: A study from the Journal of Prevention & Intervention in the Community
I didn’t have a finca . I had a patio with a lemon tree and a dog with three legs. as a little girl growing up in colombia
, my first lullabies weren’t soft. They were loud. Not violent—just vivo . The crack of a chiva bus backfiring on a cobblestone hill. The pock-pock-pock of my mother patting masa into arepas at 6 AM. The metallic cling of an aguardiente bottle cap hitting the floor during a parranda . : A study from the Journal of Prevention
Si te gustó leer sobre mi infancia en Colombia, puedo compartir contigo más historias y anécdotas sobre mi vida en este hermoso país. ¿Qué te gustaría saber? ¿Quieres saber más sobre nuestras tradiciones, nuestra música o nuestra comida? ¡Hablemos! They were loud
Were we scared? Yes. Deliciously so. But those stories were our inheritance—more precious than gold, more binding than law. They taught us to respect the jungle, the river, the mountain. They taught us that the world is alive, and hungry, and watching.
(a traditional meat and vegetable stew) over an open wood fire. Daily Comforts: Growing up means drinking chocolate completo (hot chocolate stirred with a wooden