“But our tiny home is so much more than its four ramshackle walls and lopsided roof would have you believe. Inside, it’s big, full of love. It’s a hospital where my babies can be born. It’s a schoolhouse where my children can learn. It’s a mansion where my husband and I can enjoy the riches of our life together.”

“Yes, it’s true. I can now tell you where cups and plates are to be found in my own kitchen. I know it’s a shock, but soon I may even be able to locate a bowl.”

“In hospitality, people vacation where you live. And so when I stay home from work it’s like a double vacation.”

“What is our life: (Pause.) it’s looking forward or it’s looking back. And that’s our life. That’s it. Where is the moment?”

“What matters is only what’s here. I touch my skin right under my breasts, which is where the little one’s curled, and where he kicks, ‘cause he has to. Like, he don’t feel so cosy no more. Here, can you feel it? I reckon he wants me to talk to him. He can hear me inside, for sure. He can hear every note of this silvery music. It ripples all around him, wave after wave. I can tell that it’s starting to sooth him. It’s so full of joy, of delight, even if to him, it’s coming across somewhat muffled. Like a dream in a dream, it’s floating inside, into his soft, tender ear. I close my eyes and hold myself, wrapping my arms real soft—around me around him—and I rock ever so gently, back and forth, back and forth, with every note of this silvery marvel. You can barely hear me—but here I am, singing along. I’m whispering words into myself, into him.”

“Paradise was always over there, a day’s sail away. But it’s a funny thing, escapism. You can go far and wide and you can keep moving on and on through places and years, but you never escape your own life. I, finally, knew where my life belonged. Home.”