Category Archives: Honduras
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 want to be better about recognizing their cousin—micro-advantages, micro-privileges that lead to a world that bends in my direction, that is softer with me, gentler.
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.”
I sent the email at 3 p.m., and at 3:05 I wondered how they would get the blood from the seats and I couldn’t get it out of my head.
The New Year doesn’t really feel any different. Like birthdays after twenty-one.
I had always prided myself on writing and speaking well, and suddenly I was handed different tools to use; they felt cumbersome and did not fit well in my hands.