There are books written with ink, and others written with the heart. With My Soul in a Suitcase belongs to the latter: it is not just an autobiography, but an emotional diary of a woman who survived poverty, exile, single motherhood, and the invisible scars left by love when it is given completely.
Marta Acosta does not merely narrate; she opens the doors of her soul with the sincerity of someone who is no longer afraid to speak.
Her voice is clear, brave, free of unnecessary embellishments. There is no victimhood here, only dignity. No empty laments, but lessons woven with pain, humor, and hope.
This book is a declaration: motherhood is a political and spiritual act; migration is a rupture that can also give wings; and love—even when unreturned—leaves marks that shape who we are.
To read Marta is to travel with her. It is to cry along the road as she runs with her daughter in her arms; it is to watch a silent child cross a swimming pool in silence; it is to understand that some battles are fought in the kitchen, in a hospital waiting room, or in the silence of a migrant’s night.
But it is also to celebrate small victories: the first job, the flute that brings back a smile, the savings for a toy, the phrase that says, “yes, it exists.”
