The one sister, Vicky, standing straight up, looking at the camera with a soft, tender smile on her five-year-old face. It is a relaxed expression, a somewhat neutral smile: it could be a smile and it could not be a smile. But the smile lives in her eyes; they give meaning to what the lower […]
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Memory is an odd thing; mysterious, unpredictable, unreliable. It is susceptible to errors. Facts and imagination merge. Fictitious events emerge as memories. She’s not lying, others might say, she’s just confused. “I’m not!” you may say. But can you be certain? Much of my past is inaccessible; if not lost, then hidden, buried under the
When over a period of years I took creative non-fiction classes, I amassed a whole slew of personal essays. I noticed threads that ran through many of these essays: my childhood in Chile, interrupted and uprooted by our move to the US; my struggles fitting in to a new country and culture; feeling my native