Island of Debris: The Unofficial Toll of Hurricane María
“Very deep down I know that we will rise, but for now, I still need to mourn the debris.”
And then the wrath of the wind was replaced by the cruel whisper of the unknown.
I lived almost four years with my not-so-new-anymore-spouse before marrying him, and in that time I managed to create a fantasy where I didn’t go to the bathroom, making him believe that I’m either a princess or a perfect robot. Now I have to announce the purposes of my visit if I go to the toilet, if I have to flush it. I’ve had to overcome humiliation. I’ve tried to convince myself that I’m on a camping trip, one of those camping trips I never liked before, but this time it’s an indefinite camping between concrete and cement walls—camping without an ocean view, without the salty breeze that refreshes, without the sweetness of a make-believe holiday.
my house was flooded, the car doesn’t turn on, I lost my terrace and half of my furniture,Thank God, we’re still alive.
What do you have left?
Edmaris Carazo was born and raised in Puerto Rico, and she writes, dreams, loves, and hates mostly in Spanish. She has been writing her blog, Siempre Jueves, for nine years. After obtaining her Bachelor's Degree in Literature, she got a Juris Doctor (which she’s currently paying but not using at all). She has made a living out of social media for brands.
Carazo wrote El día que me venció el olvido, winning an honorary mention by the Culture Institute of Puerto Rico (First Runner-Up for the best novel written that year). You can buy it here!
More in this series
A woman living alone has heard every story about the woman living alone. We constantly negotiate the knowledge of our vulnerability, both real and amplified by stories we’re told.