By Ana Lucia Jardim

I have enough tension on my shoulders to crack a walnut against the wall. This armour has been with me since the beginning, likely since my birth. Maybe it was the forceps, or maybe it was the waiting and waiting for the OB guy to come back from his lunch break. My poor mother. She must have been so tense that she passed it on to me, unwillingly. Now it’s kinda cute when we walk down the street together: who’s got the toughest shoulders?! These days, I like putting my arm over my mother’s shoulders, and kissing her on the cheek.