Golden Cage
"Sometimes Annie feels as if borders are stuck on her back and in front of her eyes, encapsulating her in a drowning prison."
This week’s installment comes from Hedgiee.
Ana Maria is constantly en las noticias’ menu branded as an invader, a job thief, the scary boogie thing every election cycle.
All the things she has done in the past to nourish her dreams, her goals, her constant lucha is not enough. Despite all her efforts, she still struggles to put food on her table. She works at low-wage jobs, constantly working overtime without proper compensation.
Even when her legs are about to give up, she considers herself blessed to have a job.
Ana Maria inherited her abuela’s name, but here on the other side, the stars called her Annie. She remembers la pasada as if it was yesterday, where not even abuela or her uncles could save her from the hands of nasty polleros, thirsty for her innocent soul.
She often prays to La Virgen Lupita to take away those dark feelings, her hypervigilant reaction, and her wounded mind. However, her memories still attack, lingering around her happiness, caging her joy. She realized: the American Dream is like living in a fantasy land with none of its neon colors around.
Annie calls abuela almost every day. Abuela was detained for driving without a driver's license, and deported back home after two years of being reunited. Mom still seems like a stranger, barely stepping into our small apartment, working double shifts at McD’s donde no checan papeles. Conversations are rare, usually about paying bills and bringing money pa’la renta at the end of the month.
Annie calls abuela almost every day. Abuela was detained for driving without a driver's license, and deported back home after two years of being reunited.
Before high school graduation, she paid a visit to her counselor, affirming that golden arches were her only option to sustain her survival mode. College was out of question, shattering her dreams in a thousand ways to give up as she walked out of their door. Sometimes Annie feels as if borders are stuck on her back and in front of her eyes, encapsulating her in a drowning prison.
Even though she applied for many colleges, admission officers tell her they can't help students like her, suggesting to fix her status to receive help. She has learned to become like water, chipping away these borders, forging paths where no one has ever been. She has learned to speak up, to be seen and never feel invisible again.
She heard in her graduation speech; now, you can venture into the world, yet no one knows she can't travel outside of the country, with her minimum wage shoes, sin papeles, unable to afford a plane ticket.
After working to pay for college out of pocket, she met señoras at work who called Annie “hija.” Finally, she feels like she belongs to a familia in places where people who don't speak English get exploited. Despide facing many barriers along her path, she continues to persevere.
Step by step, Annie is 28 years old. Las noticias called her a dreamer, even though she didn’t apply for DACA because college was more important than a two-year status.
She holds two golden printed papers, placed inside a dusty drawer where her forgotten goals had been kept. Her English now sounds proper, and her speech flows as smoothly as the conversations of pumpkin spice latte customers at coffee shops.
She remembers with rage people who made fun of her accent, mixing two colonizers’ languages at once, being bullied, ignored, belittled for her lack of English, for the color of her skin.
Annie is often called the I-word online as she shares her thoughts as an art form, where many wasps stop by to sting her dreams of becoming a serious writer.
Apesar de todo, many forget the stars’ country is stolen land, taken from Annie’s cousin from the north. It is worth nothing that many of these insects have themselves forgotten their families’s roots on the other side of the globe.
One more step, Annie is 33 years old, she can’t pay a visit to papi en la carcel after he was accused of stealing from a rich family without any proof. Dad tells her they weren't paying him for all of his hours and when he confronted them, they called the police and said: go back to your country.
He has been waiting so long for his trial, unsure whether he will be deported like abuela or sentenced. Hope still lingers in her mind.
Mami hasn't been the same since Papi was arrested, and they had to move so many times fearing la migra would come after them.
But I tell her if la migra comes for you, Ama! I had become a shield, a wild fire to burn out everyone who dares to touch you. I wish a MF would!
I have become la pesadilla of candidates preying on la comunidad for votes to be elected, promising myself I would never be afraid, not even in front of cameras y noticeros, no! Not even la pinchi migra. Aunque la jaula sea de oro doesn't mean it’s not a prison.This is for Abuela, this is for you, mami y papi, for mis tíos lost en el desierto, this is for all the immigrants fighting for liberation and humanization in the house of the free
#hasta la lucha
Propina
This essay’s title draws on Denice Frohman’s poem “Borders”—The first poem that inspired me to start writing and wondering what the main characters went through aligning some parts with my personal story.
Visit Hedgiee’s site: www.undocustories.com.
We’ll see you next week.