My language and culture—nothing? Savage me, as you sit there reading books to sail, ignoring heaven and nature…
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Of all the places I lived, the beach was closest on Guam. I remember white sand on northern island beaches burning my feet, and those same feet running tourist crowded expanses to the promise of cool, aquamarine lagoons…
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Your eyes watched me faithfully, fingers carefully following the dips and turns of my imperfect singing, matching the patchwork of words to the rhythm of music.
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