The Wanderer

"Now when we pull up, tell them we're married okay?"

"But Mom, that would be lying, and you shouldn't lie."

"Just do it okay!"

"No!"

"Just do it, I'm telling you."

"American"

"Are you all married?"

"Yes, we are"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, we are."

"Hello son, how are you? Are they married?"

"No!"

"Maam..."

My mother was furious, teaching me to never lie and then asking me to lie was not a good idea. Of course, at the time I did it because I wanted to get my stepdad in trouble. As a child, I pretty much hated him, and though as an adult I have learned to respect him and appreciate him for the person he is and all he's done for our family, as a kid, I loathed that man.

So I would do things like not lie to immigration officers that would piss my mother off. Love is a crazy wonderful thing, and through thick and thin, love has kept my mom and stepdad together. Believe me, I tried to break that shit hard when I was a kid.

Border crossings, a daily life experience for me and many other kids living in Juarez but going to school in El Paso. When I was in the sixth grade, somehow we found out one of my fellow classmates also lived in Juarez. Was a nice set up for both parties, his dad would take us to school in the morning, and my mom would bring us back in the evening.

This meant really long days for not just kids our age, but for everyone involved. This meant that at 4:30AM every school day, my friend and his dad would honk their horn outside our apartment window and I would go down to start our long trek to school.

This meant that we would only head back to Juarez after my mom finished all her errands in El Paso. Like visiting family, picking up groceries, gassing up, getting food, whatever came our way really. Then we'd get home and maybe have dinner, my mom was never one for cooking, but somehow we always managed to eat something somehow.

I haven't been back to Juarez in years. And it's starting to take its toll on me. Unlike El Paso, which I have visited multiple times since no longer living there, Juarez hasn't been on my itinerary. Partly because of the violence, partly because of the no ride, but mostly because I didn't feel like it was all that important to me. Or so I thought.

I grew up in two cities. El Paso was where I was technically born, but Juarez and El Paso are my hometown. I grew up in Juarez mainly, but not entirely, because of my stepdad. Since he was born there, and because immigration is a nightmare, my mom made the decision more than once for us to move to Juarez to be able to be with him without having to worry about things like deportation and immigration bans and shit.

So that meant that one part of me was angry. One side of me was so vehement at my stepdad, so much rancor was built up. I saw him as the ultimate symbol of taking away my life in El Paso. Of making it so hard to see my cousins when I wanted, of never being able to stay after school or hang out with my friends from school much. And simply keeping me away from what I thought was "my" familiar surroundings.

When I was a kid, I remember thinking I was too good for Mexico, I was too good for "all this poorness" and stuff. It wasn't until cartel violence reporting in the media and it hitting me that traveling to Juarez may no longer be as easy as it was growing up that I realized I wasn't any better than Juarez. I was Juarez.

There's a very interesting and unique culture that brews between El Paso and Juarez. To the outside world, it looks like the two are sister cities, that they depend on each other not only economically, but culturally as well. This is true for the most part, but both worlds are no strangers to the nationalistic stereotypes that create divisions between the two. Much of the time, El Paso and Juarez are seen as having a semi-harmonious bond, not free from troubles of course, but more like the populace understanding that they are kind of the same people. Surface deep however is not deep at all.

Growing up in these two worlds showed me all the ugly of both sides of this world.

On the El Paso side, there is outright hatred towards Mexican nationals. Not everyone of course, but it does exist. Those "beaners, mojados, etc." come over here and are so poor and dirty, try to take jobs, don't speak English, and are just so uncivil, don't pay taxes, gather in hoards, and are just not all that pleasant.

On the Juarez side, those fuckin El Pasoans ya se creen mucho, just because they're American now, se olvidan de sus raizes, and they think they are now white and too good for us Mexicans.

These are of course over-generalizations. But I use them to illustrate a point, and to flush out my own life experiences and understanding just how unique the community I grew up in is. And that we should honor that, and learn from it, not give into over simplifications of our own culture because of stupid nationalism. There is no other place in the world like my hometown sister cities. Trust me, I've been around.

My experiences as a child are not all that uncommon in the area I grew up in, it is a major metropolitan area after all. Many kids lived in Juarez and went to school in the states for various reasons. Some parents used family members' addresses within the district so their kids could go to school there (we did). Some kids were dirt ass poor, and school provided meals were the only sustenance they would get for the most part.

Some kids didn't speak English, nor did their parents, and eventually became bilingual because of the schooling.

But it wasn't until I was an adult, and only recently, that I've come to be proud of my roots. I mean all my roots and experiences and my hometowns as a whole, not the painted pretty picture of it.

I've come to value the sleep overs I had at my cousins house in El Paso as much as I did playing video games with my cousins in Juarez. I've come to value eating at Pizza Hut with my mom in El Paso as much as eating chilindrinas with her at Parque Borunda.

Where there was an ideological block in my mind as a child that tried to not enjoy Juarez as much as I actually did, there was another part of my mind that knew that Juarez wasn't just like home, it was home. We did live there on and off for a good chunk of my childhood after all.

There was no stability in the traditional sense for me as a child. I had no family dinners, no regular room that was "mine" to do as I wished, my family members were splayed all over both cities and it was hard for us to get together regularly. Not to mention the fact that everyone pretty much hated each other's spouses. Add the fact that my parent's were divorced and I still spent much time with my dad's side of the family.

I found stability in other ways, ways I still do in my adult life. Food was always important to me, I love food. One of the first things I did when we moved somewhere was visit the corner stores or some sort of food shop. I used to go the the hamburger shacks by our apartment in Juarez every so often. My mom would give me a few pesos and I would walk down the street to order a hamburger, no mayonnaise, lots of mustard, and plenty of pickles.

I'd also order a plate of enchiladas after church. The folks would sit in a small group on the floor, talk about everything, take my money, and then hand me a plate of greasy and delicious enchiladas.

I found stability in walking to get hot cheetos at the corner store by my grandmas, or the store next door to my mom's friend's house. I was a fan of corner stores growing up. They were the most familiar thing to me, and I knew that they all pretty much looked the same. I would enjoy my time there, where I could take a while to choose what I wanted, because I knew that as soon as I got home, I never really knew what to expect, what pre-planned adventure I would be moving onto next. It makes a ton of sense now that as an adult the first thing I look for when I move somewhere in the world are the markets and the food culture that exists. I find a solace in fresh ingredients, cooking, and eating that goes beyond my direct roots. It touches something deeper, something more ancestral, something more spiritual. Food has always brought me comfort like nothing else can. It helps me make better sense of the world and my own existence.

A regular week in my young years was always having clothes to stay over at a family member's house if needed, a night at my cousin's if I was lucky, staying with my dad's family as well. Going to church on Sunday, either in Juarez or El Paso, but rarely ever the same church, visiting great grandma for some dinner in El Paso before making the trek to Juarez that day, and it just went on and on and on. It's rather exhausting to think about it now, and for the longest time I just sort of pushed out thinking about it, it was too painful perhaps.

Yet, JET gives you a ton of time to think. I've learned to appreciate the craziness of my early development years. My grandma says that the reason I'm so much more mature than all my cousins and siblings is because I was never a kid. It's true, there was always something to do, somewhere to go, and with my mother it was always a life on the go.

Those parents of mine have taught me valuable lessons about life without ever using words. We are the exact materialization of what it means when they say actions speak louder than words. My mom and dad are not very familiar with fear, because even if they feel it, they still take the plunge.

That's one thing their crazy upbringing has taught me. I didn't grow up with a mother or father who told me that "this is what you should do" and then proceed to explain it to me. Rather, I grew up by watching my parents and those around me being put into situations and seeing how they handled it and how they got out of trouble when needed. My mom and dad are some of the most socially intelligent and street smart people I have ever come across, ever. I still learn from them.

I'm proud of those roots now, of that life of constant wandering, that life of living in many worlds. My dad even nicknamed himself "the wanderer." He had it on his voicemail and even on his license plate on an old car of his. My mom (and dad to a great extent), were very good at showing me all the bubbles that existed in our world. They would take me out of one world to show me another [not always by choice], and they would dive into the unknown because why the hell not. As a kid, I hated this so much. I hated having NO IDEA what the hell would happen within the next hour of my life. Would dad drag me to one of his binge drinking hangouts, would mom take me to the store for hours of boring shopping? I learned to just go with the punches as they came, and deal no matter what. It made me a very adaptable person, albeit a very bitter one, when I was young. As an adult, I've come to realize that my parents are always the life of the party everywhere they go. They make such a lasting impression on everyone they meet, two of the most unforgettable people I know.

My parents gave me all the trust in the world to do whatever I wanted. Although my dad liked to get on his high horse when I saw him sometimes, we both knew I could shut him up if I brought up the topic of he drinks too much. Instant silencer.

It was this type of unsheltered upbringing in El Paso and Juarez that has allowed me to think about how remarkable people can be. How when push comes to shove, we are survivors, and fear is nothing but the inexperience on the unknown. How to get rid of fear? Jump in, duh.

I hope the next time I'm in El Paso I am able to go visit my other hometown. I'd love to get some ice cream, some mazapan, maybe a mango with chile, a bean burrito, some fresh corn tortillas, a gansito. I miss Juarez. I miss it because it's like a family member I haven't seen in years who I've just been putting off for later, but it's calling me, my roots are not satisfied nor satiated simply by touching El Paso soil. I need the vibrant atmosphere of Juarez, the non-violent side. The pushy yet friendly people. The fresh chiles and mercados. I need to water those neglected roots I've had for a while. I need to pay respects to the city that helped mold me into the person I am today. The proud me, the dreamer, the forever wanderer.