There's nothing more true in being a child of a diaspora, a child of immigrants. We're completely new to our parents. We're not something they can ever understand. And it's not as if we are ever going to be accepted. We're accepted as long as we conform to what we are expected to be, and I'm sure that's not any different for anyone else.

Nilda is watching the ground as though she's afraid she might fall. My heart is beating and I think, We could do anything. We could marry. We could drive off to the West Coast. We could start over. It's all possible but neither of us speaks for a long time and the moment closes and we're back in the world we've always known.

I guess it's true what they say: if you wait long enough everything changes.

...sometimes a start is all we ever get.

Run a hand through your hair, like the white boys do, even though the only thing that runs easily through your hair is Africa.

We can speculate. Last time I checked, the future doesn't take my advice.

The whole culture is telling you to hurry, while the art tells you to take your time. Always listen to the art.