Inside the Twilight

Not all of us are searching for light, nor shadow. The twilight of a full moon on a clear night sky is still bright enough to contour the creek that runs down the mountains, and still enough for the trees to cast their pale shadows.

Life is still and time moves as fast as this train moves through the mountains. Mountains that suddenly became their mountains, casting their moonlight shade on a valley that one day became their valley.

I’m on a foreign land owned by foreign peoples. A foreigner to foreigners. I speak their language, although I lack their tone. My Ps don’t explode, my Vs are barely noticeable, vowels sounding like bowels. Some of them pretend not to notice. Some of them don’t care. Some of them though… they remind you that you are a foreigner.

A foreigner to foreigners.

The ones like me prefer to hide our common origins, our common language, afraid they might be singled out, but they don’t know that their pace is different, their shoulders hang not the same, and the smile with which they greet a friend tells them apart.

I live in this twilight, always in between, never here nor there, but I know deep inside that mom was always mamá, that my love es mi amada, and that the one casting this pale light is no other than la Luna.