26 January 2011
19 January 2011
Guadalupe de vacaciones
In a mauve-colored building, whose paint was peeling back to the wood frame, I saw Guadalupe leaning against the doorway of her apartment, in a vibrant fuchsia, flower-patterned dress. Through the open doorway, I caught a glimpse of a silver, 65 inch, wide screen television behind her.
Guadalupe fiddled with a white envelope in her hand, listening to the conversation of her neighbors, content in her silence. She speaks no English, but those around her, watching over her, share a bit about her with me. Guadalupe is from Honduras. She lives in this apartment six months a year, on vacation. She spends the hot season of Miami in the cooler weather of Honduras, for the other six months of the year.
Guadalupe has a son, and the apartment belongs to her daughter, who is not there. I chatted with a neighbor and the building manager, as Guadalupe stood silently in her doorway, a slight suggestion of a smile surfacing on her face from time to time. She continued to fiddle with the envelope in her hand, not knowing most of what we were saying, yet not seeming to care. She was content. She was on vacation.
Guadalupe fiddled with a white envelope in her hand, listening to the conversation of her neighbors, content in her silence. She speaks no English, but those around her, watching over her, share a bit about her with me. Guadalupe is from Honduras. She lives in this apartment six months a year, on vacation. She spends the hot season of Miami in the cooler weather of Honduras, for the other six months of the year.
Guadalupe has a son, and the apartment belongs to her daughter, who is not there. I chatted with a neighbor and the building manager, as Guadalupe stood silently in her doorway, a slight suggestion of a smile surfacing on her face from time to time. She continued to fiddle with the envelope in her hand, not knowing most of what we were saying, yet not seeming to care. She was content. She was on vacation.
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