Is there a place in San Diego that’s woven into your memory or writing in ways that surprise you? What’s the story behind it?

On my way to work every morning, I pass a sidewalk memorial for a young girl who was hit by a car while walking with her friend. Sometimes there are bunches and bunches of flowers. Sometimes there is nothing. I don’t know why I became so aware of this. Or why, in some macabre way, I keep tabs on the flowers. In 2023, I lost a cousin in a motorcycle accident in Arizona. I wish I could pass his memorial everyday.

If you could pick a single street, park, or hidden corner of San Diego to write an entire collection about, where would it be? Why?

Third Ave Chula Vista. I have memories attached to every inch of that street, north and south. There is so much to see and do for locals and visitors alike. Grocery stores, bars, homes. There are characters on every corner.

What would you write in a letter to the San Diego of your childhood, and what would you write in a letter to the San Diego of the future?

Dear San Diego of My Childhood,
Please don’t close Golden Star Chinese.
Thanks,
Someone Who Has Yet to Find Better Lo Mein

Dear San Diego of the Future,
I hope we see each other often.
Love,
Alana

a poem by Alana Rodriguez

For that swirling pile of trash

on Third & Palomar, 
in the corner
where the discount store and
frutería
meet—children, impatient, 
run between doors, 
asking their mothers, 
hours deep in 
skirts and blouses, for two 
more dollars to 
buy a cup of melon,
coated in spice 
and sweetness, napkins like 
bandages to
sop up red, shred, then
toss to the wind, 
petals, now mixing with
faded receipts, 
salon foams, tire-stained  baby wipes, and 
broken chicken bones
—those forgotten 
pieces of neighbors, dead 
bits of skin,
like the ones I rip from 
my fingers, peel until thickening, then 
miss when they bleed—
that hurricane of human 
only growing,
spreading, since long before 
the check-cashing 
store got robbed, glass glittering 
pavement, back when
Grandpa Tom, alive, 
bought dollar toys, 
tore plastic price tags
with his teeth 
then spit down 
into the current, 
that dancing current, 
how it beats like a heart.