Andrea Martinez

I came to this country with the hope of building a better future, but I was soon faced with the harsh reality: being an immigrant and working in a trade that forces me to be exposed, day after day, to the relentless sun and heat of Miami. I sell flowers on the street.

Each day begins with a mixture of determination and fatigue, because my work not only demands physical effort, but also facing situations that mark me emotionally. I walk long distances looking for points where I can offer my flowers, with the hope that someone will value what I do and buy one of them. There are days when I find empathetic, supportive people who give me a smile, a "thank you", or even a small gesture of kindness, such as offering me a bottle of water when the heat is unbearable.

But it's not all kind moments. In this nuanced job, I've had to face cruel comments and humiliating situations that hurt my spirit and dampen my enthusiasm. I remember one day in Florida City, where someone shouted at me with contempt, "Why don't you sell guns to put one in your head?" That comment filled me with fear and made me avoid returning to that place.

On another occasion, in Little Havana, someone said to me with derision: "Welcome to United Slaves." Words like this hurt deeply because they minimize my effort, my dignity, and my right to fight for a better future for myself and my family.

One of the most difficult challenges is not having access to something as basic as a bathroom. Once, my niece and I walked into a McDonald's on 8th Street with our buckets of flowers. We were hungry and planned to buy two combos to eat. As soon as we entered, an employee treated us with contempt. He rudely told us that we couldn't be there and questioned whether we really had money to pay. We felt humiliated, but we were tired, and we had no choice but to endure that situation. My niece, shyly, asked to use the bathroom and was told that she could only do so after paying. It was an experience that marked us. Sometimes, it seems that our dignity is worth less than the money in our pockets.

Despite everything, I have also experienced moments that restore my faith in humanity. Throughout my days, I have met kind people who have offered me cold water on days of extreme heat, a young man gave us an umbrella when we were surprised by the rain, and on some occasions, strangers have given us food from Domino's, Wendy's or Starbucks. These gestures, although not frequent, fill me with gratitude and remind me that there is still solidarity in the world.

However, the sacrifice of working in the sun, rain, and extreme fatigue has consequences. Recently, I had to be hospitalized for an infection stemming from kidney stones. I walk a lot and drink a lot of water, but the heat and the long walks took their toll on me. My body, exhausted, asked me for a pause that I couldn't ignore.

Despite the hardships and the physical and emotional pain, I keep going. I work in the hope of a new dawn, dreaming of a better future for myself and my family. This story is not mine alone. It's the story of many immigrants who, like me, face difficult jobs and extreme conditions, but they don't give up. I want people to know what it means to be in our circumstances: to walk miles in the scorching sun, to seek shade where there is none, to receive looks and words that hurt, and still smile and move on.

My greatest wish is that there is more empathy and solidarity towards those of us who carry out these works. That our effort is recognized and, above all, that working conditions are improved for those of us who work exposed to extreme heat: access to bathrooms, hydration points, breaks in cool areas, and perhaps some kind of incentive or support to take care of our health. Small changes that would make a big difference.

This story is for those who see us, but don't look at us. So that they understand that, behind every flower we offer, there is a person who fights, who dreams and who, despite everything, does not lose hope. It is also for those who, like me, walk the streets every day under the inclement sun: we are not alone. Let us move forward with dignity, because our effort, although often invisible, leaves its mark.

Andrea Martinez, 40 years old from Ecuador. Street Flower Vendor