When, almost three years ago, I found out that my husband and I had to move to New York, I couldn’t believe it. It seemed like a sign of destiny to us. There is a common thread that ties us to the United States.
My father was 78 years old when I decided to emigrate abroad with my husband for the first time. My father wasn’t too old but not young either.
* I am almost 50 years old, but I still feel like a little girl inside. My husband and I have been in love for 20 years now. I know it’s not a very popular choice, but we have decided to walk the path of our lives alone, without children. Probably some circumstances have influenced …
Six feet apart from my shoes.
—Ashly Cabral Arno
Eating to live; oops, the opposite!
A bad time for lipstick lovers.
In that house, that big house of yellow sandstone with iron balconies on that crooked and black-lava road, the road that seemed to walk on the slopes of the volcano and on which every door looked like a crater, my grandparents lived. My great-grandparents had lived there, their parents had lived there, and so on, out of the time of this story.
I am finally writing to you from New York. I had wanted to do it for a long time, but as you can imagine, one always looks for a moment propitious to the heart and to the imagination these days, when everything is marked by trains, by new appointments, or more simply by the search for food.
Children have a lot of dreams, and when I was a child, my dream was to be a ballerina, like many young girls. Can you imagine a little girl entering a dance studio for the first time, after she has been imagining it for years? I was only five years old, but I remember that …