Where you go, I will go; where you live, I will live. Your people will be my people for your God is my God.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Haulin’ Bright Pink Suitcases

It was early.  Or late.   Either way it was the time of the day where you are not sure if you should call it morning or night. Sleepiness should have reigned over my body, but that was not the case. 

Bright pin suitcases filled the car.  My dad ducked in, seat down his cup of coffee, and started the engine.   As the street lights flew by we chatted about this and that, until he finally pulled up to a curb.  He took out my bags, gave a lady $10 to haul them for me, and told her to take care of me. We looked at each other, hugged tightly, saying “See ya later.” 

Several hours later, I looked out a square window unto one of the most populated cities in the world.  We landed.  A woman stamped my passport, and I hauled my suitcases through customs.  Within a few minutes I was hugging tightly to another man. He said he saw me coming cause he recognized the suitcases.  And he took those bright pink suitcases, because well, it was his job then to take care of me. 

After several more hours on a bus, we arrived in front of a big white door in a taxi.  A place I had not seen before.  The man I had hugged at the airport took my the bright pink suitcases, unlocked one door and then another.  He said,

“Bienvinida a casa amor.”

“Welcome home, love.” 

Today, two months have passed since that day. 

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