“I want to live… look for me everywhere.”
By: Cristina M.
“Do you have a plan ready?”
This was supposed to be a “let’s get tacos and catch up” dinner. I thought I could keep it superficial. We’d laugh, take a couple bites, maybe complain about work. Instead, I was being met with something I had been avoiding for 3 months.
“I think it’s important that you let us know where it is. I would like to know.”
I stared up at the ceiling instead of answering.
My friend needed me to face reality and give her information to better protect me. The thought made me sick. I brought my stare back down and our eyes met each other’s. Both slowly filling with tears.
I still didn’t have a deportation plan. An emergency plan. A “just in case I get detained and you can’t find me” plan.
I had been everywhere in March. Using the month as a crucial time to connect with community. Making my face a familiar one in new spaces. Areas I believed I could be safe. I thought to myself, “if community knows you and loves you, they’ll push for you to be found.” My friend was now reminding me that in the midst of this busy month, I had forgotten to set aside crucial information about myself. If a detainment ever occurred, my friends and family would need to know how to locate me.
That night, I got home and I looked through all my pens. Would they be surprised by the ink I chose? Maybe the color would alleviate any stress to the person that would have to find the letter first. They’d know that there was intention behind it.
On the front, I wrote my full name and all of the numbers associated with my existence in this country. “Make sure your family can provide info to quickly find you in any system.” Below that, I added the number of a lawyer and two community leaders. On the bottom, four friends to be called immediately and the number of a previous teacher. “If you take medication, add that to your plan.” I began writing down the SSRI.
It hit me for a sec. Would they use my medication against me? Would they turn the narrative to “Well, she was mentally unstable - she didn't make it. She couldn’t handle it.” I remembered Sandra Bland. What happened after a traffic stop. How they want us to believe she ended her own life. How they think we’ll just forget…
This country has been at war. This country loves war.
I’ve witnessed what it does to its own citizens. To Black Americans. What it does to other countries. The genocide it contributes to. The support it’s given israel. The famine in Gaza. I know that right now it’s us but later on it’ll be another group, and then another, and then another. Maybe they’ll continue to overlap with their destruction. But war will continue. Whether certain individuals believe we’re there or not, some of us live it daily.
As I wrote my plan, I knew I needed to make a very specific decision in my words and what would be left behind. I used the same pen and began a message in the back. I signed my name on the bottom.
Sitting there staring at my own writing, I felt the overwhelming sadness. The Doom. It was a physical way to face my reality.
I do not want to be deported.
That seems so silly to write out. To say out loud. It seems like a wild thing to type and have the rest of the world read.
I do not want to be detained.
Will my words be read back years from now and will they mean anything in the greater scope of things? What will the journals and news reports share? Will they be open with the horrors of current detention? Of being lost for days at a time. Families not being able to locate where their loved ones are.
Is the information I gave even enough?
I text my friend and let her know where my plan is. She replies, “I hope we never need it. We won’t need it.” I stare at my screen and cry. I also hope they never need it. I hate the thought of somebody having to find it and use it. I hate this sort of preparedness.
I sit there. Spiraling to myself. All worst case scenarios flashing in my mind. I remind myself that it’s necessary. That it’s better to have it ready. People in my life care so much. They’ll know if they ever hold the paper in their hands - damn, even then she used just enough words to make her stance clear.
May the message transcend.
May we honor it for all undocumented individuals in this country.
“I want to live… look for me everywhere.”
Author Bio: Cristina is a lover of community and sharing space with individuals who are learning & embracing their passions in life. Born in Aguascalientes, Mexico, she moved to Washington state at only 3 years old - and has now resided there for over 28 years. Cristina attended Washington State University where she graduated in 2015 with a Bachelor of Arts in Women Studies with a minor in Comparative Ethnic Studies. It was through the writing of Queer individuals that she began to make sense of her own sexuality and the importance of expressing it in her daily life. Once she graduated, she knew that the knowledge she gained from the university needed to be accessible to her direct community. Cristina loves to write and read. She shares her writing freely on her social media platforms; she believes in using her actual tone in her writing. Encouraging others to learn what their own voice is - whether formal or informal, allowing for personal reflection to lead the way. Cristina’s passion is working with youth and capacitating them in opportunities she wishes would’ve been granted to her when she was younger. She lives her life wanting to demonstrate havingla sangre livianitaand being free to experience joy and laughter.