Many immigrant folk don’t like to talk about the future. It’s difficult to see beyond the precarity and uncertain political developments. But, I want to just for this second: Eventually, life in Guadalajara will come to be like life anywhere else. I’ll know it like the back of my hand…

Twenty-four years of my American experiment comes to an end. — I accept my exile: it was not exile I sought reprieve of. — Medea. Euripedes. ~4CE. We did not come to the United States in pursuit of a dream. We did not cross the border seeking freedom. We did not leave our families behind to find a better life. These…

Mental health, resistance, and the scenic route to self-destruction. — My parents were dumbstruck when I, at a precocious eleven years, told them I wanted to kill myself. Neither my mother nor my father was equipped for that conversation. I didn’t have the language to adequately express what it was like to be depressed and anxious as a child, nor…

We must move beyond bromides & half-truths if we are going to survive. — I can no longer attend the rallies. I don’t have the stomach or the heart for it. I am afraid to see, deep in the crowd, their shining faces. Our Youth. I am afraid to hear their chants bang and echo syncopated to the beating of hundreds of fists against…

Tidal Lock: One eye, one ear lovingly fixed on my boyfriend snoring—supine on the bed—other eye always forced towards México, other ear pressed against the door fearing time has run out. …