Category Archives: Honduras
A few months ago, I found myself at a weekend-long turtle monitoring session on Honduras’ southern coast.
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.
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.