" The sound of rushing water made its way into my dreams. I dreamed of wetlands where long-torsoed mermaids clung to swamp trees and called and called for me. Their arms were blue and long like snakes. They sang my name, “Chu-u-u-u-la-a-a.” Their voices echoed over the thick mud against trees and sky. In "

― Ingrid Rojas Contreras , Fruit of the Drunken Tree