Individually, every grain of sand brushing against my hands represents a story, an experience, and a block for me to build upon for the next generation.

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.

Individually, every grain of sand brushing against my hands represents a story, an experience, and a block for me to build upon for the next generation.

I guess it all depends on whom you ask and when you ask. Race, I've learned, is in the eye of the beholder.

Lately, Mami’s eyes have been so dark, I don’t like looking into them because I’m afraid I’ll fall in.

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