Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Not just stories...

Growing up, my paternal grandmother and my aunt would always enlighten me with stories about my childhood in the DR. My grandma use to always tell me how I would go up and down the streets calling out “abuela, abuela!” and when she didn’t answer I would call, “Mauricia, Mauricia!” finally, in my last attempt to get her attention I would yell, “Mama, Mama!”

My aunt always tells me the story of how one day I walked into the house asking her for some pesos. Out of no where I called her “Tia Bolanga.”

The other day I ate a tamarind Skim Ice, which is sort of like a frozen pop. When I tasted the sweetness and sourness of the tamarind, I felt like I had eaten it before. Some where deep in my taste buds little brains, I knew that 18 years ago tamarind trees were a part of my life.

These and other stories are becoming actual pieces of my childhood puzzle. As I walk these streets today I faintly recall the smells, images, and footsteps of what was once my world. I am grateful for this opportunity and as difficult as it may be, I am here.

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