Category Archives: Honduras
It is not a partisan statement to say that the U.S. immigration system is broken.
When I first moved to Honduras three years ago, I ate everything my host family ate: beans, eggs, cream, tortillas. Heavy, simple plates—bland, but satisfying. But then suddenly one day, months in, I just couldn’t do it anymore.
I have a sinking suspicion that most issues work this way—they deeper we go, the more tangled we find ourselves, looking in vain for an exit.
What if we heard all accents this way—not as a sign that English is not one’s first language, but as a sign that another language is?
We keep getting messages, some true, some false. It’s too hard to make sense of a moment when you’re in it.
It’s not that I don’t have a sense of humor—with close friends and family I joke, laugh, and make others laugh. But there’s an unshakeable earnestness to it.
I set a few rules—my “day” on the bus would last eight hours, but would include walking to, from, and between buses.
There is increasing political talk in the United States about deporting the migrants who are apprehended at our border or inside of it. There is very little talk about what happens next.
“I’ve always heard birdsong,” my father told me in the car once. “But now I listen.”