Finding Home in Ten Days in Goiânia, Brazil
At home, in Goiânia, I didn’t have to be Brazilian; I could just be me.
These are the kind of trees they have here. This is how the water tastes, how the street smells. This is what home is—if there is a home for me, it’s this, it’s here.
Is this enough rice? Does this dress make sense for our walk to the ice cream shop?
Is Mark eating enough? Does he need to take a nap? Someone go translate for Mark because he’s looking confused.
If you need to buy something, just go to the shop down the street! Why does everything have to be so shiny?
This must be what it feels like to be white.
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