"The walls of our house were supposed to be white. But I never remember them being white. At first they were grey. Then they turned black from all the coal dust. My father was a coal worker, but not the kind in a mine. He actually made charcoal in the back of our house. Have you ever seen charcoal being made? The little bags you buy in the store for your barbeque, they come from somewhere, and honestly itās a very dirty business. He used to work under this tin roof on our patio, bagging up all the pieces of charcoal to sell at the market. Well, it wasnāt just him. He had his little helpers, too. Before school, me and my little sister would wake up to help him. We were only like nine or 10 years old, which is the perfect age for bagging charcoal, because you can turn it into a little game. When the coal truck would come, we had to carry the bags through the living room and then out the front door, so our house basically turned black over time."
Ćngel Di MarĆa
thank you for never giving up! feliz cumple angel, te quiero mucho ā”
