angle got wings 

This is a story about finding a home, about the voices of my mom and dad, about people speaking different languages about the same thing. Like fragments from a very expensive vase, which, in fact, never existed, I collect myself on two continents, in two countries that I call home. Divided into languages, gestures, forms, traits, inclinations, attitudes and attachments, identity cannot stick together and continues to scream. 

I am the angle.