not even blood
A reflection on Kin, by Tayari Jones
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When I sat on the half-empty plane, most of my things packed into the few suitcases in the cargo hold, I knew I wasn’t alone. Nearby was Cherelle, also headed to Mexico on a one-way ticket. I was beginning to write a new chapter in my life, but I had her beside me, ready to start writing her own. Even if everything else felt out of warp and maybe even seemed insane to others looking in, with her it all made sense.
Last Wednesday I was able to attend the first 30 minutes of LaChelle Chrysanne’s chat on Kin written by Tayari Jones. I hate I wasn’t able to stay longer, but it was Wednesday, which meant I was set to lead The Saddie Baddie Grief Gathering at 8pm. Duty calls. Though the time there was brief, I found myself nodding as people shared their initial thoughts and what it had brought up for them and their own lives.
I resonated with much of what they said, but what I told them is that Kin made me think of my own best friend. How we’ve walked through so many seasons together, bound by both the grief and joy of life. Kin was about many things, but for me, it was about knowing that not even blood could bring you any closer to someone, and this is a privilege some will never know.
For many, family evokes a lot of emotions. It’s something I’ve been unpacking, but even more so lately, especially while reading Kin. While I read Kin, I was on the backroads of the Carolinas as I traveled north to see Cherelle. As I read Kin, I was back in the home of my youth. As I read Kin, I was fresh off an unplanned international move that had left me quickly depleted. As I read Kin, I was and am reflecting on what kin actually is. Is it only a word to describe something, or is it an action? A way of being?
Blood kinship is what you’re born into. It’s the titles already defined by relation, not by how people show up. It’s the reason people have family members they’ve never met and others they simply can’t be around. I have a cousin I haven’t spoken to in years because of the fallout with the sorority and call me stubborn, but I may never speak to her again. She’s still my family. But is she my kin? Am I hers? Not so much.
However, chosen family is different, and it’s all in the name. It’s the people we’ve come into contact with who we’ve chosen to be in relationship with, the people we’ve chosen to grow with, the people who we actively interact with and say “we mean something to each other” and will act accordingly.
I left home when I was 18, going to a college an hour up the road. After that, I moved to the nation’s capital for eight years before packing up my things and moving to Mexico. I’ve spent half of my life mostly away from my biological family and in the arms and hearts of my chosen one. My chosen family has seen me through so many stages and iterations. Crippling depression. Chronic illness. Addiction. Sobriety. Relapse. Heartbreaking loss. Heart-opening breakthroughs.
There are a few people I could talk about here in my chosen family, but right now I’m talking about Cherelle.
Even though I love to point out that I’m six months older and she loves to be annoyed by it, I do believe in a past life she was my big sister, as she is for her younger brother Jake in this current life. It’s not about how she’s treated me, which I will get to, but how she’s carried herself.
I’ve spent the majority of our friendship, in complete admiration of how she shows up in the day-to-day. In the lows. In the highs. In the in-betweens that make up so much of our existence. How she is firm and decisive. How she leads. How she commits herself to her passions. How she does the scary things. How she smiles so freely. How she invests in her wellbeing. How she walks with her head high. How she manages to get things done, even when they seem impossible. How she always seems so sure of herself, even when I can imagine she is at times racked with doubt because, after all, she is human.
To quote the book, “you gave me the care that people save for kin.”
What I’ve learned from having a friendship like this is that most folks don’t even get the opportunity. Sometimes you can be around people consistently and still feel incredibly alone, a black hole where there should be sustenance and support.
Yet at most parts of my life, even when I was stricken with shame and unable to speak my needs, I knew that when I finally found my courage, Cherelle would be the first person I went to.
When I think of the need to weep on someone’s shoulder, I think of her.
When I think of the dreams brewing inside of me that need to find their way into the world, I think of her.
When I think of the fear that keeps me up at night and sometimes afraid of my most inner world, I think of her.
Because I know with her, it is a safe space.
I’ve told her that I pray I’ve been as good a friend to her as she’s always been to me. I’m forever indebted.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Cherelle saved my life.
Every first and third Wednesday, I sit in a room of near-strangers and hold their grief like it’s sacred. I learned how to do that from Cherelle.
As Annie and Vernice, the friends at the center of the book, remind us, no matter how much we care for someone, it doesn’t shield them from the horrors of human existence. However, their presence is what gives you the fortitude to push forward when others would have sooner folded under the weight. I’m only here because of people, like Cherelle, who have loved me so well when I thought myself unworthy of it.
“You showed me that you can love a stranger as deep as you can love somebody you have been knowing for years, maybe easier.”
—Kin
Yet, Kin is complicated. Not just the book, but the concept of kin itself.
What does it mean when biological family begins to feel more like people you knew rather than people you choose to continue getting to know? How do you remain whole when it feels like the parts of family you were born into have long been shattered? How do you build strong relationships when your foundation feels so faulty? How do you live with people seeing you, while still remaining blind to everything you are? How do you reconcile what you need from people with what they’re actually able to give you? How do you deal with the personal shame of feeling the need to outsource what others have so easily received? These are all questions I’m left sitting with even weeks after finishing the book.
After three years of living in Mérida, Mexico, with Cherelle, I came to realize it was no longer the place for me. She saw me off to the airport, this time taking the flight alone, as I began yet another chapter. I was off and on my own in this world, and suddenly it felt larger, because for the years before she’d always been by my side, normally just across the hall.
Somehow, I learned to live and navigate on my own. Learning to do things that I probably wouldn’t have, had she been right there. I was building a bravery in myself that I had seen her exemplify for years. Sometimes you go separate ways to grow, something Annie and Vernice were learning as they lived their lives in Memphis and Atlanta. Something I’ve been learning ever since she dropped me off at the airport. And even with the distance and time passed, your kin will remain your kin.
question for reflection: Who in your life has earned the title of 'kin,' even without blood between you?
I’m a creative nonfiction writer rooted in the South, unpacking the tangled threads of life, death, and the messy moments in between. My essays on grief, mental health, and addiction leave readers feeling more connected and less alone. As a grief worker, I create spaces for people worldwide to gather, share, and live more intimately with loss.
This work, the writing, the grief gatherings, the space-holding, takes real time and care to sustain. If it's given you something, a donation helps me keep showing up for it fully. Every bit matters, and I'm grateful for every reader who makes this possible.
📸 cover photo from Noraa James
FIRST OF ALL HOW DARE YOU DROP THIS HERE AND HAVE ME IN SHAMBLES !!! I was excited to see new writing from my favorite writer especially after knowing what the last few weeks have brought for you… and then THIS 😭 Now im here on the toilet ugly crying and choked up and I cannot even. Warn a girl next time! You are my best friend, my sister, my soulmate forever and ever and I am lucky to call you kin and be yours, too. And this book whew I cant wait for a proper debrief!!! Love you stink!!
This was such a beautiful piece! I finished Kin a few weeks ago and had/have a lot of thoughts about it, what family and friend relationships look and feel like. And I smiled the way you talked about your Cherelle! I believe it's so extremely important for us to have those types of relationships in our lives where we can be out most authentic selves! Thank you for sharing your words, Kamil!