Friday, April 29, 2005Today I became a Naturalized United States Citizen. There were about three thousand of us being sworn in, but fourteen received an honorary mention. These were members of the armed forces, “the people who defend our freedom.” Their names, military rank, and country of birth were read. I found it satisfying to hear my mother country’s name, Mexico, read over and over again. I was also reminded of a song… Translation:On my way back from visiting my mother country, and as I made my way across the border, an immigration official stopped me and asked to see my immigration documents. As he looked through them I heard him grumble, “with so many immigrants, Americans themselves struggle to find a job.” I retorted the following… “There’s truth to what you state. Yes, we — Mexican immigrants — have taken jobs away from Americans, but just as we are willing to work a sweat to obtain and maintain our jobs, we’re also the kind to step forward when our names are called for combat. My children were born here. When their country called on them to go to war, they put aside the prejudice they had endured throughout their lives and defended their country to death. They filled the boots and bore the arms that the sons of many white men had refused. Suddenly, nobody questioned their Americanism. It took their blood in combat for them to finally be accepted as Americans. Do you find it unpleasant to see Hernandez written on payrolls? Go ahead and take a look at the list of those missing in action and then get back to me.” As I screamed all this to him, he could not suppress his tears. Stricken with emotion he said to me, “Go ahead and cross the border this and any other time you please. You’ve certainly earned more than I have.” Los Hijos de Hernandez (Los Tigres del Norte) Regresaba de mi tierra Y mientras los revisaba Le dije muy enojado Si, muy duro trabajamos, Aquí nacieron mis hijos Allí nadie se fijaba Si en la nómina de pago Mientras esto le gritaba Posted by at 6:55 pm [Permalink]
Thursday, March 10, 2005Sixteen years ago this month, I crossed the border into America without documents. I still remember that first time I walked on the driveway of my new home (I had arrived at 1am, I didn’t get a chance to look around). Beautiful homes and cars. Chilly weather. I wondered which way was my hometown, which a three-day bus-ride had left behind. I wondered what was happening back home. On Monday I went to my naturalization interview (to become a citizen of the United States). I watched the people around me and wondered, “Are we all traitors to our home country?” After writing down on a sheet of paper, “The day is beautiful” and answering that the fundamental belief of the Declaration of Independence is that “all men are created equal” and that “they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, among them the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,” I headed home with mixed feelings. I had been approved, but I couldn’t make-up my mind on whether I was happy, complacent, or maybe even disappointed. Oh, but I was definitely hungry, and like a good Mexican, I called my mother and asked her if she could please cook some chilaquiles (known by some as “poor man’s dish”). Yeah, I love that about myself. I love how I remain attached to my culture, in spite of the fact that I’ve lived in America more than three-fifths of my life. And watch… one day — as a teacher — I’ll have my kids do a performance on a Cinco de Mayo or a 16 de Septiembre in front of the whole school. My kids will have in me a teacher who has not forgotten where he has been and what he has done. My humble background empowers me. Translation:Having had the opportunity to walk on the finely constructed streets of the most prominent cities of the world, I can say without a doubt that no city of the world could ever make me feel what I would feel walking on the streets of my own hometown. Its streets are yet to be paved and its adobe homes are already showing their age, but this doesn’t take away from the fact that it’s the town that witnessed my childhood. As such, it holds a special place in my heart. It’s sad to have to leave one’s hometown, and even sadder if one’s relatives and friends are not able to make the trip. Fate brings people’s bodies apart, but souls have no concept of distance, time, or boundaries. I think of my relatives and friends just as much now as I did when I had just arrived to America, many, many years ago. Nostalgia brings me tears, and in my tears I see my town. In my town I see my beloved house, and in my beloved house stands my mother praying to God that I return home safe one day. Her prayers give voice to my own desire, and I know God will come through for us. The almighty knows that every immigrant’s biggest and final wish is to be allowed to die in his town of birth, surrounded by those he loved, and having as pallbearers those who loved him most. Pueblo Querido (Los Tigres del Norte) Hoy me encuentro muy lejos, muy lejos El recuerdo se me hace tristeza; Yo ansío con todo mi ser Es muy triste encontrarse ausente Yo ansío con todo mi ser Posted by at 5:56 am [Permalink]
Saturday, October 2, 2004Translation:As much as I tried, I couldn’t fall in love again. You owned my soul and every bit of love my heart was to ever feel for anyone. In fact, this last time you left you took my heart, and in doing so you ridded me of my freewill. I was left with nothing but desires, and now that I find you again, I want to fulfill each and everyone of them. I want to feel your hands caressing my body and your breath warming up my skin. Come to my arms and love me like you used to… No Pude Enamorarme Más (Los Tigres del Norte) (1) (2) (3) (4) (2), (3), (4), (3), (4) Posted by at 9:19 am [Permalink]
Wednesday, March 3, 2004Translation:Martin Estrada Contreras was a man who loved playing cards. People respected him because he played by the rules. He accepted his losses just as willingly as he rejoiced on his victories. A young woman entered his heart. He turned her into his wife. To him, she was a rose. Not just any rose — the most beautiful rose. A stranger came into town. The stranger came looking for Martin. They played a series of games, which resulted on Martin losing all his money. Nonetheless, they continued to play. The stranger said, “If you wish to see my cards, you must have something to bet.” Sure of himself, Martin responded, “I’ll bet my wife.” The stranger exposed his cards, and Martin felt death was at his door. Alas, Martin held a weaker hand. Nothing more needed to be said. He left the scene in a hurry and returned within two hours — his wife was next to him. Noise died down… “Debts resulting from gambling are debts to be honored. Here she is, for you to take. She’s what I adore most, and I give her to you. And because losing her would be like losing my life…” Two shots were heard. First Martin killed the woman he loved, then himself.. El Tahur (Los Tigres del Norte) Martín Estrada Contreras Pero una joven hermosa le llegó al corazón Al pueblo llegó un fulano Si quieres mirar mis cartas Se destaparon cuatro aces Martín salió como un rayo “pa mi las deudas del juego son siempre deudas de honor. Te entrego lo que más quiero, pero te la entrego muerta, aunque me destroze el alma, de sentimiento y dolor.” Se oyeron dos fogonazos Posted by at 9:23 pm [Permalink]
Friday, December 12, 2003I did fifth year of grade school at Woodland Hills Elementary, a predominately anglo school. My classmates and I were the few Latino students there. We were all recent immigrants. Some were from El Salvador, others from Guatemala, and the rest of us were Mexicans. But even among Mexicans, I was “El Mexicano” — the Mexican — nickname that I bore with pride. Well, okay, to a certain someone I was “Mexican Burrito.” That’s what a white girl called me when one of my classmates told her I liked her. Heh. Our being different brought problems to the school. Along with big, freckled-face Fernando Toledo, Jehova’s Witness Roberto Garcia, Salvadorean Jorge Sifontes, and others, I battled the forces of evil — the white boys in the adjoining classrooms. We’d fight in the restrooms, and mad-dog one another outside of it. Our teachers only wanted to know one thing: “Why?!” My class was known for more than starting fights, though. I recall that a dance festival was held in the playground. Other classes did their dances, but none of them drew as much attention as when we danced “El Jarabe Tapatio,” a Mexican folk dance. The audience was ours. Another thing I remember of my fifth grade school-year is that our teacher, Mrs. Luvitsi, would have us come to the front of the room so that we could either tell jokes or sing. I did both. Yes, I was talented. Just as I do now, I’d tell jokes that nobody would get (in other words, unfunny). I’d end my jokes asking, “Did you guys get it?” Surprise, surprise, they’d say “no…” I’d head back to my seat, shrugging, and saying in a whiny voice, “Well neither did I, but you’re the ones who insisted on me telling it!” Heh, that last bit always made them laugh, as if I had wasted their time telling them a long story just to deliver that line. As to the songs we sang, they were mostly by “Los Tigres del Norte.” I’m pretty sure I knew most of their songs. This was perhaps how I came to be known as “El Mexicano” — back then, there was not a band more Mexican than “Los Tigres del Norte,” and me knowing their music made me the most Mexican of the Mexicans in my class. This brings me to a song by “Los Tigres del Norte.” Many undocumented immigrants can relate to it. It’s their situation in music form. Many undocumented immigrants may have more money now that they are living in the U. S., than they did in their own country, but they still want to go back. They can’t return to it, however, because that would mean they’d have to risk their lives to re-enter the USA. Returning to USA is unavoidable, as they can bring thousands of dollars with them back to Mexico, but money vanishes. They have no choice but to remain living here, in what they consider their golden cage. Translation:Here I am, still living in the United States. It’s been ten years since the day I became a wetback. My situation is the same. I remain an undocumented immigrant. I have my wife and children, who came with me when they were little. They have forgotten about Mexico; I haven’t, but I can’t return to it. What good is money if I’m being held in this (great) country against my will? Remembering this I cry, realizing that although the cage may be made out of gold, it’s still a cage, nonetheless. (Father asks in Spanish:) “Hey, son, listen, how would you like to return to Mexico?” My children have assimilated. They no longer talk to me. They have learned another language and forgotten that which was their own. They think like Americans. They deny being Mexicans, although we bear the same brown skin. As for me, I remain the wetback who rarely roams the streets, the wetback who still fears being found and deported. Really, what good is money if I’m being held against my will? Remembering this I cry, realizing that although the cage may be made out of gold, it’s still a cage, nonetheless. La Jaula de Oro (Los Tigres del Norte) Aqui estoy establecido en que crucé de mojado Tengo mi esposa y mis hijos de mi México querido De que me sirve el dinero Cuando me acuerdo hasta lloro — Escuchame hijo. Te gustaria que regresaramos a vivir a México? Mis hijos no hablan conmigo Piensan como americanos De mi trabajo a mi casa Casi no salgo a la calle De que me sirve el dinero Cuando me acuerdo hasta lloro Posted by at 5:02 am [Permalink]
Tuesday, June 24, 2003I sang in the shower a song I haven’t heard in years. It told my story. I felt it. Translation:As a result of the love I had for a woman, I played with fire not realizing it was me who burned. I drank from the fountain of pleasure, until I realized it wasn’t me she loved. It all seems like a dream, but I know one day I’ll have forgotten. I’m sad at the moment, but soon I’ll sing. For the love I had for a woman, I cried and came to the verge of going crazy. Meanwhile, she was surrounded by laughter. I shattered a glass and allowed my veins to bleed. I did not know what I was doing. But once I heal, it’s my promise that I will never again look back into the past. Por El Amor de Una Mujer (Los Tigres del Norte) Por el amor de una mujer Por el amor de una mujer Todo me parece como un sueño todavía Por el amor de una mujer Por el amor de una mujer Posted by at 5:45 pm [Permalink]
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