Ah, June a delightful month. Full of birthdays (I know too many Gemini), father’s day, the summer solstice, men's mental health awareness… the celebrating of slaves getting unslaved two whole years and a bit after the unslavatude oficial....
It's a whole month for a lot of people to stop concentrating on how awful it is that there are others in the world who are vastly different than they are, and focus on human rights, perhaps? Because what even are human rights anymore?
June for the Baja frontier has been, shall we say, Pantone color *Mortally Red #ED1827.5 (*not an actual Pantone color). Very intentional deaths have ramped up to about a murder nearly every single day. I am no social studies genius, but this paroxysm juuuuust might have to do with that upset Mexico experienced way back in February when a cartel leader was taken out.
“Power vacuums are awesome!” I declare out of nowhere with both thumbs energetically up and a shit-eating grin on my face. To which you all stare like I've grown another limb.
Daily life does go on– life finds a way and all that. The gang unaffiliated continue to feel some degree of safety in their distance from that life, but everyone knows boys sent out to make a hit can mistake Angel Garcia for Juan Manuel; a panicked shooter might miss and ding a bystander; stray bullets from a shootout can ruin some one’s day. Or, even better!– Everyone knows there can be an abrupt internal policy change and just like that!– anyone can become fair game for… anything. Ah, those narcos really know how to keep citizens on their toes, eh? Even us non-citizens.
No, I'm not a proper citizen. I'm not a proper anything. Haven't been for years now. Living at the border there has been no real reason to become Mexican. Recently though, Mexico has managed to turn even my head about applying for citizenship. It's waggling the sexiest offer a third world country possibly can in front of my face: Universal healthcare. If they can't offer safety then the best the can do is help people get patched up from all the slings and arrows.
I looked into the citizenship test. I don't know if I would be able to pass the spoken part. Just thinking about it makes me break out in a sweat– (unless that is just the suffocating heat in this gods awful house.) If I couldn't speak to either of them-thar famous Mikkelsens in my first language then how am I going to speak to a government official in a second language? And why would they want some little-account, sweating, mumbling, aberration to be a Mexican anyway?
The thought of getting any other citizenship hits me right in the low self-esteem. And the low esteem I have for others, honestly. Countries have their arms open, welcome banners hung when they can see dollar signs. Do they have their arms open when extra care is needed for an individual? I don't hold my breath for such a grand miracle. I have to keep taking the mediocre miracles of another breath and another breath, so I can keep facing the desolate, obscure miracle that is the whole expanse of my life.
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