Category Archives: Honduras
Another holiday, another rustling through my luggage of words to find poignant answers for the question.
Even when I do speak in accented Spanish, Hondurans often assume I’m from a Honduran afro-indigenous community.
The third time in a short conversation that I heard myself saying, “Well, in Honduras…” I stopped myself. I didn’t mean to be a bore; I simply didn’t have other experiences to draw from.
21. Sometimes my life seems to spark like a live wire, and I feel intoxicated by its opportunity and potential.
This may be the last post I’ll write from Honduras.
If you visit Tegucigalpa, you’ll find more than you expect.
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?