They confided in me that the future success of Guatemala depended on one single, simple thing: death of the indigenous.
I was 20 and he was 36, but despite my concerns about him being nearly twice my age, I couldn't live without him.
The fate of our escapade was in the hands of my uterus that morning.
My then 9-year-old sister informed me that "Mommy told me that she only has three children, and you are not one of them."
Being raised in an oppressive religion made my childhood a living hell.
I saw the horror flashing across the faces of the women crowded above me as I slipped down, backwards into the crack between the moving bus and the platform.