It’s no wonder I avoid this place. It’s always one dreadful thing after the other. If it’s not my mother, it’s the chaos, the noise, the higher pitch in people’s voices. I need earplugs. In the eighteen years I lived with my mother, my family moved in and out of each other’s apartments, trading beds as if they were playing musical chairs. They ran across the street from my grandmother’s apartment to my mother’s apartment, back and forth, forth and back, front doors wide open, revolving, with neighbors and family coming through from D.R. One day I thought I had my own room, the next I day I was
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Soledad rejects the cultural norms of Dominican migrants, setting herself apart though she was a participant until she was able to leave.
Also note the language and the use of Spanglish: Tio, campo, Flaca, Gorda
