D DAY

We went to our lawyer again. I was never expecting any good news since I have never received good news from the man who has been my lawyer for eight years and yet I still get tired of the bad news heaped on me every time I see him. I almost want to sit on his office and put my hands to my ears and go “lalalalalalalalala” and avoid listening to what he has to say. But I can’t so I sit there and get ear raped with his words every time I go.

To summarize what he said, there is nothing to do but wait. He wasn’t joking when he said that the office of the WPB branch, where my case now rests, was a difficult one. He gave us three choices: (1) wait and see when they will feel like giving me an interview; (2) sue them for taking longer than the law allows them reviewing my case and giving me an interview or (3) re-file my I-130 with the Miami office which is apparently faster and more efficient.

He also said that if we sued we would win the case and get an interview and then I would lose any hope of remaining here because out of spite they would deny the request. My other choice of filing the paperwork again at the other office is not a choice really since it would entail us coughing up another $5,000 and losing the $5,000 we already spent on having the case in West Palm Beach.

In other words we really have no other choice but to wait. To see and hope that when and if they grant us an interview I won’t be detained like the woman I saw yesterday at my lawyer’s office who got her interview date just to trick her into showing up and then detaining, her just for giggles and to have her walk around with an ankle bracelet to monitor her movements as if she was some sort of dangerous pedophile that needs to be kept on a tight leash. Of course we immigrants are the real danger of this country. Let the pedophiles and sexual predators roam free and “register” and have us illegal immigrants tagged like animals. Makes total sense.

I really wonder what the point of that device is in this case. We are talking about a woman who has, like me, been open about where she lives, has no criminal records and is waiting for her marriage to be verified as real, but while they don’t give her an answer about her case she has to walk around like some shamed whore in a Hawthorne novel with that glaring device at her foot labeling her a criminal.

In the middle of my sympathetic indignation all I could think about was that if it happened to me I wouldn’t be able to wear shorts or skirts, dresses or skinny jeans. I also thought about being sent to Krome and wearing an orange jumpsuit. I was, however, reassured when my lawyer told me they actually made them wear blue.

As I sat there, seething with impotence and wanting to wail, tear my hair, tear my lawyer’s hair, apologize to my husband, I saw him (my lawyer) maybe for the first time really looking at me, and when I said “there is always Canada” he tilted his head to the side and with what seemed to be compassion he told me “You made the decision to stay, you can’t quit now, it’ll happen”. Part of me was slightly reassured about his words of encouragement and then I realized he is just hoping I hire him to get my citizenship if my shit ever goes through.

I really have no hope any longer. I have but only one champion and that is Dear Husband and he is, as I am, powerless against the system. We have to be humble and patient, we are asking for a favor, is what our lawyer said and every fiber in my being rebelled against the idea of being humble and being patient. Why should I be humble? I am smart and I am (according to the letter applying for my change of status) an asset to my community so why in the fucking world would I be humble? Why should I have to beg? There is nothing I want enough to beg for.

While we drove back home, low in spirits and angry I looked at the cars driving by and felt so damn powerless it was as if I was being physically held down. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t talk, I could do nothing but stare at the passing cars trying to tell myself that maybe the passengers of those cars had it worse than me.

So we are deciding what to do by April 28, 2012. That day, D DAY is my ten year anniversary of coming to the U.S. That day we are leaving this country to search for the future that the land of opportunity refuses to give me. We are at the moment looking for a country that will take us.

I told DH that I was sorry that he probably should’ve married some white girl who would’ve popped some children already and made his parents grandparents again. He said “Stop it. I know what I was getting into...Besides white girls have no ass”

I laughed. In the middle of my anguish, in the middle of all that frustrating rage I laughed. Because I have THE greatest husband on the face of the earth who can make me laugh when I feel like utter undeserving shit.

And I don’t give a flying mother fucking fuck whether the INS recognizes it or not.

BABY FEVER

My ovaries are silent. For some reason I feel the need to apologize to my mom, my uncle, my aunt, my grandma and all those family members who constantly ask for me to get pregnant and ask why am I postponing the inevitable, as if pregnancy and motherhood was a fate I cannot escape from.

My sister in law is back in her hometown for a short visit to her brother who just had a baby with his wife. She and her husband took their two adorable babies to meet their new cousin and my father in law (the proud grandpa) took a picture of the children all together. Selfishly the first thought that popped into my mind when I saw them all lined up was the fact that there wasn’t one of DH’s there among the line of babies. Like there was a glaring genetic gap.

My in laws are, thankfully, not the pressuring kind. My family however makes up for that tenfold.

I know they didn’t put the picture on Facebook thinking of the grandchild they didn’t have from their first born who happens to be my DH, they were just enjoying the grandchildren they DO have. But I couldn’t help but wonder if part of them wished there was another there that was half their beloved oldest child and half the Hispanic chick their son married.

I feel a tad guilty that my mom has no child to bounce on her knee and she so desperately wants one… my sister is useless on the mommy front (you know you are) and even though she is six years older than me and married for far longer than I have, she still has no plans of gracing my mom with a squealing, pooping, puking, screaming bundle of joy.

I guess I feel responsible because even though is both DH and my decision on if and when we have children I am still the one that gets asked. I would be the one doing all the work of growing the thing so of course they ask me when I am going to allow his sperm to fertilize my eggs. I catch my mom looking at my belly as if willing it to grow, creepy. And if she texts me one more picture of a caramel skinned baby with green eyes with the caption “this could be yours” I shall perish.

What if I never feel like having children? The thought scares me a little bit more than actually wanting them in the future. There is nothing about children that appeals to me. I adore the babies in my family my niece and nephew who I met already and the brand spanking new nephew who I haven’t had the pleasure to hold. Other children however leave me cold. I hate walking by that area in the mall filled with plastic fruits and huge fake cupcakes that the little terrors climb on an off of while screaming their little heads off. I hate going to restaurants and hearing a baby scream. I know is natural, I know rationally they aren’t doing anything wrong but all I want to do is vanish them all (except for those I am related to) to some area of the world where they can stay until they turn 21. Teenagers in my book aren’t any better.

When did I become so intolerant? I have no clue. And everyone tells me “you’ll feel different about your own” but isn’t it a good idea to at least like the little creatures in general before popping one out? I look at random children and babies and feel nothing. Show me kittens or puppies and I melt in a puddle.

I have told DH several times that I would be the perfect mother if I got pregnant and had a litter of kittens. He didn’t look too happy about that.

I feel nothing but terror at the thought of losing myself, of not being me anymore but “mommy” of not being a woman anymore but a mom first and foremost. That loss of my identity and acquisition of a new one makes me shiver with apprehension.

I don’t want to wake up at seven am to feed a baby; I don’t want the forever responsibility of another human being. I want to read whenever I want to read or go shopping when I want to, or work out when I want to, or take a nap when I feel like it. I don’t want to lose that because my whole schedule would then revolve around the needs of another. Feeding it and putting it to sleep, giving it a bath, then feeding it again. And then school, and baby parties, and sleepovers and hockey or soccer, baseball or peewee football. When do parents get to do what THEY want to do?

Do I sound selfish? That’s because I am, I am selfish of my time, my enjoyments and my life.

“Oh but kids bring a whole new set of happiness and enjoyments and love” They say. “You’ll change” they say. “Your priorities will change and you won’t care” they say. But I DO care now, and I don’t want to change my life. I am happy with life as it is (present legal problems notwithstanding). Enjoying my husband and our time together, going and doing whatever we want on our time table, without asking anyone if we should or should not, without having to take anything into consideration but ourselves. That’s a freedom I am not keen on relinquishing.

So in the meantime I will spoil my niece and nephews rotten and enjoy their smarts and their smiles, their delicious baby smell, their precious faces and the questions that only children ask and those quirks that start popping out when their personalities develop. I do love them dearly and I do feel all the melting in a puddle when I see them but so far just being an aunt is satisfying.

My ovaries are silent, there is no clock ticking. And I’m alright with that.

I AM PETTY ENOUGH TO ENJOY THIS

The feelings currently swirling in my heart might not make me the best person on earth, but I have never claimed (and I dare you to quote me if I have) that I am a nice sweet person. This morning, while I tried to find out if the city I live in is going to spend $485,000 in a patriot memorial whose original budget was $80,000, I ran into the news that over the weekend, Anthony Mangione, the head of ICE (Immigration and Custom Enforcement) had FBI agents searching his house because of child pornography allegedly stored in his home computer.

http://www.palmbeachpost.com/news/child-porn-investigators-search-home-and-office-of-1393121.html

You know ICE, that agency that is seen in the news banging down house doors and spiriting away Hispanic people from their very homes, or raiding meat packing companies, or tomato picking farms, or the corner of Wal-Mart where they stand waiting for some day work. That agency that holds, oh such a warm place in my heart, that agency’s Miami Branch has a head of department accused of holding child pornography. The head of department who according to the article has “aggressively targeted child pornography” and spoken against predators.

Ah, and I feel a sweet little tickle spreading like sweet nectar over my chest…sigh.

I am not completely heartless and horrible, however, and I truly wish there was another alleged crime that he had committed; it makes me feel kind of guilty that I am enjoying this. I wish he would’ve been accused of cheating taxes, or hiring undocumented workers to clean his house and babysit his children (the sweet irony) or some other victimless crime. But I am too frustrated with the system and ICE, as long as I remain in limbo waiting for my process to complete, represents everything I fear and there is no room in my heart for feelings of compassion for an agency whose main object is to chase me and those like me out of this country.

I am afraid I feel like I feel every time there is some self-righteous right wing nut that ends up propositioning for gay sex in a bathroom, or discovered with his mistress when he spouts so much about the importance and sanctity of marriage. It just so damn poetic it makes me want to cry a little.

So while Florida seems to be cracking down on those undocumented workers whose only crime was to be here undocumented and work their asses off to help their families (not only the ones here but also the ones from their country of origin) the agency that handles all the cracking has an alleged pedophile at its head.

Nothing has been proven, and Mr. Mangiano, who by the way is the son of Italian and Portuguese immigrants, (go figure), is considered under the eyes of the eyes of the law innocent until proven contrary. Therefore I will say no more. But while this whole deal is being solved I have but one thought in my head:

Swift poetic justice taste divine.

OH, CANADA (AGAIN)

Oh, Canada! Aside from the cold and the baby seal clubbing it sounds like an amazing place. So amazing I have lost another family member to its subtle allure.

My uncle, who has spent a decade trying to legally remain in the U.S. has cut his losses and say goodbye to the good ol’ U.S. of A.

In the past two weeks I have learned of two people that I know who have been stopped randomly by the cops and taken to Krome (the detention facility in South Florida). These people have all been stopped on their way to work. Imagine that, minding your own business you get up that morning thinking that the day is going to be another day of toiling around for a few bucks and that you will be at the end of the day back at home, with your family, ready to watch some Caso Cerrado (Latin court TV). When wham! What these two individuals didn’t know was that this day wasn’t going to be like the others. That today was the end of the journey they had started years ago. That today in spite of being a hard working law abiding non-citizen they would be treated like common criminals and thrown in a detention facility and all the dreams and plans for tomorrow were over.

These cops aren’t stopping the many criminals roaming the streets; oh no, they are targeting hard working immigrants who happen to be illegal. What’s the sense in that? These two people I know worked their asses off, six to seven days a week to provide for their families. What’s the crime here? They aren’t bleeding the state of any funds because they aren’t eligible for any help from the government because of their lack of status, they aren’t robbing anyone of their jobs because I have yet to meet the first American who wants to do the job they do, the only law they broke was driving without a valid driver’s license. Yet there they sit at Krome, waiting to be taken away from the country like criminals while the rest of their family decides to uproot themselves and leave a country that doesn’t want them but that has become home nonetheless.

That easily could have been me. Except that I have the good luck of having DH to drive me everywhere I need to be. But what if I didn’t? What if while I waited for my case to be over I was driving to and from work, the work I am not allowed to have (oh because I am such a rebel, cleaning houses without their permission, how dare I?!) and they stop me and take me to Krome….oh let me tell you that would be the stupidest move they could make, because I am not the preferred target of INS. They like their spics scared stupid and ignorant of their rights. Yes, crazy people who hate immigrants, we do have rights, you may not to acknowledge them but we do. So I don’t fit the profile of their preferred victims, because I am not ignorant and while I would probably be scared for a few minutes there would be another emotion that would quickly taker over fear, anger. And I am fucking loud when I am angry. They need to pick up more people like me, people that can tell them off in their own language, people who aren’t afraid of them, people who get loud, people who ask to call their lawyers, people who realize they aren’t the powers that be; they aren’t the end all and be all of the law.

My family member was on his way to Canada this morning. To look for that famous American Dream that ended being nothing but a mirage. He did everything right, like I did, tried the proper channels, like I have. Worked hard and paid his taxes even though he didn’t have to, like I have. For what? For nothing, he has nothing to show for the decade of hard work he has put in this country.

The problem is that Americans don’t realize is that he isn’t the first one to leave, nor will he be the last. Who wins when hardworking people leave a country? The country most definitely doesn’t. So what will America have to show for when one by one hardworking immigrants leave? Do they realize that Hispanic immigrants make up for the largest minority in the US? That entire markets in the US target us specifically? That there are 50 million of us here in the country and we cannot longer be ignored. Ignoring us or pretending to wean out the undesirables while making it impossible for the ones interested in legally remaining in the country doesn’t fix the “problem”.

While part of me is filled with furious indignation because of the fate of the people I know who now sit in Krome, the other part of me is simply resigned, resigned that Florida has come to so closely resemble the Arizona of mid 2010, resigned that Canada or some other country looks so damn attractive and seems to be calling my name.

This country has plenty of policies, customs and traditions that I don’t agree with, nor understand, but slowly yet surely the other many, many things that I approve of have wiggled themselves into my being and turned me into who I am today. I love it here, this is my home now and it hurts to think that in the future I will have to make the same decision that took my relative so long to make. Leave here.

It feels much like the stabbing pangs of unrequited love. Loving a place so much, liking its craziness and enjoying how nonsensical it is just to realize after ten years that that place you cherish doesn’t quite feel the way you do.

There is nothing to do but sigh. Sigh and be happy that this time it wasn’t me, that this time it wasn’t a family member that this time it didn’t hit close to home like it could’ve. These are mere acquaintances but what if next time is someone closer? What if next time is me? What if next time I have to be the one to leave?

Praying started sounding like a waste of time years ago and I sure as hell ain’t picking that up now. There is nothing to do but act; I am not the praying kind, twiddling my thumbs while I wait for some superior power to solve my problems. My frustration knows no bounds because I have nothing to do but seethe in indignation and wait for my circumstances to change what I could do is done; now we wait.

I can’t help but wonder though, what about the others who aren’t like me? What about those who aren’t as lucky?

MARCH MADNESS AND OTHER AILMENTS

March Madness is over. Praise the Lord and thanks the heavens! Sadly the Butler Bulldogs are not the National Champions. My household is now in mourning. DH is from Indiana and a fervent Butler fan and losing the National Championship to UCONN is a blow to what had been so far an amazing season. I rather concentrate on the fact that they made it this far, that they made it to the final four twice in a row, a feat accomplished not only because of the talent and determination of its players or the amazing skill of their cute as hell coach, but because DH wore his Butler shirt all month without ever washing it. Save me from superstitious sports fans.

I won’t lie, I like March Madness, I like basketball (college basketball) the fast pace of the game, the last minute winning, the promise of greatness from such young people, the tall, tall guys… So of course I was rooting for the Bulldogs, although my reasons have nothing to do with sports and everything to do with the fact that I have a huge crush on Coach Brad Stevens. Who I must say is the walking, breathing, living image of that female fantasy of a take-charge nerd. Meowrrr, Grrr, and yum.

When I came home from work and went to shower DH closed the door to our room and kicked Zoey and Max (cat and dog) out to “do ab work”. While I showered I was sure that in reality he was on his knees praying to the Basketball Gods for Butler to win. Apparently the Basketball Gods weren’t listening, and so March Madness end in a sad note for Butler diehards who so wanted to see Blue walk around court strutting his stuff in front of all those Husky fans.

I have seen ONE full Butler game. Last year during March Madness we were in St. Augustine celebrating our one year anniversary and had more drinks than I care to count at awesome Scarlet O’Hara pub while watching the game. After that I was emotionally invested and decided for the sake of DH not to watch future games with him.

See, Hispanic people don’t do anything half assed and I don’t know what it is but sporting events bring out the worst in all people regardless of gender or nationality and it brings the fucking loud out of Hispanic folks.

Poor DH was a witness to this when we saw Spain (go my mother land!) kick Germany’s ass at the World Cup’s final game. He was amazed that we were so loud and that I was jumping up and down about something that had nothing to do with fashion or Harry Potter. That’s why I don’t watch the games, once I am emotionally involved and invested on the team there is no fan that would love them better and no fan that would scream louder than a Hispanic one. I get nauseous and scream, get cold chills and depressed if they lose. It is better for my (and DH’s) mental health if I just find out what happened after the fact.

As much as I enjoy sports, on those seldom occasions when I give a damn about the teams, I cannot claim to comprehend this country’s obsession with sports.

As soon as football season is over (I hate football with a heated passion) here comes March Madness and March Madness ain’t over yet and Baseball season is already here, then baseball season is over and hell in the form of football shows up again. There is no end to this, is just a never ending cycle and circle that repeats, over and over again, ad nauseam and ad infinitum. Kind of like the never ending torture of Dante’s hell. And for those few who do not like those, there is always boring ass Golf and Tennis (which I discovered I was partial to when I discovered Australia’s Patrick Rafter back in ’98).

Back at home we have baseball (in Venezuela) where the fans are crazy as you can get and I used to not talk to my best friend as soon as the season started. In Colombia we had futbol and in its coast at Barranquilla (where I am born) when the Junior plays (our football team) there is no class, there is no work there is only Junior. That’s it. Either baseball or football.

I guess is a sign of both U.S. excesses and also its diversity that makes the entire year revolve around sports. It’s not like other countries that have futbol, or curling or hockey (if Canadian, who are the only people that should like Hockey). Americans must have it all, baseball, football, baseball, hockey and more.

I actually am writing this post while DH screams downstairs. I wrote this post with the assumption that Butler would win and I will have to change the first paragraph if they don’t. He is at the moment screaming obscenities (charge mother fucker, charge!) at the teams. I hope he doesn’t read this post and then blames me for his team’s loss since I jinxed it by writing that they won before they did.

As much as I enjoy basketball and coach Brad Steven’s glass-wearing hotness I am glad March Madness is over because I will finally have the TV to myself for a couple of days and will catch up to my DVR’s of Glee, Bones and Fringe.

When there is no Brad Stevens in sight there is always Mr. Shuster, Peter Bishop and Seely Booth.