I can't believe I got a major-label record deal. My music was quirky, and my voice was so odd and high and girlish, it was like a weird novelty act.

Puerto Rico has a stray dog problem. Tens of thousands of homeless canines - hundreds of thousands, by some estimates - live and die on the streets and beaches all over this Caribbean island of almost four million people.

I don't have anything to prove anymore. I don't have a record deal, no one has any expectations, I'm in a position of freedom. I don't need anyone's approval.

I've always been a loner, and I've spent most of my life as a single person.

For a long time, music was hope. Now it seems music isn't enough to make me happy. It used to be that's all I needed to keep going. Now I need other things to take up the other parts of my life.

I find myself a fascinating subject.

Human relations, I mess them up, and they let me down.