A mother isn’t the person who births you; it’s the person who rears you and shows you love.

This is what I know about my parents. They spent the next several years trying to forget each other, and me.

I remember feeling that pieces of me were scattered around the world; I belonged to her, Mother Earth.

Shakespeare had it right all along: Love will kill you in the end.

Are Latino-Americans white? Black? Other? Illegal aliens from Mars? Or are we the very face of America?

The hospital room was as cold as dead skin, the hallway crowded with lost souls and reeking of illness.

We travel with the same clan over and over again, from one life to the next, until some ultimate purpose is fulfilled and we no longer need to return.