In one of the mountains of San Jose de Ocoa, Dominican Republic there’s a little wood house that has belonged to my family for decades and it has seen many of my family’s generations born. The bright blue of the wood house is beautiful even though its old, the brightness of the zinc ceiling would let anyone blind. Just as is completely painted blue on the outside is in the inside. The floor is gray since it is made of cement and has no tiles. The interior is filled with many old photographs of family members who I do not come to know. There are two yellow sofas, the decoration is not luxurious but it is simple with a touch of antiquity that to me seems like a history museum.

If you look up at the ceiling you can see that there is no light bulb and that the only thing that keeps the house illuminated are the odd holes in the zinc roof that apparently needs to be changed. It only has one bedroom that at the moment only has two full-size beds that look like they have had better days. The beds are made with white blankets that make them look more comfortable than what they really are. The kitchen does not have a sink a sink or plateau there is only a small four-burner stove with an orange gas tank next to it. If you look at the floor you realize that it has no cement but is made of soil. The place is not very big but somehow it holds many people inside. The place has four doors, two in the kitchen and two in the living room. The doors are made of sticks that do not have much time to have been made since differently from the rest of the place they are not painted sky blue.

That house has seen many generations of my family born it’s my family birthplace. That house not only has seen their birth but also has seen my grandma and siblings grow and have children of their own. That house gives me a sense of safeness that not even in my own no home provides me, it’s like when I am there nothing bad can happen to me or reach me.

Every time I go outside the house I feel millions of bugs biting me everywhere which feels horrible. What comforts me is the combination of pure air with the strong rays of the sun and the shadow of the mango tree that is planted in front of the house. It is a beauty like the rest of the landscape, is green like the past in spring and has many orange mangoes waiting for someone to knock them down. The strong but delicate wind moving the treetops makes a rustling sound. Being there provides an inner peace that would be almost impossible not to be there forever. The pure air floods my lungs and brings out everything. The scent in the air it smells like burnt wood, the most probable thing is that more inside in the mountains there will be some family cooking lunch. The aroma fills my nostrils and as strange as it sounds relaxes me more or just like the delicate wind touching my skin. The contrast of the green trees with the bright colors of the wildflowers and the blue of the sky make that place an oasis that not every human has the pleasure of enjoying. Through the immense patio, you can see the chickens everywhere with their little chicks that take off neither in the sun nor in astonishment. Every time I feed the chickens I can hear the sound of their chicks enjoying the rice delicacy that I have offered them to grow and in passing they are joined by a few birds that have an impressive color and judging by it I can determine what they are Cigua Palmera, the national bird of  Dominican Republic.

The feeling of being alone in the world while you are there is inevitable because the houses are very far from each other and wherever you look you only see trees even if you look far away it is as if you were in the middle of the forest.  Looking at the horizon a beautiful sunset in which the horizon turns pink with a touch of purple and blue giving a new contrast to the greenery of the trees around giving me a sense of peace and purity that nothing in the world would give me is as if I was destined to be there.

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