In my dreams I die, I kill, and I watch others breathe their last breath.
Since I was 16 years old la muerte has been a constant visitor.
It started when my grandfather died in 2015 and each year since I loose people whom I have close ties with. However, it wasn't until the death of my father on July 2018 that I began to reflect on and question la muerte. It is then when I began noticing that reminders of my mortality and my fixation with death have been persistent and constant throughout the years.
As I attempt to decipher it all, more questions arise.
This body of work is the first chapter towards an understanding of death in Central America and the Caribbean.