24 years

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Everyday I wake up in Mexico is a reminder that I am not home but it is those phone calls home on people’s birthdays I am missing that make me even more nostalgic for my family.  Today is my sister’s birthday and a reminder that we all haven’t been together for her birthday as a family in a long time.  Two years ago, sister spent her birthday in Mexico and last year mom spent her birthday in Mexico, both going through the same process.  Mom calls me crying because she is afraid sister won’t be home to celebrate her own birthday.  She explains that just yesterday they had a huge fight over my parents taking my nice to see my brother who is in jail (without my sister or her husband permission of course). I am not sure if there is a study out there somewhere about what happens to children who have to visit a parent in jail but everyone in the house is worried about the implications that taking my nieces to see their father in jail might have.  Needless to say in an effort to avoid turning my three year old niece in to a criminal herself my sister would rather her daughter not visit her uncle in jail.  Sister is still to hurt, too mad, to selfish, to young to forgive her brother for his mistakes and I certainly can’t blame her.  She feels how she feels and I am not the one who can or will change her mind.  Mother is crying and it makes me sad and mad to hear her so devastated over the phone, I wish I was there to help, but I am not.  I am not a mother yet and I can not imagine what being one is like but I have had to watch my mother suffer for her children all her life.  Now she has a daughter stuck in Mexico, her only son in jail and her baby girl is too pissed to come home for her birthday dinner.  I am not sure I ever want to be a mother at this point.  No matter what she does it’s not good enough and no matter how big her sacrifices are she will never please us all.  Sister eventually agrees to come home and the celebration goes on.  My husband calls and as he puts the phone up for me to hear I listen to everyone sing happy birthday and I wish I was there in the middle of all the chaos.  Happy birthday sister, I hope 24 makes you a little wiser and more compassionate.        

Pride

Friday, September 16, 2011

Early in the morning I am awaken by the sounds of trumpets and drums.  I didn’t get to bed until 2 am this morning because I wanted to watch the celebration on TV in Mexico City and as a result the loud music is a surprise so early in the morning.  I rush to the window in my pajamas to watch the local school children all lined up and marching to various Mexican patriotic songs in honor of Mexico’s 201 years of independence.  Young and old people march down the streets in their school uniforms and various costumes. People cheer and clap as the parade passed by them.  I can’t help but wonder how many of those parades I would have participated in if I has stayed here as a child.  When I was in the second grade I was in charge of carrying the flag every morning at school for our daily pledge of allegiance.  I used to love how the drummer next to me carried the tune we all marched to.  Being back here in my grandmothers home makes me remember what my childhood was like because I remember having one up until I was seven and everything changed.  I snap myself out of those painful memories and hurry back to my room and get dressed in a white tank top and a festive Mexican flower necklace adorned with the colors of the flag, green, white and red.  I go about my day through out the town and watch as everyone going by me is wearing the colors in some way or another I am glad I didn’t overdress and fit right in.  The last thing I want to do is draw attention to myself.  I sit in a park bench and watch the people go about their lives and I can’t help but wonder when will mine start?

201 Years of Independence

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Tonight is the celebration of the 201 years of Mexico’s Independence the town had a huge celebration planned, although I got to watch it over the television.  All my aunts are in Zacatecas and I have no one to accompany me to the town’s events.  Grandma is still afraid of letting me out at night alone and frankly I am not in the mood to worry my family here or back home.  I watch the fireworks and the festivities all around the country and remember watching the fireworks with my husband over the harbor in Long Beach on 4h of July.  I wonder when I will get to see fire works with him again.  It is however beautiful to watch how people all over the world celebrate Mexico’s independence.  There are Mexicans in places I never imagined and they are all celebrating somewhere out there.  In the U.S. there is always such a contradiction with people when it comes to the use of the Mexican flag and celebrating Mexican holidays.  I can’t speak for all Mexicans living in the U.S. but I can say that we all know we are living in the U.S. and we should honor that, but we also know how proud we are to come from such a long history of being survivors that we can’t help but also honor the place we come from and that gave birth to us even if we are no longer there.  For me flying the Mexican flag and honoring Mexican holidays is not at all about being disrespectful but rather being respectful and mindful of the blood and history that run through my veins.  I honor Mexico by remembering it and flying its flag but I honor the U.S. by giving it my work, time, my effort, my family, me.

Not my realty

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Almost a week after the tragedy here in Ojo the helicopter is back and keeping an eye on things here.  The news has given conflicting information but they have finally settled on a version they and the government are comfortable with.  Two bodies were found earlier in the week and a government official was interviewed on TV and said they were not two of the federal police officers they were looking for; they were “two other random bodies”.  I couldn’t help but chuckle at the callousness with which he announced that they were two other random bodies.  Dead bodies popping up here have become as common as traffic accidents.  The news can’t even keep track with all the ones that are found, let alone with all the people who go missing.  However, today it was announced that the two bodies found near here were in fact two of the seven federal police officers that went missing; no mention was given of the remaining five.  So all we can do is assume and speculate that the helicopter remains here in hopes that maybe the other five are still alive.  Although in a place like this, under war and under siege it is difficult to keep hope of finding them alive.  People here go about their days and accept that this is just the way life is now but I refuse to accept that this is my reality.

I wish people voted more.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

I spent enough time last night crying to my husband.  I hate to show weakness but when I am with him I am a ball of emotions.  I feel bad for making him feel worst than he already does but he is the one person I can count on to never forget me.  The day here is blah, the heat is starting to die down and the coolness of the morning and afternoons is much needed.  I dint go out yesterday and I didn’t much feel like going out today either but I gather enough strength to run errand for grandma and go right back to bed.  I don’t want her to worry so I pretend to be busy ready or writing something but the truth is that I am emotionally drained.  I always knew this would be a long process and I keep telling myself this is nothing compared to the 23 years I have had to live as an undocumented person in the U.S. but I can’t help but feel that every day I remain in Mexico is one day more that I am not home.  People on both ends ask what’s taking so long and most people don’t understand how this process works they are shocked to hear all the E and I are going through and most don’t believe it.  Some even think we are lying or exaggerating because what they hear on the news and from political pundits is not inline with the reality that is happening.  I wish people read more; I wish people would do more research and find things out for themselves instead of people who only have a concern for their pocket book and will say anything they can to sell books and advertising for their radio and TV shows.  I wish people weren’t so easily manipulated and conned into believing the hatred and lies of bigots and racists.  I wish people voted more and I wish they would make those votes informed votes, but most of all I wish I could go home.

The third death

Monday, September 12, 2011

I hate counting the days but that’s what this thing does to you.  It’s been 2 months today since I left home and I can’t imagine another day without my husband.  I can’t emphasize enough that every day gets harder and harder to be apart.  I don’t want to lull or sulk but I can’t help it.  Every time I think of how life is going on without me it pains me to think that someday no one will miss me and how soon people will forget that I was even there.  I hope that the mark I left on that place and the people I know is enough to keep my memory alive but sometime I thing I’ve suffered the third death before I even suffered the first.  Some Mexicans believe that we suffer three deaths, once when our body stops breathing, two when our body is placed underground and third when our loved ones forget about us.  I have a feeling I have already suffered the third death with some people and others are well on the way to forgetting me, only I am still alive.  

9/11

Sunday, September 11, 2011

I may be in Mexico but the news can’t stop announcing what a terrible day it is.  I remember where I was that September 11 when the twin towers came down.  I was in the U.S. for one, the place I called home then and it was early in the morning, I was about to get up and get ready for school.  It was my first year at a new University and I was excited to be there and often arrived on campus earlier than expected just so I could take in the college environment and to sit and appreciate how lucky I was to be able to go to college. That same year the California legislature had passed a law (the California DREAM Act) that allowed undocumented students like myself to attend public California colleges at an instate price.  Proving that a student had graduated from a California high school, had been in the U.S. for at least three years and had the grades to be accepted into the college allowed the students to attend at the same price as other California student residents.  This meant that for the first time with my baby sitting and tutoring money I could afford to pay for some classes at the local California State University.  I had once dreamed of attending Cal Berkley and my grades were good enough right out high school but being undocumented made that dream just that.  Now I was grateful to be in college and I wouldn’t waste any time getting the education I so desperately wanted.  I woke up early every morning and listened to music while I got ready.  This particular morning my alarm had not been set properly and I had over slept.  I remember my father coming into my room and shaking me from my sleep.  “Wake up Fatima, hurry, you have to come see this” he spoke to me in Spanish and I could hear the angst in his voice.  I was sure my over sleeping was nothing to be worried about but what was it that I had to see.  I slowly rose and took my time getting to the living room when I heard him shout again “hurry, hurry”.  In front of the television where some of the worst images I can remember seeing, my skin had goose bumps and I could quickly fill my blood rushing to leave my body.  I had just declared my major a few months earlier and Political Science and the mechanisms that moved entire countries was what fascinated me.  Watching the news replay the first airplane crash into the first tower was shocking but as the second plane hit the second tower I knew what that mean, we were under attack and I knew the political implications that had.  We would soon be a country at war. 

I remember going to school and wondering if I should.  The news said everyone was on high alert for possible threats to other U.S. cities.  It was all everyone could talk about at school and everyone wanted to be watching the news rather than be working or studying.  Before much longer the University President announced that the school would be closing early for the day and classes were cancelled.  We all went home that day with fear in our minds.  I arrived home to watch everything that I had missed and to cry at the horror unfolding before all of us.  How could so many people be hurt, who did it and when would we return the favor?  I was American that day and every day after.  Now watching the recap from ten years ago on television in Mexico makes me feel exactly like I did that day and even though I am not allowed back in the U.S. I am still American, because being who you are isn’t a matter of locality it is a state of mind that follows you no matter where you are in the world.  Although I was born in Mexico to Mexican parents and have a firm understanding and respect for what it means to be of Mexican heritage I was raised in the U.S. and consider it my home.  Not only is my family there but I have started a family of my own there and even if I am never allowed to return to the place I call home it will take another 23 years to pass before I can call any other place home.  I was American on 9/11 and I am American now, maybe not in the wrapper some people want me to be but my love for my community and everything I have done there is proof enough that I belong there.  Today and every day I remember 9/11.

Violence cont.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Today my aunts invited me to go with them to a near by town called “Luis Moya”.  The town is known for their textiles and variety of clothing.  The theory is that if you can’t find it there, you can’t find it in the state.  Part of me was afraid to go, it would mean that we would be out on the main road where the shooting took place but I also can’t stay locked up in fear, if the people who lived here where going out then I would join them.  On the way to the neighboring town we could help but talk about what everyone was talking about and share the information people had heard second and third hand.  One of my aunts told us how the federal police had raided her neighbor’s home.  The rumors out there are that several federal police officers were take hostage and the full force was in town looking for them.  They were knocking down doors and asking questions later.  A police helicopter was out since Thursday and it was a big deal to everyone who saw it circling the town.  A few minutes after we were on the road we counted 7 cars and 8 trucks filled with federal police heading into town as we were leaving it.  Everyone in the car counted them and at them same time sat in silence as we imagined all the reasons they were there.  We drove in silence until we arrived at the town, we got off and started to shop, although the thrill had passed and no one was in the mood to continue the day’s events. 

As we ended the days events early we once again headed home in silence.  Arriving home e shared what we saw with the rest of the family and they too sat in silence.  I have family members here with brand new vehicles they can’t use.  If the bad guys see a vehicle they like they take it, usually they leave the occupants on the side of the road but sometimes they take the occupants with them, never to be heard from again.  The shiny new vehicles remain behind locked gates under car covers and I once again wonder how this isn’t considered a war.  People are afraid to be outside, to drive their vehicles, to own anything of value, shots can ring out at any time and people go missing on daily basis.  Is this really a way to live?

Violence

Friday, September 9, 2011

The town is alive and dead at the same time, news of yesterday’s events are spreading like wild fire and the violence that has arrived so close to home.  The news are vague in what took place here yesterday but the unofficial story is that several people were killed out on the main road when the federal police confronted one of the local cartels.  Stories tell that the local cartel took some of the federal police officers hostage.  As I go about my days chores buying the groceries and fresh tortillas I notice the truck loads of federal police about the town.  I can hear them as people questions and I walk a little faster and with my head down hoping I can go un-noticed.  When I arrive at home, phones are ringing and relatives arrive all wanting to know what we know.  There is a silence and a hesitation to share information for fear that knowing too much might be dangerous.  I want to be afraid but I can’t be.  Being afraid means we can’t continue to live our lives and go about our day and I am already away from the people I love I can’t now allow myself to be a caged animal.  

Silence

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Today is the celebration of the town’s patron saint “Our Lady of Miracles” Nuestra Senora de los Milagros.  I went out again to watch the procession of cars and people all dressed up for the celebration.  It was beautiful to watch practically everyone in town and in nearby ranches join together in prayer and in faith.  I can’t say enough about the journey my faith has taken but I always appreciate watching others believe in theirs so strongly.  There are streets filled with rows and rows of vendors all preparing for the night’s events.  One of my aunts was nice enough to take me out on the town and we went to the town square where we watched the line up of performers they city had gathered to celebrate the annual grape and cactus fruit festival.  We watched the children play on the rides and watched as families gathered to watch the castle of fireworks unfold and light up the night sky.  It’s hard to celebrate things when you are going through this immigration process every joy and laughter is one who isn’t being shared with the people you love and it makes things very hard to enjoy.  As we walk through the crowds of people we can’t help but notice the whispers among the crowd.  Things are a little eerie and something doesn’t seem quite right.  My aunt stops to ask a friend nearby what that strange feeling in the air is, with more whispers she informs us that during the procession earlier in the day there had been a shooting on the main road and that several people were killed.  The rumor was that it was one of the local cartels v. the police.  No other particulars are given, we buy a hot dog, some ice cream and call it an early night.  If grandmother has heard the news she is surely worried and there is no reason to worry and almost 90 year old woman.  I am home by 9 pm and in bed shortly after only to be ready to start another day away from home.

Some friends have two faces

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Some people have two faces.  I’ve always known this but I wish I wasn’t reminded of this right now.  When you get married it is sometimes difficult to completely blend two different lives together.  It won’t always be pretty but its often fun; sometimes you have difficulty blending schedules, family or friends.  In our case we did the best to do all of it and for the most part it all seemed to work out but there are always things that dot work out the way you want it to no matter how hard you try.  Friends are one of those things that as a single person you have for various reasons but when you get married they don’t always see eye to eye with your married self.  Because of my situation I have always been very careful at choosing my friends and all of my friends have been very understanding and caring.  It never crossed my mind that when I got married some of his friends would have a problem with who I am.  Everything seemed to be fine until recently when my husband I saw some questionable and I believe racist comments on some “friends” facebook pages.  No one I know wants to consider themselves racist but no one admits that unconsciously and sometimes consciously there are things that happen in our lives that help us think in certain ways.  For those two friends it was a forward on facebook a half joke entirely racist forward.  It said something like when you cross illegally in Korea you get 12 years in prison but when you cross illegally into the U.S. you get a job, a license and welfare.  The comments hurt my husband and me so much that we decided to remove those two people from our friends list and if they asked we would let them know why their comments were uncalled for, racist and hurtful.  It was them who were offended that I posted a comment that said that because of their racist comments we could no longer be friends even on facebook.  They emailed my husband and called to both apologize and let him know that they were hurt that I called them “racist” on facebook.  Mind you, I never once used their names or singled them out individually but they knew who they were and more than anything it hurt that two people we know still feel that way about a group of people.  Unless you are Native you are an immigrant to the U.S. and have no right to single out or blame anyone for wanting a better life.  Why did looking for a better life for you and your love ones become a crime?  When did we let our obsession for greed and wealth overcome our basic need for survival?  I used to be called a hum, now I am a criminal who needs to be hunted down in the borders of Arizona.  There are too many things that are happening to me and to many real things going on in the world to have to put up with two racist who used to call themselves our “friends”.  I call you “gone”, wish you the best and hope that someday no one is pointing the finger at you because the world is a lonely place when you spent your life blaming others and they won’t be there to defend you.    

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

The 8^th is the day of the “Virgen de los Milagros” or the Virgin of the Miracles, the town’s patron saint and so the week is filled with events in anticipation of the big day.  Today people are gathered to watch the procession from the farmers and the ranchers.  The streets are closed and filled with every tractor and horse for miles.  Every ranch near the town is represented with offerings to the local church.  Tractors are filled with people and food in hopes that their generosity will bring abundance to their annual harvest.  Tractors, horses and people are greeted at the church’s entrance by the town’s priest who is sprinkling holy water on all of them as a blessing for their offerings.  The holy water is meant to protect them all from the evil that could arrive in the form of a bad harvest, a lazy horse or a broken tractor.  I want to get close enough to get some of that holy water myself in hopes that the evil that has followed me for so long will leave and let me get back home.  But I cant, the festivity is meant for those with four legs and four wheels and I stand on the side of the street watching the beautiful gesture.  

Apologies

I find myself doing a lot of apologizing lately.  Mainly to my husband but today I make it to you my friends and loved ones who still read my blog.  I know there is a dark month missing from this blog and I am sorry.  I promise to do my best to get back on track with the blog.  It’s been a dark month for me; I have let the sadness and the loneliness get the best of me.  Writing the blog everyday was a constant reminder that I wasn’t home.  Everyday there is an entry is a day that I am not with my husband, my family or my friends.  It is one more night I can’t spend in my own bed.  This process has taken the best of me; my pride my honor my strength, my faith and has turned me into a weak woman who I am not used to seeing in the mirror yet.  Last night was the last straw and the last time I let my sadness hurt the one person I love most.  With everyone else I put on the strong face and say everything is ok but my husband gets the worst parts.  It is he who gets the crying wife at midnight and the jealous wife who is afraid that he will realize that this is more than he can handle and run of with the first wench who smiles at him.  It was last night that my sadness and my anger got the best of me.  I realized that the thing I am most afraid of is being forgotten.  I hear the stories and see the pictures of everyone who I love and care for moving on with their lives, because they have to and I remember how I used to play a part in those lives and now I don’t.  Sometimes I am mad because people in jail at least get family and conjugal visits but I get hundreds of miles of loneliness.  I haven’t heard anything about my pardon and the lack of information is infuriating.  No one in any of the U.S. consulate offices or websites will answer any questions or at least have the courtesy to explain the delay.  The forums on this topic are buzzing with presumptions and suppositions about why so many people have waited so long for a reply but no one official will say a thing to its victims.  I am sorry to all of you who out of love, courtesy, curiosity or sympathy read my words and have not heard from my in some time and I am sorry to my husband for becoming such an overwhelming neurotic bitch.  If nothing else people have to know how hard this process is and how difficult it is for those of us who were children when our families decided to take us to the promise land and now as adults have to be displaced from the only real home we know.  Thank you to all those who have written to me and asked where my entries went and I hope you will continue to read what’s happened to me in the last month and what’s yet to come.