Status Updates From La autobiografia de mi madre

[Decididamente Jamaica Kincaid não sabe criar protagonistas simpáticas nem empáticas! :-)]

She had been beautiful when she was young, the way all people are, so beautiful when they are young, but on her face then was the person she had really become: defeated. Defeat is not beautiful; it's not ugly, but it's not beautiful. I was young then, I was young then, I did not know.

I spoke to myself because I grew to like the sound of my own voice. It had a sweetness to me, it made my loneliness less, for I was lonely and wished to see people in whose faces I could recognize something of myself. Because who was I? My mother was dead; I had not seen my father for a long time.

Until I was four I did not speak. This did not cause anyone to lose a minute of hapiness; there was no one who would have worried about it in any case. I knew I could speak, but I did not want to.