Érase una vez you understood it all, lo que decían. There was a time cuando you could eavesdrop facilmente, when riding the bus era una lección en listening. You remember el sonido of the monkeys calling roll until late at night, the smell of café con leche simmering por la estufa. You stall when you can’t think of the right word in your native tongue. You question what makes it “native.” Y sometimes the words arise in dreams, your subconscious recordando lo que you forgot. It’s a certain manera de ser. Repeat after me: que practiques. Que no te olvides.
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