Ears that hear things different than yours do

She starts off in a voice as small as winter, her usually cadence of muttering which often makes me brush her off like autumn's leaves – today makes me stop. Today makes me listen. The hush of her voice intensifies my effort; in her old Spanish, sentences aren't like the Wall Street tickers of my generation's Spanish; clean, fluid. Her's runs like the arroyito she told me she drank from as a little girl, I catch the bulk of her story but certain words that define her, splash in my face as they hit a rocks of my misunderstanding. I struggle to remain intently concentrated, not wanting to miss another word.

She tells me of her childhood, 13 brother and sisters she had, in the campo, on the hill she lived. She tells of when she was twelve and went out with her father on a caballito to collect viveres for her younger siblings to eat. She remembers drinking milk with coffee in it – no water, no boiling. She remembers being so hungry and the hidden gem of a bunch of bananas God placed in her path. How her father told her to eat, eat, eat my child. And how she ate, ate, ate until her barriga was out to here. And then, that arroyito trickling with fresh mountain water, she grabbed a green leaf and drank until she was full. THAT was the bandera, her version of rice, beans, salad and meat. THAT is so many dominican's reality. She smiles like Spring and I am refreshed and entranced by her honesty with me.

So often I walk around this country frustrated with people and wanting to lash out against the cultural insensitivety they've shown to me. I want to find just ONE Dominican that doesn't think I'm odd for not liking bachata, just one Dominican that doesn't think I look funny with my rosy cheeks, just one Dominican that I can sense home with.

But Diose's (my coworker's) somewhat odd entrance into my mental cubicle of "workday"… her sharing life with me spoke in it's subtext about our similarities through stories.

I may be VERY different then so many of my Dominican friends, but one thing is true, that sharing life together is a universal art. And the best part about sharing life together…it is even richer when your lives are so different. If you can find someone who will honestly contarte ("story you") about the seemingly mundane parts of their day – and you, them; the mundaness evaporates as your stories fall on ears that hear things different than yours do.

So, to this I raise my itty bitty cup of Dominican coffee, yes, I drink it amargo (bitter) in many Dominican's opinion but that's ok. It only makes for that much more interesting conversation.