Brief About me

Hey!! My name is Kalina, and I grew up between Belize and St. Vincent and the Grenadines, where my connection to the Garifuna and Indigenous peoples has shaped my deep commitment to environmental justice. Witnessing firsthand how climate change impacts my homelands, I transitioned from a path in chemical engineering to a career focused on uplifting marginalized voices. My journey into environmental justice began through fellowships that introduced me to intersectionality, community advocacy, and the power of storytelling—a tool I now use to amplify the stories of those most affected by environmental disasters.

In 2019, I was diagnosed with ADHD, a revelation that reshaped how I approach both my work and my personal life. The pandemic taught me the value of rest and how to resist the pressure of productivity. Now, as part of the People’s Climate Innovation Center, I collaborate with young people, offering opportunities for growth while continuously learning from their creativity and boldness. My work is about finding balance—between action and rest, learning and unlearning—and creating spaces where others can thrive alongside me.

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About Me

My name is, deeply rooted in the history of the Indigenous people of St. Vincent and the Grenadines, where I spent the majority of my life. Although I was born in Belize, my identity is intrinsically tied to the Garifuna people, descendants of the Kalinago, who have a rich yet underrepresented history. Growing up in two countries severely impacted by climate change, I witnessed firsthand the vulnerability of my homelands—both of which contribute the least to global emissions but bear the brunt of environmental devastation. This lived reality planted the seeds for my work in environmental justice, though it took a winding path for me to arrive here.

Like many Black women in nontraditional fields, I stumbled into environmental justice. There's no clear road map like becoming a doctor or lawyer (or, in my case, an engineer, which I once thought was my calling). It wasn’t until my mid-twenties, through a series of fellowships, that I was introduced to the concepts of intersectionality, native lands, and pronouns—things that were new to me but instantly resonated with my experiences. I began to see that my identity, my heritage, and the struggles of my communities were all bound up in this fight for justice. As a Black immigrant in the U.S., facing the social, political, and environmental landscapes here only strengthened my commitment to this work.

From Engineering to Storytelling

Before I found my footing in environmental justice, I almost became a chemical engineer.The academic rigor of the scientific method prepared me for research, but transitioning into more qualitative, community-based work was jarring. I found myself questioning the frameworks that valued "worthy" data—data that felt distant and detached from the communities living through environmental disasters every day. The lived experiences, the anecdotal stories of survival and resilience, were too often dismissed because they didn’t fit neatly into academic research.

It was during this time that I rediscovered the power of storytelling, a tool our ancestors have used for centuries not only to document trauma but also to celebrate joy. Storytelling and the arts became vital for me to uplift voices that are too often silenced. As I unlearn the ingrained pressures of striving for excellence, I am relearning how to embrace creativity, not as a luxury but as a necessity for liberation and healing.

The Privilege of Being in the Room

In 2019, I had the chance to attend the UN’s COP in Madrid. There I was, 25 years old, sitting in a room full of government representatives, discussing climate policies behind closed doors. I couldn’t help but notice two things: first, I was one of the youngest people in the room, and second, I was one of the few women of color. Not going to lie, though—it was boring. The energy was stiff, and the endless suits didn’t help. It felt far removed from the communities I cared about.

But outside those rooms, it was a different world. The nonprofit spaces were filled with young people, buzzing with hope, innovation, and joy. That’s where I wanted to be—not tucked away in a room of stiff policies, but out in the world with people who were dreaming up new ways to fight for climate justice.

Discovering Myself in the Process

In the midst of all this, at 28 years old, I received an ADHD diagnosis—a revelation that came with a flood of emotions: relief, grief, joy, overwhelm, confusion, and hope. It felt like I was spinning the wheel of emotions daily, unsure of how I would feel next. But this diagnosis gave me something I hadn’t had before: the language to advocate for myself. Yet, when I looked for stories of other Black women with ADHD, I found very few.

This is where rest became an act of resistance for me. The COVID-19 pandemic, for all its tragedies, forced the world to slow down, and in that space, I thrived. Remote work allowed me to create a work environment where I didn’t have to mask my neurodivergence. I could take breaks, move at my own pace, and maintain my social battery as an ambivert. During this time, I had the privilege of working for an organization led by Black women, where rest and wellness were prioritized. It was there that I was introduced to Tricia Hersey’s work, Rest Is Resistance.

Though it took me time to fully embrace the message, reading that book in 2024 reshaped how I view productivity and worth. I’ve been working on unlearning the capitalist drive to tie my value to my output, and I now intentionally create space for rest in my life. This is still a work in progress, but it’s a journey I know I’m not walking alone.

Where I Am Now

These days, I get to work at People’s Climate Innovation Center, collaborating with young people and offering them the same kinds of opportunities that brought me to this point. And honestly, I learn so much from them. Gen Z is inspiring—they’ve got this bold energy and creativity that I can’t help but admire. Working alongside them feels like being plugged into a new way of thinking about the world and its possibilities.

Why I’m Here

Honestly, I don’t know. I’m just figuring it out, and I hope to find others who want to do the same. So I invite you to join me on this journey—where I may (read definitely) make mistakes, might ghost for a few months, but will always come back to create. I want to build a dreamspace where we can test things out and, as we say at my work, "give it a go." I’m letting go of the need to be perfect, resisting the urge to endlessly tweak, and instead embracing the fun of just being—without a reason or an end goal.

I share my story not because it’s extraordinary, but because I know so many other Black, neurospicy women feel the same. We’re navigating multiple intersections of identity while striving for spaces where we can thrive. My hope is that by sharing my journey—the triumphs, the challenges, the ongoing work—I can help you feel connected, seen, and inspired to rest, to create, and to build communities where we all belong.

Academic Accomplishments

Because I know these things count, and let’s be real—I worked way too hard not to mention them—here’s a bit about my academic background. I earned my Bachelor’s of Science in Environmental Science and my Master’s of Science in Coastal Science and Policy, both from the University at Buffalo. I also received a postgraduate certificate in Climate Change Management from the University of Edinburgh. These experiences helped shape the foundation for the work I do today, connecting scientific research with community-based environmental justice.

For Fun

When I’m not immersed in environmental justice work, you’ll probably find me doing one of the many things that bring me joy. I love photography and writing, and I’m also slowly dipping my toes into learning about cinematography. As for theater—Hamilton has a special place in my heart, and I’ll never pass up the chance to see a live show.

Some of my happiest moments are spent curled up on my couch under cozy blankets, reading Manwha. But I also love spending time with friends. They know my Virgo tendencies—how I need to plan everything and keep things organized—but they love me for it. I’m all about balance, so my mornings are for quiet, usually with a warm cup of coffee in hand.

And while it might seem a bit ironic given my field, I have a soft spot for disaster movies. I guess there’s something captivating about watching the world fall apart on screen!