One Year

It was a year ago today that we arrived in San Juan Cosalá. It's been a whole year. A whole hard, stinking, terrible, amazing, boring, crazy year.

I guess it's time for a little reflection, a little confession, and a little resolution.

We chose not to tell everyone that Hernan wasn't in the US legally. There's so much anger and hate directed at undocumented immigrants, and we also didn't want to risk alienating our friends and coworkers. We tried to keep it a secret from a lot of people. This was a little heartbreaking because it's been a huge part of our lives and hiding it made me feel dishonest and distant from people. Yet, the fear we also lived with, fear of deportation, fear of rejection, fear of discrimination, made us decide to keep it (mostly) under wraps.

Hernan came to the US when he was just seventeen. He needed to work and send money home to his family, who were living in poverty under the burden of medical debt. Being here now, I can understand why so many people choose to risk their lives and leave their families for that ol' American dream. Job opportunities down here, in a word, blow.

So he worked hard, learned English, adopted American cultural norms, and fell in love with me. What a great immigrant story, no? But in 1996 the government came up with the 3/10 year bar, by which anyone illegally present in the US for more than a year would be barred from getting a visa for ten years.

Knowing the immigration process is jacked, we decided to try anyway. We decided to try to get Hernan legal status. We were tired of worrying about getting caught. Somehow, if we'd just kept going, we'd almost certainly still be in the US with our friends and families. Because we tried to do "the right thing", and initiated the process, we're now living in San Juan instead.

But we're still hoping. We're hoping we can show that we're both honest, hard-working people, that I've been suffering miserably by being down here, that they can really let us back in and we'll be good. We're hoping eventually we'll get a waiver of that 10 year bar. We're hoping we can both go home again. Maybe we're dumb to keep hoping. Maybe we were dumb to try.

So, after a whole lot of time and a heap of money, the government sent us our appointment date in Ciudad Juarez, the shittiest place I've ever been. We quit our jobs, left our home and friends, got rid of some things, packed up and headed south. September 11th we had our appointment date, and that afternoon processed the despair and heartbreak that came with the big "Fuck You" we of course got from the US government. We got out of that miserable city as fast as we could and headed to Hernan's home town. The silver lining: as least he would get to know his family again, all his loved ones he'd left behind for so long. And we needed to regroup.

So here we are, a year later. We have an amazing baby, who's beautiful and smiles all the time. We have Hernan's wonderful and kind family. We have each other.

We don't have any money. We don't have our friends or my family. We don't have the way of life we miss so much.

I was told that after a year here it would get easier, and miraculously it has. The shock of turning my life upside down and shaking has worn off. I still miss home, and everything that means, but I'm no longer depressed every day.

And I feel overwhelmed by the love, kindness and generosity my family and friends have shown. Every care package, every email, every kindness and word of support, every humorous blog comment has made it easier to persevere and has made me feel less far away.

And then a few months ago I ventured into the blogosphere and found so many other women living down here for the same reason as me, and now I feel a little sense of community and understanding, and a lot more courage. And if these other women can survive and maybe even flourish then maybe I can too.

A year. A whole stinking, difficult, depressing, wonderful, life-changing, awesome year.

So we'll keep hoping and keep persevering and keep doing the best we know how. Somehow, we'll figure it out.