“Each time I packed my belongings, I left a little of myself in the rooms that sheltered me, never home, always just the places I lived. I congratulated myself on how easy it was to leave them, how well I packed everything I owned into a couple of boxes and suitcases.”

Esmeralda opens her memoir explaining how frequently she and her family move from home to home. This creates a sense of displacement for her that continues into adulthood. Esmeralda becomes so used to leaving things behind that she learns not to form attachments to things or places. While the ability to pack up her life quickly might come in handy and even be an admirable skill in some ways, Esmeralda also feels a sense of loss at her inability to form strong connections.

“There was no sign we’d ever been there, except for the hillock of blue cement tile on which I stood. It gleamed in the afternoon sun, its color so intense that I wondered if I had stepped onto the wrong floor because I didn’t remember our floor being that blue.” 

Esmeralda returns to her childhood home in Puerto Rico, only to be surprised at the color of the tile, which is much brighter than she remembers. Throughout all her travels to different places, Esmeralda has kept a special fondness for her childhood home and for the happiness she felt in Puerto Rico. However, when she turns as an adult, Esmeralda realizes that she may not have been remembering things correctly, as exemplified by the surprising brightness of the tile. Though she has longed to return home for years, Esmeralda realizes that home can never be entirely what she remembers it to be.