There are things to think about before returning to the Island and a Twaddler's life. For instance, can you stand all of that sunshine and fresh fruit?
Bachata on the radio
Un cafecito on the stove
Poetry face down on the kitchen table, written by un primo de mi papa.
Sancocho para mi? Gracias tia.
This is the Island that I know. This is the life of the Twaddler in me.
The me-twaddler is using this assignment to find the avenue for the poetry, the stories.
I walk the trails and feel the hibiscus brush my cheek as I pass because I want the environment of mi familia. Not the money. And I'll do what I have to to be there in it. Learning it.
One day the real words will emerge into the light for others to see. One day the real story will be read. Un dia.
If researching this, will lead me to finishing my real story, then maybe the pay is good.
Hmmmmm...
