I only have one memory of my childhood. A memory that would not make sense without a little bit of background information. I grew up in the Dominican Republic in an area where the living conditions were hard and the surroundings were dangerous not because of robberies or anything like that but more because it was in the middle of the forest and you only had your neighbor to help you survive. It was about a 15-minute walk up and down hills to the bus stop and an hour-and-a-half bus ride to the city. It was by definition the middle of nowhere. It rained all the time and we were surrounded by forest on one side and sand on the other. 

       Growing up there was the highlight of my life. When I was about 5 or 6, my grandmother and I were home alone like most days and it was raining. I still remember the sound of the rain hitting the metal roof of our house and the rhythmic sound of the water falling sounding almost like a small waterfall. The smell of the wet grown and the lemon tree out back. It was like paradise to me. My grandmother and I were sitting by the door in our backyard which looked out into the forest. We sat eating mangoes and singing songs to the rain. I could swear that I saw the trees dancing to our song. I wanted to dance with the trees and I told my mother, she got up and started dancing in the rain. She screamed at me to never be afraid to dance with the trees in the rain. She told me that the trees were my friends because I belong to them as much as they belong to me. I danced with her that day in the rain. I sang to the rain and asked her to turn the water into blessings. I danced with the trees and made them my friends. To this day I do not use an umbrella when it rains. I just let the rain wash over me, just like it did that day.

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