Individually, every grain of sand brushing against my hands represents a story, an experience, and a block for me to build upon for the next generation. — Raquel Cepeda Copy Share Image
“More than anything, this place feels familiar. I bury my hands in the hot sand and think about the embodiment of memory or, more specifically, our natural ability to carry the past in our bodies and minds. Individually, every grain… — Raquel Cepeda Copy Share Image
Janet Mock's honest and sometimes searing journey is a rare and important look into la vida liminal, one that she manages to negotiate remarkably… — Raquel Cepeda Copy Share Image
“She looks like an empty shell of a woman with her soul hovering above her. We believe in spiritual guías in Santo Domingo. Hers… — Raquel Cepeda Copy Share Image
This thing I am feeling, I’m almost certain, is the closest I’ll ever come to standing somewhere in between truth and reconciliation. — Raquel Cepeda Copy Share Image
“Listen kid, it’s just you and me now, so let’s help each other out. Always be honest with me, and show me how to… — Raquel Cepeda Copy Share Image
“Perhaps finding out that we carry New World history in our genes will transcend racial checkboxes altogether and enable Latino-Americans to rethink what America… — Raquel Cepeda Copy Share Image
Paradise is a state of being, more than just the name of a suburb or a home. — Raquel Cepeda Copy Share Image
“The tension between people is palpable, and the ideal of what it means to be and look American becomes a preoccupation to folks around… — Raquel Cepeda Copy Share Image
The things that come to us easily, our propensities, are carried on a deep subconscious level into our next life. There are no coincidences. — Raquel Cepeda Copy Share Image
The truth is usually left for us to hunt and gather independently, if we are so inclined. — Raquel Cepeda Copy Share Image
The past is buried deep within the ground in Rabat, although the ancient walls in the old city are still standing, painted in electrifying… — Raquel Cepeda Copy Share Image
Nobody, she felt, understood her-not her mother, not her father, not her sister or brother, none of the girls or boys at school, nadie… — Raquel Cepeda Copy Share Image
