swan song.

it won't be long.

I'll be leaving Chicago in about eight days. The date is approaching quicker and quicker everyday. For the most part, everything is falling into place. My scholarships have gone through, I've finished most of my research and I even managed to sublet my apartment. I'm excited and I'm anxious. But mostly, I think I'm anxious. It's a good anxiousness. Like the anxiety I get when I climb the train bridge, as a cause of the heights. A fear of being out my comfort zone, but with the understanding that I will gain a better perspective because of it. This last semester has been a bit rough. It was my first semester at UIC and it was a lot of work. The last seven months have been nothing but academia. That's the part that has hampered my spirit the most. It's not that I don't like research or an academic environment, it actually seems to be the environment in which I thrive the most. I feel extremely fortunate to have been afforded the opportunity to work under a great professor, researching a subject that is important to me. But it's the times in which I'm with people who are challenging their struggles that I learn the most. In the last ten months I have been greatly inspired by the youth that I have met and their tenacity in advocating for their rights. In hindsight, I wish I could've been more helpful--but like I said before--I'm still learning. Learning. That is the exciting part of this trip. Once again, I will be able to speak and meet people who are working towards a better life. A better world. I'm privileged to be able to do so. I know it and I'm grateful for it. For the next four and half months my classroom will be Central America. It will be stories that are imparted. The experience that is gained. I'm excited and I'm anxious. But mostly, I'm anxious.

it don't pay to think too much....

on things you leave behind.

del otro lado.

raices

michocan.

Cruising.

otra rola de mi niñez.

May and June.

I had dinner with my father for fathers day. We met up with the rest of the family and had a small dinner. Nothing too fancy. Simple. The way my father is and will always be. After dinner, on the ride back to the city, I had a conversation with my father about immigrating to the United States. My father started talking about how much he used to dread this time of year: May and June. According to my father, this was the time of year when INS came up from the border states to conduct raids on factories and communities where immigrants had a strong presence. He dreaded this time of the year the most because of the heightened risk of a raid, the thought of being deported and losing me in the process. Making a difficult situation worst, my mother was also undocumented and worked in the same factory as my father. A double threat. This was also the time of year when INS would set up checkpoints off of the Kennedy expressway and request proof of citizenship. Fortunately, a raid was never conducted at the factory where my parents worked and they always managed to evade checkpoints. Unfortunately, others were not so lucky. My father recounted an instance where a friend of his was apprehended by INS while standing outside of a bank on Division and Ashland. These are the stories of my parents, of growing up undocumented in Chicago, in the 1980s.