Ciudad de varias, cada vez que te trato de detener en mis brazos, en mi búsqueda para compartir tu aire, de darte tiempo para tus temblores, huyes. ¿Tijuana, me quieres? Tijuana, te amo. Tijuana, cada vez que pido pertenecerte, me empujas para atrás, arriba, entre cerros y vistas nubladas. La casa, mi casa, eres tu, Tijuana, pero necesito que me dejes bajar tus escaleras, dejar el ático en donde me escondes, y ver por tus ventanas. ¿Tienes miedo a que te pare de buscar, después de conocerte? Tijuana, puedo ir lo que esta afuera, o lo que se moverá detrás de mi reflejo en tus vidrios. Rompe mi corazón lo que hay en la sala, la cocina, la puerta principal, pero prometo, mi vida, no correré de mi herencia por lo que podré encontrar en tus cajones.
My house has almost burnt down a few times. Once at Christmas, when we were preparing dinner and cleaning up wrapping paper. Once a few times after. Once there was the fear of burning nearly every day for a week. I didn't know until a month later.Â
Playas! My grandparents' house! My house (they get mad if I don't call their house my house). I lived a few minutes away as a kid! A woman lost her mind and killed two members of her family nearby. This is the first place I learned to drive. That Oxxo was been held up like 16 times. Whenever I dream, I dream here.Â
You can see the border from my grandmother's room. Helicopters fly above. When my mom was little (after Volcan) they could hear people in the helicopters yell down through megaphones at people jumping the fence. "Go back! Go back to your country! Back to Mexico!" The tree you can see in the corner sheds tiny little seedpods all year. They hit your head during barbecues.
I am told that before I was born, my hometown flooded. A popular restaurant filled with so much water that its plastic tablecloths floated across the streets. Silverware slunk away to live and die amongst the fish. A coffee maker, Italian made, was soon spotted, bobbing copper between the murky waves of Main Street. How long did it rain? How far away was it all swept out to sea?
I take a lot of photos of birds (blurry, all super pixelated and I erase them guiltily a few weeks later) and of the sky in Tijuana. It looks like what it sounds like to hear people here laugh.Â
Sometimes the sky in my neighborhood looks like it wants to eat us.Â
There's a lot of squirrels this year. The year before it was snakes. Before it was mosquitoes. Tarantulas. Mice. Black beetles. Rabbits. There was horses, once.Â
Ghost Dog lives in a house three doors down from my grandmother's house. He is fed by a kind German lady. My grandpa says that it's because they're both German (German Shepard in the dog's case, but I don't think he's actually that). When I was little I wanted to own that house. My grandma says that people used to drive to their neighborhood just to see it. It was one of the three most beautiful houses in the city. Now it's falling apart and one wall is neon green. The owners left the dog there but sometimes you can see him running around and hiding.
There are so many parts to this city. When I was little I thought the world ended after the hill. Like a triangle. It took me a lot to realize that was where most of the world was. Sometimes it still feels like I'm on my triangle facing the sea about to tumble down down cliffs and into canyons and onto rocks and waves and hello fish and goodbye
First my neighbor lost his head. (where were his kids?) Then the girl was beaten up. (furthest by distance though closest by speech.) Now he’s lost in my house, crying, (how do you fit, Tijuana?)
When I think of what’s to come my heart starts pumping lemon juice. There is a lot of lemon (lime) juice in my past, though mostly indirectly. Lemon Achi (la güerita de ojos azules sin ojos azules Would put it in her hair. (Who told her she had to?) Her skin was white already. Maybe she thought her hair should match. Now, she dyes it. (I’m sure her scalp is glad.) I worry about her stopping, leaving behind this ritual of gloves and belief.. For now, however, her house slowly fills up with dye and lemonade. Lemonade When I was fourteen,
My best friend made lemonade (sugar sweet)(just right) When I think of what’s to come for her family’s lunch. my heart starts pumping lemon juice. She went out in the sun then. I don’t here is a lot of lemon (lime) juice in myknow past,why. The dog, maybe, though mostly indirectly. or her (baby) brother. Maybe she seeked the sun Lemon like everybody seeked her. On Wednesday, her hands chi (la güerita de ojos azules sinwere ojos wrapped azules in Would put it in herbandages. hair. They were covered (hidden away) (Who told her she had to?) forwhite the rest of summer Her skin was already. (never match. the same). Maybe she thought her hair should Now, she dyes it. (I’m sure her scalp is glad.) Lime I worry about her stopping, Before that, my this grandfather would carry leaving behind ritual of gloves and me on his thin-like-himbelief.. shoulders, up the limbs of her his lemon Forinto now, however, house (lime) slowlytree. I think hefills misses growing while growing up with dye food and lemonade. up. I wonder how he misses his mom. Lemonade There is lemonade on his table daily. He doesn’t like the taste When I was fourteen,
(unless he adds wine). We work through our own ritual: he serves me a glass; he does not drink. Honey, you Keep treading water, afraid of how deep the acid might burn, barely inching forward. Try to change the focus on them, the branches.
When my mom doesn't know what to do, she fixes things. She fixes us as much as she can. When she gets tired of that, and of her phone ringing, she fixes the garden. We have the most beautiful flowers. These, however, are not ours. They are right next to my house. I love the shade of blue. It's soft. It feels like a luxury.
Brighter than carried candles, Eyes, teeth, all, glowed. A cold night, of course, But God, the warmth! If you had put all of our layers together, (coats, sweaters, scarves) You would have a hill a floor high. We sang. Loud! Out of tune! Content with company and promised food. When the door opened, Light flowed out. I was bathed. I was loved.
I wish I'd known about more of the fires. When they come I feel like I can help. I feel like I'm a part of them.Them. Them. Them. I want to be a part of a them. How do I fit? Here's the hill, on fire. I was in the car while my mom drove. We didn't evacuate that time. In my head we were already putting away all of the scrapbooks.Â
En mi ciudad llueve rojo; la sangre de nuestras muertes violentas; las lagrimas de mamás que se mezclan con su lipstick. ¿Cuándo regresan sus hijos? El grafiti ya cubre los murales, organico, crepta como hiedra sobre la ciudad. Las calles se vuelven túneles. ¿Alguna vez ha sido seguro sentarse a leer lo que ciertos dicen? La Virgencita ya perdió sus ojos. Pero preguntasen, gringito, y te voy a decir como todo brilla hasta que llores por el paraíso saltado.