Back in Juarez

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Being back in Juarez is a reminder that this life is not my own.  I am greeted by news papers with headlines of death and violence.  People think that if you are in Juarez to go to the consulate or a hotel you must have money and everyone wants a piece of it.  The cabs charge you an arm and a leg to take you a mile up the road to ensure that you take no money back to wherever you came from.  My bus arrives early and I must wait for dad whose bus is very late.  I honestly think that I have lost all fear by now.  Everyone insist on treating me like a poor defenseless woman but I feel like now that I’ve been through this what more could someone take from me that hasn’t already been taken by this immigration process?  I have no money, no self esteem, no jewelry and very little hope left, but they can take what’s left of it.  Dad arrives and I am happy to see him and sad that others aren’t with him.  Of course I knew they wouldn’t be but again that last bit of hope wished that I could see more of my family again.  Just as close my sister sends me a beautiful birthday card and some money which is always welcomed I read her card a few times and close it quickly before I begin to cry.  A bag filled with stuff from my husband is next.  He sends new movies, magazines and a book so I can keep myself entertained while I am in Valparaiso with nothing to do.  I notice a card from him and with out reading it tears flood my eyes.  Our anniversary is in a few days and I still hope that I will be home in time for us to celebrate it together but both of us know that wont happen and he sends me a lovely and tearful card just in case.  My husband has always been a lovely and thoughtful man which one of his best features but in this case I almost wished he hadn’t sent me anything because it makes me miss him so much more.  I know I will spend many a lonely nights reading his card over and over until it falls apart in my hands. 

I understand that when my parents decided to immigrate illegally into the U.S. they accepted a life of obstacles and hardship but I wasn’t allowed to make that choice.  In the first interview the woman over the counter asked me if I knew that when I turned 18 I should have returned to Mexico.  My answer was no, but I wanted to let her know that things aren’t black and white like on her paper.  In real life, life is complicated and can’t be answered by a simple yes or no.  After all, how do you leave the people you love for a second time and at that point the only place you call home now?  At 18 I knew English better than I knew Spanish and more U.S. history than most Americans.  How was I supposed to return leave everything behind again?  And so now I am being punished for staying with my family and continuing to live in what we considered our home.  Sometimes my thoughts and my sentences don’t make sense but neither do some of the laws that now prevent me from being with my husband.