Birthday Feast!

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Today was a great day and a great way to end a long month at my grandmas in Ojocaliente.  My aunts decided to throw me an early birthday party since I will be spending my 31^st birthday on a bus on my way to Juarez.  Early in the morning everyone was up getting the house ready for was going to be a good time.  Here no one needs an excuse to have a good time but when one happens then it is enjoyed by all.  I knew it was Sunday and that my aunts, uncles and cousins come to visit grandma and share a meal but I didn’t know the day’s festivities would be in my honor.  Grandma warns me and tells me I better take a shower because more people would be coming today.  I ask her if people are coming over to say good bye to my aunt and I who are headed back home and she tells me that today’s dinner is in honor of my birthday.  My birthday is not for another week but I am happy that while I am away from my husband and my family that someone else has taken an interest in my special day.  I am in the back picking up sticks for wood to burn to take a shower and I suddenly realize that this will be the very first birthday I spend away from my family.  Every year weather they remember or not I am always home to spend my birthday with my family and this year I was thousands of miles away and no one to share it with.  For the last three years my husband makes a bigger deal out of my birthday than me and he is such a great man that he always makes sure to make me feel special and alive.  He takes me on trips, buys me flowers and always writes me thoughtful and tearful birthday cards.  Today I would have none of that.

Aunts mobilize and the house is a fury with people running back and forth cutting and chopping meats and vegetables.  They sent me out to buy oranges, tortillas and chocolate.  Mole, yesca, nopalitos, ensalada de zanahoria, frijoles, rice, pastel de dulce de leche and arroz con leche were all on the menu today.  This is the time where you read this and your mouth begins to water.  Mole is a traditional Mexican dish that is made with several types of red chilies, dark chocolate, cinnamon and orange peals.  It may not sound good to you yet but what they make is this red paste that is watered down with the chocolate and the orange peals and this delicious semi sweet chili sauce emerges.  It is then poured over various types of meats, in our case we chose shredded chicken.  The chicken had been killed yesterday, boiled, plucked and clean for today’s celebration.  Yesca is something that was new to me but was by far one of the most delicious foods I’ve eaten.  Butchers take the pork skin and sometimes some of the meet and deep fry it in a large pan or “caso”.  The fried pork skin is eaten as “chicharron” and the fried meat is eaten as “carnitas” when it is all over the little left over parts that remain in the pan at then end are gathered, dried and pressed into a large brick.  The butcher later sells the bricks by the kilos.  My aunt chops it up into small bits, fries it a little and cooks it with green and red chili.  Nopales are also traditional to Mexican cooking, they are the cactus most of us in California are used to seeing, round and prickly and on the side of the road.  Here they take the cactus and remove the thorns with a knife, cut the cactus into smaller parts, boil it and remove the slimy part of the cactus.  Once removed from the boiling water they can be cooked in many ways for today’s dish it was served cold with tomatoes, onion and green chilies.  Lastly was a carrot salad with shredded carrot, crème fresh and Mexican mayonnaise.  If you’re wondering there is a difference between the mayonnaise we eat in the U.S. and the one in Mexico here it’s made with lots of lemon and people leave it un-refrigerated until it’s all gone.  Fresh home made beans left to cook slowly in the pot half the day, delicious white rice with vegetables and the meal is complete.  Desert was no joke either there was home made sweet rice which is rice made with whole milk, sweet and condensed milk, cinnamon and raisins.  Lastly for the cake there was a decadent and moist cake covered in caramel and whipped cream. 

I won’t talk about how sad I am not to be spending the day with my husband and family.  I will only say what an amazing day it was and I am glad that after 23 I could share it with family I haven’t seen in many decades.  

Looking forward

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Not much sleep last night I am anxious to be home and knowing that I only have one more week is keeping me awake.  I think about all the things I want to do when I get home and all the plans I want to make with my husband.  Jobs we enjoy, our own home, the ability to help our families and our community again I am looking forward to all of it.  Although, most of all I am looking forward to not being afraid anymore.  Not being afraid to get a job, to drive and to get sick and being able to take care of my family like I want to and how they deserve.  I have waited 23 for the ability to do all those things and I am one step closer to it. 

I was seven when my world was turned upside down and I had no choice in the matter and so for 23 years I have lived in fear, shame and desperation.  All while telling myself that things would one day change.  I am 30 and I still don’t believe that.  The only thing that has changed is my location and my separation from someone I never thought I would meet (my loving husband).   

Traveling

Friday, August 12, 2011

Today is another shower day and I am happy to feel warm water on my skin again.  I am sad that I have to leave my grandparents house but I know I have to go visit my mother’s mother in Valparaiso.  She misses me and calls me constantly to ask me when I am headed over there.  I know she wants to see me but for the last few weeks I have been glad to help my grandparents while they were sick and while I could.  Running back and forth to go get the day’s tortillas and bread, grocery shopping on daily basis for fresh fruits and vegetables and picking up medications has been a pleasure.  I wake up early and feel the need to pack.  I am not leaving until Monday but I am anxious to leave knowing that in just one week I will be making my way back to Juarez and hopefully back to my home once again.  

Foreigners

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Today I am reminded about a truth and sad reality that if I have to relocate I would be almost useless here.  According to Mexico I have a second grade education and do not qualify for any jobs that require formal education.  I have an Associates Degree, Bachelor’s Degree, and Masters Degree all from American Universities and they are literally worthless in that country and this one.  I can’t tell you I am excited about this reality and on the contrary I find myself being more and more lonely and depressed.  I have always been “the strong one” my family, often accused of being cold and heartless and today I feel everything. 

I feel exhausted and shattered.  What would I do if I had to move here?  Worst yet, what would E do if he had to move here?  If I thought I had it bad he has it worst, according to the Mexican constitution foreigners have an almost impossible chance of working legally here.  Foreigners are the last people on the list of possible employees, if a company needs to hire as long as a Mexican citizen meets the requirements they have preference over foreigners.  With the dismal job market in the U.S. and in Mexico both of us are looking at a lifetime of hardships.  E doesn’t speak the language and has medical problems that he couldn’t get treatment for in Mexico because of the lack of health care.  Our roles would be reversed, he would become the foreigner and I would still be worthless. I won’t even start with the heartache our departure would mean to our families.  No one in E’s family has even traveled to Mexico on vacation and they would be forced to live without their son, brother and uncle.   To the U.S. this is a mere “inconvenience” but to us it means broken dreams and shattered lives.  It mean rebuilding but at the cost of many lives.  Who would we become?  What would we become?

And then there were three.

Wednesday, August 19, 2011

The longer I stay here I realize that it’s the women in this family who have kept things together.  As I get to know my grandmother and aunts for the first time I am thankful that I come from a line of strong warrior women.  I hear tales of younger days and tougher times.  Grandma tells me how grandpa and her married, her at 16 and grandpa at 25 and together raised 16 children.  Aunts share stories about having so many children in the house and managing such a large household.  I think about the women in my own family and I want to cry.  

Two years ago it was my younger sister who was in my place and after her my mother.  Sister had a one year old child and spent over 2 months in Mexico not knowing if she would return to her husband and child.  Although everyone thinks that a one year old child won’t remember anything I can assure you that her child was scared for life.  At only 1 her daughter went through a depression of her own, the first week she wouldn’t eat or sleep right, she cried all the time and although we let her talk to her mom and skyped her she did not want to see or talk to my sister.  No matter how much my little sister tried to make contact with her daughter her daughter did not.  As the time passed we all worried how long such a young child could live without her mother.  My mother was away for almost 7 months and I thought those were the hardest 7 moths of all of our lives.  Little did I know life had tougher moments in stored for us. 

Mother left behind a husband, three adult children and three granddaughters.  My nieces still cry when someone is away for longer than a day.  I remember that my 7 year old niece confronted me one day and after countless times of telling her granny would be home soon she said to me “stop lying to me and tell me the truth already, is granny ever coming back?”  I was afraid to answer her for fear of crying myself.  I wanted to tell her that everything would be alright and that her granny would be home in no time but I couldn’t do that because deep down inside I didn’t know if that was true.  There were times I cried in my husbands arms and confessed to him that I was scared I would never see my mother again.  My father fell in a deep and extreme depression dropping about 25 lbs from a lack of sleep and food.  He wouldn’t eat for days and spent most of those days in a haze.  The happy go lucky grandpa that played with his grand daughters and took them to the park was no more.  At nights I could hear him crying in his room and I was too much of a coward to go in and hug him and comfort him.  I could lie to a 7 year old but I couldn’t lie to a grown man.  After many months I could hear my mother crying to dad on the phone and begging him not to forget about her.  

With me that makes three the women in our family who have had to suffer at the hands of this horrible immigration system.  The first thing this process takes from you is your pride and self worth.  Without the support of your family and friends you feel worthless.  Not just for those who leave but for those who stay who have to pick up the pieces left by this shitty system.  Now I understand my sister and my mother more than ever and what I don’t understand is how they got through it.  I have to remind myself everyday that today is a day worth getting up for and that today will be better than yesterday and that today will bring me one day closer to my husband and family and though I remind myself I find it hard to believe it.  

Tired

Tuesday, August 09, 2011

I make contact with family again and I am clearly home sick.  I long to be with them, to fight and argue with them and share in all their worries and laughter.  Writing doesn’t seem to be helping much any more and frankly I am tired of writing about my sorrows.  I know I’ve had some great adventures and I am happy to be experiencing all this amazing history and culture but I’d rather be sharing with my husband and my family.   

Broken

Monday, August 8, 2011

Aunt Sol and her family were kind enough to invite aunt Mar, grandma and I on their trip into the state of Aguascalientes.  There is a Sam’s Club there where they do some of their grocery shopping and occasionally visit other friends.  Part of me was happy to have a little piece of home, a slice of pizza maybe a hot dog and some soda but I wasn’t.  Having fresh food every day has been hard on my stomach and has taken some time to get used to, now the processed food is not being kind to my stomach.  I feel sluggish and tiered.  I think it’s interesting how as human we adapt to various environments.  In the U.S. everyone except the Native Americans were foreigners to the land and they had to adapt to the foods of the new lands.  Now I must adapt to food if I want to survive. 

After the shopping trip we were off to our next adventure.  Aunt Sol and her family were taking us to visit “El Cristo Roto” or the Broken Christ, a truly magnificent site to see.  Nestled in this tiny town in the state of Aguascalientes is a lake and in the middle of the lake is a small island where an enormous broken Christ is.  People use boats to get to the island to see the broken Christ up close, but the thing is so massive you can see it from miles away.  I am not sure how tall this figure of Christ is but I can tell you its a couple hundred feet tall.  An impressive site, the Christ is missing an arm and a leg and is the reason he is called the broken Christ.  Legend tells that a few hundred years ago a priest came across a man selling crucifixes with Christ on them.  He noticed a Christ with a missing leg, arm and face.  Feeling sorry for the broken Christ he bargained with the store clerk until he gave him a good price for the crucifix that was so obviously in need of repair.  With every intention of taking it home and fixing it he heard gods voice tell him “leave me broken, so that when you look at me you are reminded of your brothers who are like me, crushed, indigent, oppressed and mutilated; without arms because they have no possibilities or means of work; without feet because they have blocked their way; without a cross because they have taken away their honor and dignity.  Everyone forgets about them and turns their back although they are like me, a broken Christ.

The story is beautiful and I find solace in hearing it even it I often don’t believe.  I stand underneath the broken Christ and wonder if he really exists does he remember I am here?  Does he remember that I am far away from my family and missing them terribly?  Around the base of the broken Christ are 12 boxes with various crucifixes on them with different representations of Christ throughout history.  I look at each one of them and wonder how things have changed through out time.  Unlike the broken Christ in the story this broken Christ has a face mainly the tour guides explain because people are too shocked to see a Christ with no faced.  I am surprised to hear that there are still things that shock people because lately it seems like we are willing to accept anything no matter how horrible.  I feel broken too only I have a broken heart.  All of me never looses hope of returning home but the small fear inside wonders if I ever will.  My heart is broken at being separated from my family and god isn’t speaking to me telling me what to do.

Giving thanks everyday

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Another Sunday has come and gone and family gathers for Sunday lunch once again.  Aunts, uncles and cousins travel from other cities to have lunch together and to do grocery shopping for the week.  Although my aunts and their families live in the main city they come to Ojo for all their fresh fruit and vegetables and the occasional family favorite treat they can’t find in the city.  I am intrigued at the family dynamics I have missed over the past 23 years.

Watching everyone gather around the table for a meal together reminds me of my own family and the traditions we have learned to adapt to over the years in a foreign country.  My aunts listen as I describe what Easter and Thanksgiving are like, holidays not shared by Mexico.  When people immigrate to foreign lands in search of a better life there is so much they leave behind.  They leave behind, family, friends and traditions.  Here the pace of living is calming and no one is high strung to get to the top.  Traditions as well as holidays are honored and respected, rather than commercialized and high strung.  I tell them the purpose of Thanksgiving and explain to them that it is a time to be together with family and give thanks.  They ask “shouldn’t you always be with family and give thanks everyday?”  I don’t know how to answer.  I think long and hard and wonder if it’s hard for me to be thankful everyday when I am reminded that I am worthless and a criminal every day I wake up in the U.S.  Although here I not feeling very worthy either.  As someone who has abandoned their country I am not looked at very favorably.     

History

Saturday, August 6, 2011

This forced vacation has taught me so much about myself, my family, my culture and my roots.  There is a saying I’ve heard that says “how do you know where you are going if you don’t know where you come from”.  I find that to be truer now than ever.  A friend suggested I get a hold of a medal with St. Jude and wear it for protection, when I suggest it to my aunts they are quick to take me straight to him.  My aunts and I awoke early before the sunrise to get on the bus to go to Nuevo Leon, Zacatecas home of “San Judas Tadeo” otherwise known as St. Jude the saint of all lost and difficult things.  I am hesitant to ask someone I don’t believe in for something that seems so impossible.  I struggle everyday to believe that god exists, that these saints can act in my favor to help me with the things that god cant.  But as usual I am filled with more questions than answers.  Aren’t there war going on the world? Why would god or these saints listen to my requests when there are people actually dieing?  I arrive at yet another church built on the backs of the poor.  It is elaborate and beautiful and in the middle of the altar a beautiful saint behind glass waiting for me to arrive.  I kneel and I pray with my aunts, because although I still find it hard to believe I like to honor those who do and the traditions of this place.  The part of me that doesn’t loose hope prays and hopes that I can get back to my husband and family and that my brother find peace and gets out of the mess he got himself in.  More than anything I wish for all this to go away, for me to be the last person who has to go through this, the last person who has to be removed from her family and home and transplanted in a foreign country.  Because at the end of the day that’s what this is to me, a distant and far-off “foreign country”. 

After we leave St. Jude my aunts decide to take me on a detour to “La Quemada” an archeological site from somewhere around 500 BC.  There are ruins of primitive pyramids and cities.  The people here were farmers, chemist and astronomers like many of our Aztec, Mayan and Zapotec ancestors.  Only these people we know very little about.  The excavation site has only been 5% unearthed and there is so much still left to learn.  What we do know is that they believed in human sacrifice, played a game of “soccer” that could last for up to 12 hours, traded good and services with others in the region and from afar.  There are unique things that separate these people from others in our history, for example, their pyramids were centered on the compass so rather than have the main entrance face the north it was the corners of the pyramid that aligned with the sun.  The people in this region were also taller than our previous ancestors; the average woman here was 5’7.   It wasn’t until the Spaniards started to mix with these people that their heights started to drop.  I’d like to think that we could have take over the NBA and have our own Jordan’s.  The place us absolutely magnificent and there is beauty at every turn, standing on top of a mountain the city overlooks the plains and the people it protected.  “La Quemada” stands for the burn, archeologists have found that at some point in the history of the place there was a great fire and most the place burned down.   However, according to the history of the place it was first called “The Place of the Seven Caves” in their native language.  However, they have yet to find out why they place was called that since they have not found any caves in the area.  But considering so little has been uncovered it is possible that in the mountains lay caves with more stories to tell.  There are five levels to the city and I manage to make it to level 3, I look around and wonder how we managed to complicate such a beautiful world.

The day is not over because today distant relatives have decided to put long time family feuds aside to gather at a family ranch for a party.  All I know is that grandpa’s family has been feuding through out the years over land and money.  As always, it is the children, grandchildren and great grandchildren who suffer the consequences of those feuds.  I don’t care though because to day I am in a place filled with people who carry my last name.  For so long I have grown up with people mispronouncing my last name and being the only anywhere around with my last name and today no one asks how to pronounce it because they all have the same name.  I am excited to look at part of my family tree and see where my nose and eyes come from.  There are goats being cooked up as “birria” and pigs turned into delicious “carnitas” and “chicharrones”.  Corn on the cob is grilled in its husk and people are enjoying the day and each other.  Traditional bands play music in the background amidst laughs and whispers filled with jokes and gossip.  I am tiered from the day’s journey but invigorated at the site of a family gathering.  This is as close to home as I am getting for now.    

Ballet del Folklor

Friday, August 5, 2011

Today I had the pleasure of experiencing another part of the international “Ballet del Folklor” a now annual tradition of Zacatecas.  My aunt Vic invited aunt Mar and I to travel to Zacatecas and catch part of the last day of the week’s long festival.  Aunt Mar and I arrived to beautiful day and a city alive with music and dance.  The buses were full and the streets were bumper to bumper with cars, bikes and tourist all eager to see some of the world’s finest dancers.  We arrived at the historic “Palacio de Armas” or the Palace of the Arms where the “Presidente” or Governor of Zacatecas resides.  People see this place as the “palace of the people”.  Here people come to protest and take issues to the closest cabinet of government.  But today the place is alive with beautiful and colorful dance costumes and music from worldly places. The state takes various places around town and transforms them into stages where anyone can come view the dance troops.  It is important for this government to promote culture and mostly a sense of peace pride and safety.  With all the violence in recent time’s people need positive outlets to turn to.  Today for all of us it is dance.  On our stage is the Canadian troop once again who waves at us in recognition and joy to see familiar faces, the state of Sonora, Mexico and Japan follow.  Delicious smells surround us, people here make an honest living any way they can.  There is traditional candy being sold everywhere like the “greñudas” and “galletas the leche” fresh shredded coconut covered in honey or caramel and delicious cookies layered in home made sweet candy made with milk.  Popcorn and home made potato chip vendors line the streets along with the ice cream and food vendors.  Our fingers and bellies fill with the local street food and we sit back to watch the dancers perform.  Sonora along with their personal “banda” transforms traditions from their region into song and dance that amaze the crowd.  Canada and China become favorites with the crowd predominantly because it’s not something people see here everyday.  The music and costumes are exotic and the crowds roar with excitement.  Although short lived because soon after the rain runs us out of the town square.  Thousands of people run for cover and the streets fill with everyone including us not prepared to see rain today.  We run into a Starbucks and I am comforted again with the smells of home.  Frapuccinos, flavored coffees and teas fill the air and we take the edge of from the cold rain with warm cups of coffee. 

The rain subsides and we are back out on the streets of the city.  Darkness has fallen and the city is alive.  I am not sure if there were more people during the day or at night but I can tell you that the city feels more alive now than before.  The thousands of people have come back out to the streets for food, mingling and lots of shopping.  Lights and music fill the air, people dance in the streets and the sound of laughter and happiness is everywhere.  These are the moments I wish I could share with all those who I love.  Not the pain and suffering that surround me lately.      

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Got bad/good news today about my brother.  I wish him well and I wish for his kids to be able to have a father who is happy and who loves them like they did one day.  I know it’s easy to judge and talk about how people should not immigrate illegally or go back to their countries but until you’re in that situation, you will never know what that decision is like.  I think about my brother now more than ever if only because being back in Mexico brings back so many memories of us as children.  And I wonder if our family will ever know happiness again.  I can’t help but feel angry at the life we were given and the suffering that made my brother this way.  I wish so much that brother hadn’t suffered all that he did so that today he could enjoy his kids and his wife.  It is the innocent children who must suffer the choices of the adults.  Brother, sister and I didn’t choose this life, it was chosen for us and for the most part it has been us who have suffered the consequences of those choices.  Republicans must not know what it is like to suffer and loosing the last election doesn’t count.  I hear them and others all the time criticizing and judging.  Like any country I know it needs to protect its borders and its citizens I just wonder if it has to be at the expense of the less fortunate. 

Water water

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Water is back, halleluiah! We took shower early in the morning in case it decided to leave us again later in the afternoon.  I feel like a new woman with brushed teeth and a smell of clean on my body.  Aunt Mar and can’t wait to go outside the house again and see daylight outside of the house walls.  Grandparents’ house is big compared to the houses in the areas and is over 100 years old.  It beauty is mesmerizing and one can get lost just looking at all the intricacies of the place but sometimes its nice to walk the streets of the city and just watch it live in front of you.  My aunt is over 90% blind and although she can see some colors and shadows I must help her navigate the streets and the people on them.  She makes me think of my brother who suffers from the same fate as my aunt and although he hasn’t reached the severity of her blindness he will someday soon and I hope for him he has medical care.  One of the tough things that come about as a result of being undocumented is the lack of medical care.  Brother was almost a teenager when his blindness was diagnosed and it was due to a severe ear infection that it was even caught.  I remember the horrible pain he was in when the ear infection invaded his body.  With out medical care his ear and the side of his face were swollen to the point of deformation.  Mom and dad suffered while they saw his pain and at the thought of not being able to do anything for their son.  Around the same time a flyer reached our door step “Taiz Chi Medical Clinic” was coming to town and it would set up shop down the street from our house. 

The traveling medical clinic consisted of doctors, dentists, nurses and other medical professionals who as a result of their Buddhist beliefs had to donate some of their time to help those who needed it.  Lucky Farms, a local business was the sponsor and I will never forget the lines and lines of people who were there early in the morning in hopes of being seen by a doctor.  I was 15 when I remember my eyes watering up at the sight of so many people in need.  The U.S. is supposed to be a first world country with benefits unheard of in others and here they were, the tiered, hungry, poor and the middle class all waiting for the chance to get some aid.  We were only in line for an hour or two when someone noticed my brothers face and moved him to the front of the line.  The doctors took one look at him and I had to translate that they might have to call an ambulance to take him to the hospital.  My parents were scared; they didn’t want to go to the hospital because if he was treated there surely they would know we were illegal and call the police.  My parents begged me to ask the doctors for another alternative and with hesitation the doctors cleaned his ear and gave him medication for the infection and for the pain. Almost immediately brother felt better.  They would not let us leave with out having seen all the other stations, the dentist and the eye doctor followed.  It was there that a doctor noticed the odd shape in brothers’ cornea and retina and began to look at it further.  I remember the look of horror as the doctor asked me to translate that my brother would soon go blind.  His only options were a lengthy and experimental surgery or an eye transplant.  Mom and dad were sad to hear that their little boy had gone unnoticed and untreated for so long, but being treated would have to wait longer.  There in a parking lot under make shift tents brother was told he would one day soon loose his ability to see.  I’d like to think brother was strong that day but the days, months and years that followed proved otherwise.  Since then I have returned every year to that traveling clinic and have volunteered my time and translating services to ensure that the English speaking doctors could communicated with their mostly Spanish speaking patients.  That was over 15 years ago and I hope someday I can continue to help them like they helped my brother. 

Recycle, Reduce and Re-use

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

We did absolutely nothing today.  Aunt Mar (blind aunt) and I spend the day lounging around.  Our plans were ruined early this morning when the water went out and we couldn’t take showers and go out on the town.  Talk about recycling, here they take it to a whole new level.  I sense that here it’s not about the ozone and saving mother earth as much as it is about a way of life.  Excess food, crumbs and spoiled goods make their way into the white buckets which is picked up once a week from a man who uses it to feed his pigs.  Have hard bread, leftovers or food that won’t get eaten by the end of the week?  There are people who have less than you and would be happy to help you sweep or mom your porches or help with any other chores for those scraps.  Anything made out of paper or cardboard goes into a different bucket.  The wood, paper and card board is used to fire up the boiler for a hot shower.  Yes, they recycle plastic and aluminum bottles here too and small fees are paid for them at the local dump.  The weekly bag of trash that is generated by all of us on a weekly basis is a small grocery bag of trash, on a week filled with lots of relatives maybe two and when grandma and grandpa are here alone they may not have any trash generated between them.  A garbage truck comes around once a week and instead of 10 or 20 gallon size plastic containers they take one or two small bags from each house. 

Water, I have come to find out is a rare and scarce commodity around here.  I have learned so much from my trip here and one of those things is that I am spoiled and take so much for granted.  At home I am used to a daily long shower; I shampoo and condition my hair, shave my legs, lather up my face, scrub my body with body wash and brush my teeth.  Besides my family and friends I miss long showers, manicures and pedicures the most.   Although now I know so much of that is wrapped up in all the beauty bull shit we’re fed in the U.S. and our vanity.  Here water is a necessity and thus should be treated us such.  The state of Zacatecas takes all the water it gets from rain and rivers and distributes it to the local municipalities or counties.  What it can’t gather it buys if there’s money.  The local municipalities distribute the water to its residents.  Sounds simple but if there is no water for the county then there is no water for its residents.  Water can sometimes be gone for a few hours or a few days.  Today is one of those days when there is no water and so dishes get left in the sink, no clothes gets washed and no showers are taken.  In the last few days there has been little rain but the few drops have been collected and saved in bins for times like this.  Rain water allows us to feed the plants and animals but more importantly it allows us to lush the toilets.  I never though I would be so happy to say rain.  So many are things I have take for granted that I promise to appreciate them more when/if I am allowed to return to my home and family.  Today I read, write and sit with my thoughts, a dangerous thing to do so far from home but there’s not much else I can do. 

Canadian Friends

Monday, August 1, 2011

I feel like I am trying to recreate the Diary of Ann Frank only there are no Natzy’s here and no one is trying to kill me.  I write and I write with hopes that people will read my words someday and talk about this dark day in history.  How we used to make borders and place people with guns at them and prevent others from crossing.  I want my children to not believe that that day once existed, but today is not the day and I am not that person who will change history.  I am just a woman homesick and sharing her thoughts with those who want to read them.  I head out to the local Cyber Café to post new entries to my blog and I spend three hours and way too much money on being able to connect with the world.  I chat with friends and search the internet for news of home.  Having any connection with home feels me with a little bit of joy and I make my way to the local juice shop for a “choco-mil” or chocolate milk only this one is treated with fresh shaved ice and tastes more like a shake than plain chocolate milk, I order a fresh strawberry one.  I walk through the town looking through the windows of local shops offering everything from food, candy, clothing and shoes lots of shoes.  My fruit guys is set up when I turn the corner an I buy a big cup of mango and back home for lunch. 

My blind aunt who is staying at my grandmothers for her summer vacation hears of an event in town and senses I could use a mental break.  She may be blind but she can sense that I need some cheering up.  We sit, laugh, and share jokes and stories, head out to the town square and notice that whatever is going on is going to be a big deal because there is a stage and a Mariachi.  Young people practice dances on the stage and the techs adjust volumes and microphones.  It turns out 16 years ago the governor of the state of Zacatecas decided that the state would create an annual festival celebrating folk music and dance.  Dance troops travel from all over the world for this annual celebration.  Sunday was the opening of the festival with a parade of all the dancers that will be performing for a week long at various places in the state capital.  After finding much international success with the festival the state decided to send out the troops to other cities in the state so people who could not travel to the state capital could still enjoy the beauty and culture that exists through music and dance.  Today we are lucky to have a dance group from the state of Colima here in Mexico and one from Canada.  I think it’s funny that I had to travel to Mexico to meet people from Canada, but this world is really so small that you can meet people from all over the world anywhere. 

As we wait for the dancing to commence I look around and watch the local vendors start to set up to sell local candies and street food.  Within the joy in the day I notice the local police and military.  Some wear face masks and others don’t but all of them wear machine guns.  Children play and run about while these men walk through the event machine guns in hand and fingers on the triggers.  We are all reminded that there are dangers here and even an innocent event can turn into a bloody massacre. The towns “presidente” shows up to make a speech along with other “respected” politicians from the area and all of them mention how beautiful it is to see the town square filled with families on a Monday night.  They express hopes of being able to forget the violence that surrounds us and hold more cultural events like the one we will see tonight.  I tell you though, it’s hard to picture those days when men stand behind you with machine guns.  The music plays and people sit and stand in awe of all the beauty.  Mexican and Canadian dancers take turns showing us regional dances from their parts of the world.  Young and old dancers join to bring a night of joy and hope to this little town.  I am fascinated by the Aboriginal Canadian dance group and I feel compelled to thank them afterwards.  I approach one of the dancers and thank him for coming all this way.  I am immediately surrounded by all the Canadian dancers eager to hear someone speak English to them so well.  I explain that I am from here but have grown up in California.  They ask how long I’ve been here and how much longer I am staying.  I am so happy to be having a conversation in English and I want to keep them here with me a little longer.  They are all kind and say how lovely Mexico is how much they enjoy the town, its people and how difficult the language is to understand.  I bid them farewell and like me don’t want me to go, but I must.  Aunt and I are due back home with “pan dulce and bolillos” for tonight’s dinner. 

I spend the rest of the night dreaming about the beautiful dresses and dances I saw earlier that night.  Shades of every color fill my dreams and every dance starts or ends with a kiss between lovers.  I watch the dances play out in my mind again and wish everyday could look like tonight’s.  There is so much beauty in the world and as humans we can’t stand to have it that way, we ruin it with hate and war.    

Mother Mary

Sunday, July 31, 2011

My other grandma calls and she reminds me that I have to go stay wit her in Valparaiso.  I don’t want to go.  I love my grandma and I want to see her but I don’t want to stay in that house with those crazy neighbors.  Besides, grandma is very religious and mom and sister say she made them go to church every day for 8 hours.  I am not sure if it was an exaggeration but I think it’s the truth, and if god is really there I don’t think he wants me anywhere near his church. 

The weekend in Ojo is filled with people from smaller towns coming to do all their shopping and you can hear the streets buzzing with life even from inside the house.  Inside what is my room for now, I hope, I close my doors and wish the day will roll past me like the wind.  It doesn’t and I have to get up and face the day.  I have to shower, a rare occurrence here since water is very scarce and every drop must be used wisely.   I put on my fake mask filled with makeup and anger.  I have to pretend like nothing is wrong and its eating me up inside.  I get dresses in my nice Sunday clothes and put on a smile ready to great family members driving in from out of town home for Sunday lunch, a regular tradition around here.  Family arrives and I make nice, laughter here and there and the occasional story of days past.  It’s time for church and part of me wants to go.  Am I being punished for not believing?  Is all that is happening to me and my family god’s way of telling me he exists?  I am reminded that if in fact he exists he’s not just a loving god but a vengeful one as well.  I want to go to church and scream at the top of my lungs “why is all this happening?”  Was I an evil person in another life?  I know I’ve made mistakes in this life but nothing that would warrant this pain. 

Church in Ojocaliente is just like I remember it as a child.  All the gold statutes and paintings are still there and so is Christ in his glass coffin.  I look up and notice Mary crying and as if in pain having lost her child and I want to ask her how she could allow my mother to loose her child?  I thought she was supposed to understand and look out for mothers, why is she allowing mine suffer?  I have so many questions.  How am I supposed to believe with all this rage and pain left unanswered?  Somebody answer me, one f these statutes need to get up and say something!  I listen to the priest in hopes of finding some peace in his words but all I find are announcements for the local fundraiser being held outside to benefit the youth group.  I search the church for answers and the light bulb in one of the chandeliers begins to flicker and smoke.  Is that you god? I am listening, but he’s not saying anything. 

I leave the church filled with more anger and pain than when I went in and I wonder to myself why I went inside to begin with.  My blind aunt, grandma and I leave church and partake a little in what the locals do here on Sundays.  Grandma rarely leaves the house and when she does it’s either to buy something across the street for meals or church.  Today’s church outing is forcing her to be out of her element because my aunt and I want to walk around the town square and eat some street food.  One lap around the square is all we get and back to the house it is.  I try to distract myself from thinking but its not working, going back home will only give me more time to think.

When my sister and mother went though the same situation I am in right now I remember how they prayed and visited churches with merciful saints.  They lit candles and prayed.  I find no comfort in doing that and I wonder what is wrong with me.  Am I broken?  Maybe that’s why all these things are happening, because I am not really whole.  I am bits and peaces of trash that life scared about the earth and collected in me.  

June Gloom in July

Saturday, July 30, 2011 Today’s entry is dedicated to my brother, wherever he may be.  

I got some bad news today, the kind that make you want to run home and be with the ones you love.  To bad for me I am thousands of miles away and a border between us prevents me from running home.  I am too much of a coward to actually do anything to myself so instead I turn into a martyr.  My father and mother are devastated; the whole house is in a state of constant worry and nervous tension.  I can sense it through the phone.  I am on the phone with home most of the day and when I am not, I am sleeping.  Finally the sleep has set in and today there’s no room for it.  But I sleep anyways and try to forget that today is real and not just a nightmare. 

My brother was 5 when we took the journey into the U.S.  The family used to call him the “little white mouse”.  He was white with dirty blond hair, green eyes and a pink nose.  Cowboy boot were his favorite thing to wear, he would wear them with anything, even shorts.  Everyone would make fun of him but he didn’t care, he loved his cowboy boots.  One of the few times I remember him wearing sneakers we were running when my mother noticed he had his shoes on backwards.  When she made him aware of the situation he calmly turned to her and said “don’t worry mom I run faster like that”.  My brother often had a way of making you feel like everything would be alright, even when things weren’t.   As he grew older, brother never handled being illegal the same way as me or my sister.  I can’t say our lives were entirely horrible but we did have several hardships in our lives.  Brother could never recover from those hardships.  At an early age he turned to alcohol and drugs to numb his pain.  My parents were devastated and did everything in their power to help him.  He went on yoyo binges and had great stints of sobriety.  I have to say that for a long time he was not my favorite person.  I would often beg my mother to kick him out of the house and be rid of him for good, but how do you ask a mother to give up on their child?  The rational part of me often disowned him as a brother, but even the smallest part of the human me always knew I loved him. 

A few years ago when I was finally ready to let love into my life someone once told me that I could not be with a man unless I was ready to accept him as he was, all of him, with flaws and all.  That if I even had the small inkling that there was something in him that would change after I was with him then I was putting conditions on that person that they might never meet.  At that moment it dawned on me that that piece of advice didn’t just apply to a man I was ready to fall in love with but to all the men in my life.  I had to forgive myself, my father and my brother, and at that moment I choose to love my brother for who he was.  I could not ask him to be something he wasn’t and he was an addict and an alcoholic but he was also a son, a brother, a husband and a father and all those things outweighed the addict.  I know for a fact, because I went through the same turmoil that having grown up in the U.S. as children we were fed a lot of bullshit that we bought into.  “You can be anything you want to be”, “when you grow up if you study hard and go to college you can get a good job and have a good life”, “be like Mike” on and on.  The only disclaimer no one ever thought to include was “unless you’re undocumented”. 

As adults we tend to try to simplify things, it’s either black or white, a crime or not, someone is ether illegal or not.  But what happens to the hundreds of thousands of children who through no fault of their own ended up in that situation.  Are they products of crimes and therefore tainted goods?  Are they just as guilty as the parents and should be given the same penalties?  Should they be sent back to a country they have never known?  Again, I repeat myself as adults it might be easy to find rational answers to these questions but I’ve always thought that “rationality” like “sanity” is a relative term, just like “extreme”.  If you’ve always had money it can be easy to not understand why some people are poor, “work harder” you might think or “save more”.  All things that are easier said than done if you already have money.  When we were teenagers we saw our friend take their driving tests and eventually they got to drive cars, we watched as they got their first jobs and took spring break trips to beach front places in exotic lands and in the mean time we were reminded that we were less than human.  Brother was never able to handle being less than human.  I took that energy and channeled it into volunteering for places and eventually into my education.  I took lightheartedly the fact that I was “undocumented” and I certainly never cared what other people thought of me.  I am not saying that the things they said didn’t always affect me but I used that hurt and anger and channeled in to helping those who had less than me.  Brother man never could get past not being able to do what should have been a right of passage.  I understand him now more than ever and only now do I understand all his hurt, pain and rage.  Unfortunately my bother was always judged by his worst day and so often we sentence people to spend the rest of their lives in prisons because of the worst day of their lives.  I am not saying some people don’t deserve it and there aren’t psychopaths and career criminals out there I am just saying that things aren’t always as easy as we would want them to be. 

Living in the shadows of society and being treated subhuman is no life for a five year old boy.  What hopes and future does that child deserve?  Was my brother not entitled to his life, liberty and the pursuit of his happiness?  In his adult life he has/had a wife and two beautiful girls who love him and who always wished that he could let go of all that rage and anger.  Today brother I tell you I am sorry for not understanding you sooner for joining the bandwagon of people who judged you and for not telling you I love you more often.  I love you June.  

I´m fine...

Friday, July 29, 2011

Today all I want to do is sleep I think the lack of it has finally caught up with me, but I wake up and get the day’s routine underway. Grandma is off to Zacatecas for another doctor’s visit yet again. She went to one yesterday and my aunt called and said the doctor needed her back today for more exams. I am totally worried but no one will tell me if she’s ok, I sense it’s something more than just food poising. Spirits wise she’s up and running again but a little slower than normal. No leaving the house for me today, I can’t bring myself to get dressed but late in the afternoon I stroll over to the bakery to pick up the bread for dinner. I think about my own father at home sick and my husband who is having some medical exams done of his own today. I feel that noose tightening again and it’s easier to just go back to sleep. Every time I talk to anyone from home or E, I feel like crying. I keep the conversations short with hopes that they can’t hear my voice cracking. “I am fine, don’t worry about me” is all I can bring myself to say. I can feel E stressing, between his job, the cars breaking down, his medical exams and bringing me home he has a lot on his plate and I can hear it in his voice. I stay strong for him, because any crack in my voice and he might loose it too and I couldn’t stand to hear him miss me. I know he does but its better left said over text. I am almost afraid to type this because I know he will read and worry. “Don’t worry honey I am fine, just a little bump in the road…I love you.”

Drinking and driving

Thursday, July 28, 2011
Today, I got in a little trouble. Lately when I go to the cyber-café I tell grandma where I am going and I am back in an hour or two, but today I got caught up talking to some of my girlfriends that happened to be online at the same time. I’ve gotten into a bit of a routine here now. Wake up, make my bed clean the room, sweep, and mop all by 7:30am. I sit and have breakfast with grams, aunt comes to pick me up for our morning walk and we’re back by 10 or 10:30. I take off to use the internet and I am back by lunch at 2:00 pm. I write or I chat with family until dinner time at 6 pm when I go buy fresh bolillos and back to my room I go.

Today however, I didn’t follow protocol. I didn’t leave for the café until after 3 and by the time I looked up it was clearly past 7pm. If you don’t get to the bolillos in time there’s a line out the door and you may not get any. I should have gotten the bread and headed straight home, having missed dinner already. While I turned the corner to the bakery one of my aunts sees me and waves me over. I head over to meet her at her clothing shop we greet and she insists I stay and chat with her for a bit. I tell her that I can only stay for a few minutes because I am already late with the bolillo and she tells me it’s ok because she was already over at my grandmas’ house and they had dinner already. We sit, chat and chat some more before we knew it time had flown by and it was 9 pm. I asked her to call my grandmother to let her know that I was ok and that I was with her. She called and no one answers the phone at home. “I’ll try her again in a few minutes” she says but I am worried my grandmother has called the National Guard by now. Half an hour passes and we attempt to call her again and no answer. By this time my uncle insists he will drive me home and I accept.

We call my grandmother to tell her I am ok and one of my aunts answers the phone. She is clearly upset by my tardiness and let’s my aunt know it. Assuming they will take me straight home I braze for what will surely be a strong warning. I am wrong, it is 10:30 pm and my aunt and uncle decide to go grocery shopping and take me with them. We buy the items my aunt needs for my cousins 15th birthday party at midnight and we’re back out on the road, now we go drop off the items purchased back at their house making me even more late. Now they are taking me home, nope, they decide to take me on their almost daily routine run to the liquor store. They buy a four pack of 20 ounce beers and a bag of potato chips, pour salsa inside the bag and hit the road. To my surprise my uncle opens a can of beer and begins to drive. Here it is perfectly acceptable and legal to drive while drinking, although the local speed limit is something like 20 miles an hour it is still acceptable to have people ride in the back of an open flat bed truck, drive with a new born on your lap, talk on your cell phone or drink, all things which I can not wrap my head around. They drive around the town with their beer, chips and me in the back, offer me a drink and when I politely refuse they become upset. I tell them I am not much of a beer drinker and they ask me what I do drink. An occasional “michelada” is the only way I will have a beer and so my uncle takes that as an invitation to stop at the local town square and purchase me a “michelada”. My American paranoia kicks in and I am freaking out about driving around 1. without seatbelts on (optional) and 2. with open cans of beer and micheladas. I sweat my fear in the back seat and pray that that everything will be ok, it is but I still want to crawl in a hole and die.

I am home by 11 pm and the house is a mess about the worries I’ve out them through. My grandmother doesn’t even want to talk to me and my aunt explains their worries. She reminds me that no matter how safe I think I am, I am not. Just recently there were reports of home invasion robberies at gun point during the day here and a few of my aunts’ neighbor’s businesses were broken into. Danger is always looming here and I can not take my safety for granted. I understand, apologize and promise never to do it again while I am here.

E calls and I speak to him, he has bad news. My little “carcancha” or beat up car is now breaking down on him, first his car and now mine. I’ve learned to cry with a smile on my face and without being heard and it just feels like the world is detonating around me.

The Blog

Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Things are starting to settle down and I have more time to think. Not sure that’s a good thing but I make do. I haven’t been able to sleep since Efrain and Dad left not sure why and I don’t want to make assumptions. Aunt Sol invited me to go walking this morning and it was a great distraction. I came back so tired I slept for a few hours afterwards. People here walk out of necessity and it almost seems offensive to walk for pleasure. We walk throughout the town and share the street with cars, trucks, motorcycles and horses. There is no one else on the street walking for health or pleasure like us but we walk fast and with a purpose. My aunt and uncle tell me this is the first walk they have been able to go on for months. Violence took over even this small town and walks were almost prohibited, unless you wanted the occasional, grab, stab or gun shot. As we make our way back from the long walk we pass by the local cemetery. Monuments erected for those who were loved in other lifetimes and in this one. The entrance to the cemetery reads “El Jardin de los Recuerdos” or the Garden of Memories, I am glad I am wearing sunglasses because my eyes water. Almost everything makes me teary eyed these days. What a beautiful title to an otherwise painful situation. The people in there are not dead they live with us in our memories and right now I feel more dead then alive. Am I a memory in the minds of my friends and family? If I have to stay here will they think of me?

I remember when my mom and sister where in my shoes how guilty I felt that life for me went on while theirs stood still in Mexico, the holidays that had to precede, the food that was eaten, the gifts that were unwrapped and the laughter that had to take place without them. Now those things are being had without me and the knot in my stomach grows. I try to let life happen for me too but it is difficult to accept that there’s no room for my dreams now and there hasn’t been for the past 23 years. My aunt and uncle try to cheer me up with some freshly squeezed orange juice a woman pours into a small bag and sticks a straw in. Then off to some freshly made “gorditas” filled with delicious local cheese and strips of green chilli peppers.

I need to make contact with home so I take off to the local “Cyber-Café” to check my email and fill myself with news of home. It’s bad enough that the local Mexican news keeps reminding me that Amy Winehouse is dead. That and the Norwegian tragedy are the only news from outside of Mexico I hear. I sift through my emails once again and come across two that make me sob in the middle of this little cyber café. I know people are looking at me wondering if I am ok not knowing if they should say or do something, but I can’t help it. Sonia CC is the wild and crazy woman that encouraged me to write a blog. Figured it would keep my mind from thinking about something other than home. In some ways she was right. She has read my blog and decides to make me her new mission; she loves my blog and thinks I should share it with the world. I think she’s nuts but she has now gotten her talented designer husband involved in this mess and he wants to secure a website address and a name for my blog. Her email and her husbands genuine interest and like in my words is comforting and brings meaning to my life at a time when there is none. Crazy woman also decides to tell me that she has shared my blog with her sister and that they might want to share it with other women in the Imperial Valley who have an organization based around educating Latina women. I am touched, flattered and oh so inspired to keep moving forward even when I don’t want to. I’ve always thought it would be nice to share my life with people but I figured I am not that interesting, and really I am not. More than not interesting my life is not unique. There are thousands of people just like me in a similar situation with less than I have and more stories to tell. Only I was talked into telling mine on a blog by some crazy woman and I am glad I was.

The second email comes from an unlikely source but not an unfamiliar one. I think this email touched me most. For the record I only share names of those who have allowed me to or want me to so if people remain nameless it’s not by choice but out of respect. The email was from one of my best girlfriend’s boyfriend (stay with me people). Although, he has known me for a few years now and knows of me and about me he has never had an opportunity to hear my story. Rarely do we share such intimacies with acquaintances but in this case my girlfriend shared my blog with him and he felt compelled to write to me. I was touched by his kind words, he shared that he was in the military once and had been away from home and knew what it was like to be home sick. He apologized for not offering to help earlier but for me that email was enough. My words are shared not only to make me feel better about the situation that I am in but they are shared in hopes that someone will find solace, comfort or education about this difficult topic of immigration.

Extreme Hardship

Tuesday, July 26, 2011
I went out to buy fresh fruit like I do almost every morning. There is a man around the corner from my grandma’s house who has a cart filled with delicious fruit and will cut it all for you when you order it. I order a giant cup of mango with chilli and lime juice and make my way to the “Cyber Café”. I need reasons to get up in the morning, I hear my grandmother milling about the house and I get up and try to help her with daily chores. It’s difficult to help such a powerhouse, to help a woman who has done everything for herself since she was 14 years old. So I wash some dishes help my aunt clean some windows and head out to the Cyber Café.

I get news from a friend of mine who happens to be an immigration attorney that he wants to help me with my I-601 application. He has always been willing to help but he saw the resent posts about me being in Mexico and he is worried about me. Last year we spoke about this event and he advised me not to leave because the danger was very real that they could kick me out of the country for a long period of time. I knew then he meant well but at that point fear had not yet set in, only determination. Like I explained to him, there came a point when I was tired of living the way I had been living for 23 years. I was tired of the double life and the constant need to act super human. I am not super, just human and I needed to feel like it for once. Tired of living in the shadows and hearing people talk about what a drain people like me are on the U.S. and biting my tongue. Let’s make some things very clear, I DID NOT choose to travel to the U.S. in search of my parents dreams for themselves and their kids. I DID NOT choose a home, a home choose me, I DID NOT choose what ethnicity I was born or the location of my birth and when I became and adult I DID NOT choose to break any laws, laws were there that prohibited me from being, acting and treated like a human being!

When I was 7 I was devastated when I overheard my mother tell her mother that she was taking her kids and following my father to the United States. I had my grandparents, cousins and friends there, how could she possibly take me away from all that. For a minute there I remember hating her, she was taking me from all I knew and relocating me to a foreign country where I knew no one and no one knew me. Where I didn’t speak the language or know the food or the culture. Then I overheard her tell my grandmother something else, “I need to have my family together, wherever we end up but together. My children still have a father and him and they need to remember that”. She was right, how is a home a home with out family? I ask myself that question now. I have 7 years in Mexico as a child to compare to the 23+ I have as a teen and an adult in the U.S. How anyone can place a worth on that is beyond me, but the U.S. government and many others do it every day.

My friend the attorney sends me a case study to read, so I can be sure to site the right evidence in my case. I am infuriated by what I read. I have a Bachelors degree in Political Science and a Masters in Communication Studies, my dissertation paper was on Political Communication. I understand government, how it works and how a bill becomes a law but most of all I understand how “poli-tricking” (politics) work and the victims it takes. But what I still don’t understand is how some people are given more worth than others, that concept will elude me till the day I die. “All men are created equal” was a fraise uttered by idealist and liars. I read through the case file he sent me and I am appalled by some of the wording used in this legal document, a document setting legal precedent that will decide the fates of so many people. After being denied legal residency at my first appointment I was instructed that the only way for me to return is to establish an “extreme hardship” on my citizen husband. “Extreme hardship” as I understand is a relative term. What is “extreme” to one may not be to another. So to whom and how do you prove that something is an “extreme hardship” to an individual. Apparently, the government has boards that make this distinction and determination they themselves explain that “extreme hardship is not a definable term of fixed and inflexible meaning, and the elements to establish extreme hardship are dependent upon the facts and circumstances of each case” but as you will read below, what is black to one person can be white to another.

‘The common results of deportation are insufficient to prove extreme hardship.’” (quoting Hassan v. INS, supra, at 468)); Shooshtary v. INS, supra, at 1051 (holding that the uprooting of family and separation from friends does not necessarily amount to extreme hardship but rather represents the type of inconvenience and hardship experienced by the families of most aliens being deported);

I can assure you that being uprooted from your family and friends is about one of the most traumatic things a person can go through. People go into severe depression and isolation because of it, but to the Immigration system it is merely an “inconvenience”.

Shooshtary v. INS, supra, at 1051 (stating that the “extreme hardship requirement of section 212(h)(2) was not enacted to insure that the family members of excludable aliens fulfill their dreams or continue in the lives which they currently enjoy”).

Another quote comes to mind when I read this “Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” which again seems like bullshit when you have people enforcing laws that are not enacted to take into consideration a persons current state of living or their ability to dream and work for a better life. “Who died and appointed you lord and savior?” The next quote is my favorite, mainly because it applies to my situation and because I find it deplorable when some people feel the need to cast judgment over others. In this particular case it was decided that the “alien” spouse did not have a right to return to the U.S. to be with his citizen wife, however, the decision was written as such:

Silverman v. Rogers, 437 F.2d 102, 107 (1st Cir. 1970) (stating that “[e]ven assuming that the federal government had no right either to prevent a marriage or destroy it, we believe that here it has done nothing more than to say that the residence of one of the marriage partners may not be in the United States”),

I can’t even be mad at this quote it makes me laugh. To them it is the mere relocation of one individual whose residence just can’t be in the United States. All that Hollywood, Disney, Founding Father’s bullshit we are sold about love, pursuit of happiness and living happily ever after should come with another disclaimer: “Dreams can only be sold to those who establish legal citizenship and are entitled to the full benefits of the law”.

Dios aprieta...God will never give you more than you can handle?

Monday, July 25, 2011
Woke up and washed for the first time since I got here and I have to stay it was something else. I have the option of washing by hand (which is a great deal of work) or with my grandmas washing machine (but not like our at home). I had to fill up the washing machine with buckets of water, put soap inside, plug it in and set it to spin. Once the machine was done washing I took out the soapy clothes and rinsed them in the “lavadero” a cement block made specifically for washing (pictures attached) where I had to rinse them with a hose then wring them with my hands so they could be hung up to dry. May I add there is more soap on my clothes than water! In the mean time there is water all over my grandmas’ back yard with blue dye from my jeans (which were the worst to wash). The day only got better for a minute because by the afternoon my grandmother fell ill and the house was buzzing with relatives wanting to know if she was ok and if not what doctor they should send to come take a look at her. Doctors here still make house calls and a consultation cost you less than $3 USD or $5 if they have to come to your house.

Quickly my aunts strategize for a plan. My grandmother is in bed at noon and doesn’t want to eat or drink a thing so they know things are bad. Usually, my grandmother is up and sweeping somewhere, washing dishes, cooking food anything to keep her active, but today that is not the case. I remember my grandmother when I was little but she was always a little cold and distant. She wasn’t like my mothers mother who was always hugging and kissing us. Now she needs us to take care of here and I hear everyone whispering because no one knows how to. I sense that she was a little distant from her own kids and now they are finding some difficulty looking after her. I don’t know what to do for my own grandmother I feel distant from her and every time I ask if she needs anything she assures me she doesn’t. I see how different she is with the cousins who have lived here all their lives and I know in some ways we feel like strangers to each other.

My family call and I am reminded again that I can’t go home. E tells me my dad is in poor health and part of me wants to run to him and to my mom and see how I can help. He hasn’t been well since the trip and his health is deteriorating fast. I find solace in understanding now how my parents felt when their family fell ill and they couldn’t be there to help. They tell me a water pipe broke in the house and they were left without water for a day. Dad is usually the one who mickey-mouses things around the house or finds a (temporary) fix for almost everything, but with him out of commission the rest of the house has to go on panic mode. Even that makes me nostalgic for home. Now E’s car is out of commission and he’s borrowing dad’s truck. Could anything get better? There’s a saying in Spanish “Dios aprieta pero no horca”, God will tighten the noose but he will never choke, but better understood by the English fraise, “God will never give you more than you can handle”. I like the Spanish saying better because right now it does feel like the noose is around my neck and any moment now it might be easier to jump, but I don’t, for many reasons but if only because my life is not my own it belongs to the voiceless who can’t say what I say and type what I type without fear. It has always been that way; I just don’t always know it.

The U.S. comes to Zacatecas

Sunday July 24, 2011

Today I took a trip through any typical American town there was a Starbucks, McDonalds, Subway, Wal-Mart and Sam’s Club.  Only the town was Zacatecas. My aunt who happens to have a mini van called early in the morning to invite me in to the city.  She was planning on taking her two boys (9 and 13) to the movies and doing some grocery shopping at a larger supermarket in the big city.  Of course I agreed to go and before I knew it our one hour ride by bus was only 40 minutes by car.  As we drove into the city I was amazed at how many American restaurants and stores there were.  We went to the movie theater which had a regular admittance price of $5 USD and inside was a coffee shop, a full restaurant and snack bar.  Price of 2 large drinks and two small bags of M&M’s $4 USD, unfortunately the only bad part of the day was coming all the way to Zacatecas to see Mr. Poppers Penguins (Los Pingunios de Papa/ Father’s Penguins).  Jim Carey is bad in Spanish too, in case you were wondering. 

After the movie, we stopped to get Subway for my cousin, drove through Starbuck to get caramel frapuccinos for everyone! Then it was time to visit the new Carl’s Junior in town which everyone in the car was super excited about.  My cousins had visited a Burger King and McDonalds before in another state but were anxious about the new drive-thru.  Everyone ordered burgers and fries and I had a turkey burger.  They couldn’t stop raving about how great they were and in the mean time I couldn’t believe I came to Mexico to watch a dumb movie and have fast food I have at home, but when in Rome.  We ended the day with a trip to a British department store called Liverpool which is an equivalent to our Macy’s.  Everything was so expensive that I was afraid to even look at things inside that store. 

Just like back home, people love the name brands here too.  Tommy Hilfiger, Nautica, GAP, Guess, Hollister and Areopostle are just a few of the brands on display today.  My aunt was so willing to pay $40 for a Nautica umbrella that she thought it was a steal and $260 for a men’s watch.  At that point I figured all the people in the store must be rich.  My aunt explained that although the cost of living was very low there and food cost pennies on the dollar there were other goods like clothing and electronics that are considered luxury items and therefore cost a great deal more.  I couldn’t fathom paying $120 USD for a Nine West purse I can but at Ross for under $20, then again they couldn’t imagine paying $4 for a little box of strawberries here it would be considered highway robbery and the government would launch a full investigation.  As a matter of fact right now the government is investigating why the price of avocado has gone up so much in the past few months.  The price of food is a serious business around here and growing things locally should afford you better prices so the government makes sure that prices on food stay at reasonable levels according to the cost of living.  After my sticker shock it was time to head back to Ojocaliente for much needed rest and relaxation.

I am reminded that a month from today will be my next immigration appointment and I hope to be successful and head back home shortly after that.  Wish me luck and pray chant, whatever you do to help me out and get me home soon.  Although I was luckier than most to get an appointment so quickly I still run the risk of being denied or my paperwork be delayed and they can request further evidence.  I could be stuck here many more months, years or a life time.  I am trying to think positive and remind myself that I am not a criminal.  I am a good standing member of my community; I contribute to the betterment of it and the people I work with.  I hope that’s enough.