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

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.

For some, excavating the past isn’t an adventure, it’s more akin to tearing a Band-Aid off an open wound.

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.

Paradise is a state of being, more than just the name of a suburb or a home.

Being Latino means being from everywhere, and that is exactly what America is supposed to be about.

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.