Nobody, she felt, understood her-not her mother, not her father, not her sister or brother, none of the girls or boys at school, nadie - except her man.

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

Our identities are as fluid as our personal experiences are diverse.

We aren’t encouraged to think for ourselves and ask questions. We are expected to accept what they teach us as infallible truths.

When we illuminate the road back to our ancestors, they have a way of reaching out, of manifesting themselves...sometimes even physically.

Globalization by the way of McDonald’s and KFC has captured the hearts, the minds, and from what I can see through the window, the growing bellies of the folks here.

The things that come to us easily, our propensities, are carried on a deep subconscious level into our next life. There are no coincidences.