Love At the Border

I used to dream of the kind of love that would drive someone to cross a border for me. It’s a case, I think, of romanticizing my past. Crossing borders is a breeding ground for death, made possible by the militarization of a terrified people who don’t want their way of life to ever change. They want to work until they die, and enjoy a few

dollars in higher wages at the expense of poorer countries and the environment. It’s hard for anyone to imagine the kind of love that would violate the property and segregation laws of a few wealthy countries. My mother used to tell me about the days and nights she would have anxiety attacks and cry for me. Her little girl was out there in the hands of a smuggling organization and anything could happen. It often amazes me how the US manages to always create a even more exploited colored permanent worker class. Like so many migrants like us, my parents were able to get temporary working cards that they had to renew every year. Because it’s a working card, I didn’t qualify, I was a child. It’s understandable, the US doesn’t want “our kind” to have love, family, or children. They want us to work. They wanted economic property, that would pay taxes, would work, but most certainty will not have rights, or families. Similarly, they didn’t want Chinese immigrants to love, have sex, or have families. They wanted them to build the railroad, and then leave or deport them. My parents were put in a really bad decision during Hurricane Mitch, they had to leave to work in the US through the program. But the requirement (although) it doesn’t state it as a requirement, was that they would have to leave me behind. Immigration laws often hide the human cost behind what they actually do. Since TPS is a working card, you can’t bring your children with you. So as you can imagine, this led to many people smuggling their family and children over illegally. Immigration laws tend to be so cruel toward people in the global south, that they actually create the problems they wanted to avoid in the first place.

I don’t think I know many parents that would be able to handle the emotional trauma of having to leave their children to work in another country and be separated for years. That’s what this country does to migrants. Our families grow up apart, family members die, and in between us are borders and powerful nations that only see us as labor to be used and deported. Once you enter the US, it' becomes hard to leave. The US has created laws penalizing migrants who leave with bans, so if you come and work and you leave you will be banned for several years. Everything about being without status (undocumented) feels like a prison. I know I’m being watched by the feds, that I’m monitored, I was keenly aware of it from a young age. Along with knowing that many people wanted my blood along with my labor. They were so outraged when they discovered that these illegals could speak for themselves, and they’re demanding rights, their lives, and their families.

I, along with my parents have noticed this numbing feeling that this system creates. My life, like so many, feels like endless waves of trauma. At what point do the waves overtake you, and you’re just a body experiencing trauma, but not feeling it because you aren’t there anymore? There were so many moments that felt like I had lost a piece of myself that was human. They came during a phone call informing me of a relative’s death that I could barely remember anymore. I wondered for weeks for this stranger, what their life was like, how they grew up in a different world away from me, how they died and I felt like I had lost a ghost. There was the moment with my grandfather on the phone, where he told me he would fight cancer for me, he would wait until the US gave me citizenship, and I could visit him before dying. Because I was a child migrant I couldn’t just leave the US and come back, I was illegal for the rest of my life so leaving would give me a 10 year ban. By the time I was a teen I was very disillusioned with my fellow Americans/peers, and politics. My family outside the US tended to be more hopeful for us, and believed much of the propaganda the US likes to fed the world about the superiority of Americans/America. And it was hard to listen to it knowing that my family was dying and I couldn’t see them. All I could do was get off the phone quickly, I tried to avoid talking to him for years. He was dying and I didn’t wanna hear the coughs anymore. I had already known and seen too many people dying already. My grandfather spoke with such hope about how Americans would have a heart, god would find a way, someway we would see each other one last time. It was beautiful thought. But we’ve been here in history before where one group has the power to deny citizenship rights to another and they never have a change of heart until people rise up and start murdering them. My impulse was to say “just die, don’t overexert yourself fighting cancer for something that won’t happen”. I knew, for years, that I would never see him again. My final memories of him would be the murder of his wife (my grandmother) when I was 5 years old. For years, I knew the phone call about him passing away was coming, and when it did I was going to hate Americans more than I ever did in my life.

DACA has made me hyperaware because I know I'm being hyperwatched & I'm being timed. I always know how much time I have, & I stuff all my plans & dreams in a "legal" time zone the state has allowed. I miss not having DACA .

Before DACA I was planning long term ambitious goals within a full 81 year "illegal" life. With DACA, everything is tunnel vision and practical, within a 2 year "legal" life span. It's a special kind of hell.

The only things I view as doable, are all the things that fit into 2 years. I've gotten into arguments with men professing their love to me. You can't love a deportable person on a 2 year time limit. If you choose to love someone, fall in love with a citizen. They're easy to love

2 years. We can have fun, we can fool around. Falling in love knowing you have maybe two years with someone is a bad choice. I never wanna put someone through that. I'd rather they pursue someone with more time to give, someone with a future and full life.

Everyone who helps & serves illegals is bitter and cynical. Citizens used to anger me, but I mostly just think they're cute now. So much hope, so much optimism and faith in the future, in the state, in the system, in the power of their love as a citizen to prevent my deportation

They think I just crossed a border, they think it's easy. True love doesn't conquer all. People literally died for me to be here, I almost died. A system based on cruelty doesn't make expectations for love, it punishes love and blows out the candles.

In so many ways sex work is the perfect job and lifestyle for me. Offering me the option of thriving underground, with people who understand the value of my time, who understand that love is illegal and comes at a great price.

I don’t think I wanna fall in love. For many reasons. I feel that my political existence doesn’t allow for it. Having gone over the pro and cons of falling in love, the risks far outweigh any benefit. It’s easy to get married for a green card if you came legally (they’re still technically undocumented but have way more legal options), but if you came “improperly”, you have mostly nothing. I would never want to put someone through the pain of loving someone who could be deported. I’m outside the age of really believing ‘the American Dream’, of having a boundless ambition. I just wanna live my life. Judging by the political climate, I’ll be staying illegal for a very long time. I might as well have sex to let off some steam. The last thing I need is to fall in love, and have a child as political conversations about repealing the 14th amendment are underway. I don’t need to bring more people into this.