HIS LIFE AS AN UNDOCUMMENTED IMMINIGRANT

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/26/magazine/my-life-as-an-undocumented-immigrant.html

It has been a while since I wrote. I haven’t had much more to add, my immigration woes remain the same.

I read this article however and had to re-post, just in case there is someone out there, someone of my handful of followers who hasn’t read it yet.

I was so humbled by the story I practically have no words. I was so lucky to come here and be surrounded with friends and family. But I know how it feels to live in secret; I know how it feels to carry that burden, that shame, as if you had done something wrong. That’s what we all feel, a type of shame, an apologetic fear. This overwhelming sense of having made the wrong turn somewhere and somehow there was a solution that we missed and this is all our fault.

Mr. J.A. Vargas was so brave I am in awe. And I think it speaks of how trapped he felt by his lies, how oppressing that feeling of not belonging can be that he risked everything he had ever worked for in order to escape that cage he trapped himself into.

“I contribute” He says. I wonder how many times I have said the same thing on my blog. Does it matter anymore if we contribute or not? Do our faces matter? Do our dreams? Our skills, our abilities? I don’t think they do matter.

I felt so close to him, this complete stranger who has spent his entire life leading a double life. His pains, his fears, his dreams, his sense of loss is so familiar it makes me want to cry for him and for myself. Mostly for him, for even though he had his Lolo and Lola and the amazing network of people he spoke of, he was ultimately alone in his deceptions.

We are all in the same situation, brought here at as toddlers, or teenagers and suddenly there is nothing here but uncertainty, there is no secure future, all we left behind was for nothing because the future holds nothing but more rejection.

And then what? How do we change it? Where do we go? Back to a country where we don’t feel we belong? After years of being here and building a life, making friends, falling in love, living…what do we do with it? Do we pretend the past decade, or in his case the past 18 years didn’t happen? Do we pick up our life as if was nothing to go back to a place that we no longer recognize and no longer recognizes us? We are all alone and landless, homeless, without a place to claim or that will claim us.

I wonder what the future holds for him, for me, for all of us.

What a loss for this country if he were to leave it.

WTF or Aww? You decide

When I was trying to come up with a title for this post there was nothing else in my mind but WTF. I was trying my best to come up with something witty and funny and short that would embody the feeling of the post, but there is nothing in my mind except for a glaring WHAT THE FUCK. That’s it, nothing more.

DH, sent me this link this morning:

http://colombiareports.com/colombia-news/news/15202-fans-bring-cadaver-to-colombian-soccer-match.html

I think he secretly enjoys finding weird shit that happens in either Venezuela or Colombia so he can ask me about it and feel like he married some exotic woman from a crazy faraway land.

When I read the article my first reaction was “ew” and laugh hysterically because as surprising and bizarre and unexplainable the situation was, it still completely plausible. Part of me wasn’t really that shocked. What does that say about me and about my people in Colombia? I am not sure.

If you have problems opening the link, let me summarize what the article is about:

Seventeen year old Christopher (DH is surely disappointed by the “regular” name) was gunned down in his neighborhood while he was playing football (soccer for my gringo friends) and his friends, took his body (coffin and all) from the funeral home and “paraded” it to a game in the stadium for the team he rooted for. Christopher belonged to a fan club of the Cucuta Deportivo team known as the Barra del Indio (a “barra” is a group of fans) and it was friends in that group that took him to the game. So his body could witness the victory? Not really since after further research I found out the teams tied and since there was a cadaver in the stadium the score stopped being so important to those who were there.

Interestingly enough the “barras” are not allowed in the stadium because they are the Colombian version of Hooligans. They break shit; they get into fights, shoot people when their team loses, etc. This time, however, the barra was allowed into the stadium. Apparently all they had to do all along to gain entrance was to bring a body.

I can only imagine how the conversation went at the entrance of the stadium…

What explanation can there really be for this? Was it the grief? Was it the last wish of the deceased? Or are my people simply nuts?

I am going to go with a little bit of all three.

I am sure for the average American bringing a body to a stadium is just crazy, hell it sounds crazy to me and I am Colombian! But I guess is the Colombian in me, that isn’t totally taken over by American pragmatism, which can pause for a moment and find the situation almost poetic. When one stops to think about it, if they knew the guy, if the friends knew how much he loved soccer, and he died playing soccer, what a better way to honor his memory than to bring his body to the stadium? I am sure nobody would’ve batted an eye if it had been ashes. I think the most shocking part; the part difficult to get over the part that made me go “ew” is that his whole body, bullet riddled and all, ready to be buried was there, inside that coffin, being carted around by his friends like a Colombian version of a Weekend at Bernies.

What if he had fallen out? Did they stop to think about the consequences? Did they take a moment to consider the logistics of it all? I doubt it. Latin Americans are not really worried about such things. Where was his family? His mother? What were they thinking?

Don’t even get me started on how the sheer tragedy of the death of a seventeen year old is being overlooked because his body being paraded in a stadium makes a better story. Sadly deaths like those are oh so common in that and many other areas of my country.

I guess there is enough Hispanic romanticism and impracticality in me to read the article, and after getting over the shock, find the situation epically poetic.

In the end I am nothing if not pragmatic, not because of my time in the U.S. but because that is my number one personality trait. And the pragmatic part of me, cannot say anything else, but WTF?

Here’s a little video for those inclined to watch it live.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vh79Miik-Cg&feature=player_embedded

FREEDOM OF SPEECH = DOUBLE EDGED SWORD

I was reading in Yahoo! News today about a man called Albert Snyder. Mr. Snyder lost his son Matthew Snyder when he died on a Humvee accident in Iraq almost four years ago. Matt was 20 years old.

During his son's funeral the ever lovely Westboro Baptist Church showed up to protest against gays, and Jews and pretty much everybody else on God’s green earth with signs that read “God Hates America” “Thank God for Dead Soldiers” “You are going to Hell” “Semper Fags” and other enlightened messages like those.

Mr. Snyder can’t sleep, he can’t eat, he suffers from depression since his son’s death (which is understandable) and is battling diabetes. He is angry and hurt and humiliated and probably wishing his son’s funeral would’ve been a dignified event for him to say goodbye without having all that bad juju thrown his way.

Mr. Snyder decided to sue the Westboro Baptist Church and was granted 10.9 million dollars that were after reduced to 5 million by another judge and then another judge reversed the verdict and he is now ordered to pay roughly $17,000 to Westboro for the legal fees they incurred. It doesn't seem right, does it?

According to Westboro Baptist Church, America is condemned, doomed to hell and being punished by its acceptance of what they call in their website “fag lifestyle”. After taking a gander at the Westboro website (and feeling right after like I had to take a bath on bleach or holy water) I realized just how difficult the law is. The first amendment of the constitution of this country established freedom of speech, freedom of press, freedom of religion and freedom for people to peacefully assemble, etc.

The amendment is a beautiful thing; not only respects my ideas and opinions no matter how unpopular they might be but it also protects my rights to voice them.

Poor Mr. Snyder had to see hate first hand and at a moment of crippling vulnerability. No father should have to bury his son and it made his tragedy even worse to see people gleefully holding signs that celebrated his death and the death of all those other soldiers out there who have lost their life in this war.

Even though Mr. Snyder is now without his son and grieving, and even though my heart breaks at the thought of him seeing those signs, the law states freedom of speech for all. Is it moral for those people to be there and mock his pain? No, and I am sure there are special places in whatever hell those fuck-heads believe in for people just like them. It is right for them to feel the entitlement of invading such a private moment and ruin it with their hateful, putrid beliefs? No, it isn’t.

Is it legal? Yes, it is.

Freedom of speech is defined as the right to speak without censorship and/or limitation, the right to speak or otherwise communicate one’s opinion without fear of harm or prosecution. It applies to all individuals in this country, it covers all opinions, and it defends all ideas.

Those who read this blog know how passionately against religion I am and how passionately for gay rights I am. So it is with a heavy heart that I recognize that Mr. Snyder is going to lose that lawsuit against Westboro.

The law should protect all: sick, hateful, disgusting, crazy individuals too. Even when their moral compass is up their asses, even when their beliefs are repulsive, even when they don’t respect the most private of moments, even when they have no understanding of the meaning of compassion their opinions also have to be respected.

The fact is that the loathsome crew from Westboro peacefully assembled to spew their venom. Mr. Snyder actually didn’t even notice they were there but until later when he saw his son’s funeral on the news. The law should protect Westboro because vile and abhorrent as they are they didn’t break any laws.

My only consolation and I hope for Mr. Snyder’s too is that the legacy of Fred Phelps founder of Westboro Church (won’t do the Baptist a disservice by affiliating them with him) seems to be on his last legs. I don't know if he is healthy or not, but a body can’t hold that much hatred and venom and continue working properly. The man is 81 years old already! Even if his progeny were to continue his work he is the heart of the operation and without him I hope it will dwindle to nothing.

I found Pastor Jim Sommerville’s blog while researching for this post; Pastor Summerville had an encounter of sorts with darling Fred one time when he and his band of roaches went to Richmond Virginia to harass its Jewish community.

Pastor Sommerville is a more evolved creature than I am and he decided to pray for the soul of Fred (what soul?) and for him to find love and let go of the hatred that, to quote Pastor Jim “has made him its disciple”.

I don’t have it in me to wish for Fred’s salvation. I don’t have it in me to pray for his rotten soul. If I was the praying kind I would pray for Mr. Snyder’s battered soul and broken heart. I would pray for his family and the families of all those who Westboro has touched with its grimy paws.

I would pray for Mr. Snyder to feel some consolation after the suit is over even when it probably won’t conclude as he hopes. If I were the praying kind those are the ones I would pray for, I wouldn’t waste a word on Fred.

Actually Fred can go to hell.

For Pastor Jim Sommerville’s post: http://jimsomerville.wordpress.com/2010/03/03/how-do-i-stop-my-enemies/

For the Yahoo! Article: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/us_funeral_protests

MESSING WITH THE WRONG BITCH

The unlucky residents of the community I live in have united against my husband and I. Retirement is indeed boring business and the bluehairs in my community haven’t been able to get used to the fact that the community can no longer keep their houses from foreclosure without renting. They lose not one opportunity to remind us, or Dear Husband since he is the one they talk to, that they made an exception with us and we should be thankful. These people have way too much time in their hands.

Today, on our way to work, we got a call from the management company saying that several residents had complained about Zoey, my part pit bull part hound dog. Apparently the residents are afraid of Zoey. Yes, of Zoey, my dog who pees in the floor if you yell at her and squats into submission to the Chihuahuas in the street. Yeah that's my mauling, dangerous beast.

There is one problem in this whole equation that these too-much-time-in-their-hands fools didn’t count on. ME. MOI. YOURS TRULY. They probably thought they would complain and we would slink away from the community, dog in tow or simply get rid of Zoey to appease their fool fears of a dog that has never shown any sign of aggression. What they didn’t count on was on my crazy ass. Because let me tell you something I am ready to take this as far as it fucking needs to go. If I have to hire lawyers, contact the ASPCA and PETA if I have to bring the fucking newspapers to my house I will. I have way more energy than they do and I have being right on my side and more importantly they couldn’t have chosen a worse bitch to mess with because of all the people they could’ve gone against they chose to go against the one that is itching for a fight.
The issues about pitbulls was brought to light to me when I got Zoey. I knew people were afraid of them but one gets hand to hand knowledge of just how deep that fear goes when you are the one walking them down the street. I have never been afraid of them since I am not stupid and choose to form my own opinions on things instead of being told what to believe.
If people bothered doing some research about it they would find out that the pitbull's reputation is unfounded and the gangster rap movement is one of the many things to blame for giving Pitbulls the bad reps they sport today. Between that and the dog fighting problems the Pitbulls have become victims of a witch hunt, pitch forks and all. Before that the American Pitbull Terrier used to be the dog that represented the U.S. during WWII.
Everybody thinks that Pitbulls have a genetic predisposition to be aggressive, when in reality they were bred for companionship and to be service dogs, therefore any dogs that showed aggressive behavior was immediately terminated. Drastic measures if you ask me but it is what makes the pitbull the good dog it is today. Helen Keller’s dog was a Pitbull and many other Pitbulls serve today as search dogs and service dogs for the blind and handicapped.

I wish people would stop eating every spoonful of shit the media feeds them. In reality beloved Labradors have a higher number of attacks in the U.S. than Pitbulls do but the media doesn’t find that as entertaining as putting in the news that a Pitbull bit his owner or a neighbor.

I truly hope this doesn’t get to the point where I have to be a major bitch and then alienate ourselves from the community but my personality doesn’t allow for me to bend over and take it. If they think I am going to take in consideration their age or their fears they are sorely mistaken. So I guess we are going to the mattresses.
Residents of Community don’t “Beware of Dog” but definitely Beware of this Bitch.

Please check out: http://www.thetruthaboutpitbulls.com/.thetruthaboutpitbulls.com/

JUST WRITE

Oh what a night. We, Dear Husband, sister and I, after a delicious (and expensive) dinner at an amazing restaurant called Leila’s went home to watch Julie and Julia. What a better way to end an amazing night but to enjoy the always breathtaking Meryl Streep.

Now I do not know about cooking, and as much as I hate to admit I don’t know much about blogging but I couldn’t help but relate to Julie Powell (played by Amy Adams) and her frustration with her professional life, her inability to escape a job she utterly hates, her fear of failure and her brimming hope that the big break was around the corner. Hope is scary shit.

As the movie went along I was so incredibly moved by both Julie and Julia’s dream come true of publishing, we hear in the end the many editors leaving offers and phone numbers in Julie’s answering machine and see the letter from the publishing house that after several years, continents and effort Julia received.

I could only imagine how that would feel and as I sighed and tear up a little at seeing MY dream come true in someone else’s life on TV, Dear Husband smiled at me and squeezed my hand letting me know that he thought that could be me.

Little did I know that an encouraging conversation about my future career as a writer could turn into an argument where he was fighting for one thing and I was about another! We spent ten minutes yelling at each other (ok, me yelling and he trying to speak on top of my yelling) just to discover minutes later than the only reason why we couldn’t agree was because I was fighting over one thing and he over another. We both said “oops” agreed that next time we should agree at least on what exactly we are fighting about before we start fighting and collapsed in a fit of laughter in bed.

The conversation pretty much started with Dear Husband trying to say that I could be a published writer if I put my mind into it and that if he wanted to be published he could. What he meant by that was that without writing abilities his drive alone would get him published because he would allow nothing, absolutely nothing get in the way of being published if that was indeed his dream. When he said it, it sounded to me as if he was saying that if he wanted to be writer he could. Regardless of the fact that he doesn’t write and he is totally left brained and his inclination are more mathematical. What I heard was that he, just by deciding to be one, could be a writer as simple as that and that if he wanted to he could outline a story and write whatever he wanted to write about.

Now, the subject of will and want is always been a touchy issue in our household since Dear Husband is a firm believer on “The Secret” and that anyone can do whatever they put their mind into and I am more of a pragmatic school of thought. To me it felt incredibly insulting that he felt that whatever ability God gave me to express myself, my thoughts and stories through the written word was meaningless when paired against the will of men. That whatever talent I have as a writer could be challenged by whomever person came along and simply decided to be a writer.

After we went through comparisons where Michael Jordan, Tiger Woods, Mike Piazza, Degas, Monet, Picasso, Beethoven, Bach, Nora Roberts, J.K. Rawlings and others were used as examples of abilities, talent and hard work, we got to the bottom of his point which was that talent alone is not going to get me anywhere if I don’t have the guts to go after it. And that some talentless fool out there may get what I want simply because they wanted it more than me. Because they fought for it, because they were fearless, because they let nothing, absolutely nothing get in the way of what they wanted.

I have to want it. Nothing is going to happen unless I make it happen.

Julie and Julia went after their dreams with an unstoppable determination. They fought against society, geography, lazy co-workers, and unsupportive parents and in Julie’s case crippling fear of failure.

Hope is indeed scary, it brings forth all sorts of dreams and feelings, plans and possibilities but I am going to embrace it damn it because nobody wants it more than I do.

You’ll see.