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I saw this lady lying on the sidewalk in the streets of old Arecibo city. She was just starring at nowhere like if she was waiting for someone with her bags. Ever wonder on what homeless people are thinking when you see them on the side walks or anywhere around? I guess will never know.
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If we are defined by our movement, what becomes of us when we simply stop? We spend our lives constructing narratives of progress, measuring our worth by the distance covered or the tasks completed.
Read the reflection →When I was seven, my grandmother kept a wicker chair on the porch that faced the main road. She would sit there for hours, her hands folded over her apron, watching the cars pass as if she were waiting for a specific engine sound that never arrived.
Read the reflection →
The Rhythm in the Marrow
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