DREAM ACT or NOT, undocumented students who have been in the USA forever, CAN OVERCOME their shitty situations.

I shared my story with a senator (about the DREAM ACT) over his website, which I want to share with everyone on my Facebook account:

I lived for 10 years in the USA, from the age of 12 to 22. Then I moved to Mexico (I left by my own will) knowing that I was not going to be able to come back soon. Still, I took the chance and finished my major in Mexico because I couldn't in the USA (even with a scholarship). I then won another scholarship (while in Mexico) to do my MA in Applied Linguistics in Georgia State University. During the time I was doing my major, I applied for and got a VISA to visit my relatives who still live in the USA, undocumented. I do not wish this last part to be shared publicly (on TV or radio I meant in the original message), as I fear that my relatives will be deported.

I have one brother who could have benefited from the DREAM Act but he is being deported as we speak. He is now in Atlanta and will be deported in a couple of weeks even though he arrived to the USA when he was 7 (he is now 23) and doesn't know Mexico at all. He is fortunate to have a brother who currently resides in Mexico City with a job and a bright career ahead of him, thanks NOT to the horrible lack of understanding that undocumented children from undocumented migrants get in the United States of America from many people. I can say that usually, "brain leaks" (people who have great potential but decide not to come back to their native country) happen in Mexico when students who study abroad decide not to come back to Mexico because of the situation here. I can probably be considered a "brain leak" that USED TO BELONG TO THE USA.

I no longer wish to be a US citizen (though I have great friendships and relatives in that country) but my brother who is in deportation proceedings right now probably thinks that his whole world is shutting down by being deported to a country which is no longer his: Mexico. All I can say is, if the DREAM ACT does not pass because people simply do not understand the current immigration situation in the USA, then the kids of immigrants CAN find a better life through education. If it isn't in the USA then in the countries which saw them being born. They will learn to love that country eventually, and will forget the USA, a country which is not thankful for the loyalty that these undocumented immigrants display in their everyday lives conscious or unconsciously.

The Eclipse

(Original title: El eclipse)
Author: Augusto Monterroso
Translated by: me

When friar Bartholomew Arrazola felt lost he admitted that now nothing could save him. The powerful jungle in Guatemala, implacable and immovable, had imprisoned him. Faced with his ignorance of topography he peacefully sat down to await his death. He wanted to die there, totally hopeless, isolated, with his mind fixed in distant Spain, particularly in the Abrojos Convent, where Charles 5th had once consented to descend from his eminence to tell him that he was confident of the religious zeal of his redeeming labor.

When he woke up he found himself surrounded by a group of indifferent-looking indigenous people that were preparing to sacrifice him in front of an altar; an altar that Bartholomew thought was the bed where he would finally rest from his fears, his destiny, from himself.

Three years in the country had granted him an average grasp of the native tongues. He tried something. He spoke some words that were understood.

Then, in him flourished an idea that he judged worthy of his talent and universal culture, and of his arduous knowledge of Aristotle. He remembered that a total solar eclipse would occur on that day. Thus, he secretly set out to use that knowledge to deceive his opressors and save his life.

"If you kill me," he said, "I can make the sun high above turn black. "

The indigenous people stared at him and Bartholomew surprised the skepticism in their eyes. He saw a small council convene and he confident but scornfully waited.

Two hours later Brtholomew Arrazola's heart vehemently spurted blood on the stone of sacrifices (bright under the dull light of an eclipsed sun), while one of the indigenous people impassive and calmly recited, one by one, the numerous dates in which lunar and solar eclipses would occur. Astronomers from the community had already predicted and written them down without the valuable help of Aristotle.

[Justice has been served lol]

Mes vacances de Noël

Mes vacances de Noël l'année dernière n'ont pas été les meilleures. Je suppose que je les qualifie comme ça parce que j'ai vécu au Mexique pendant presque cinq années avant de venir aux États-Unis. Avant cela, j'avais vécu dix années en Caroline du Nord, où ma famille habite de nos jours. Pendant ces dix années en Caroline du Nord le Noël était toujours ennuyeux. Je me suis rendu compte de cela quand j'ai vécu au Mexique parce que là-bas on fête le Noël et le Nouvel An comme si c'était la fin du monde! Je me souviens qu'au Mexique on se couchait au lever du jour suivant.

Alors, quand je suis allé chez mes parents, qui habitent encore en Caroline du Nord, je me suis tellement ennuyé parce que comparé au Mexique on n'a pas beaucoup fait ni la veille de Noël et le 25 décembre ni la veille du Nouvel An. Bien sûr on a mangé de la nourriture mexicaine spéciale que ma mère a heureusement preparé pour son fils le Mexicain le 25 décembre, mais la veille de Noël on n'a rien fait (actuellement tout le monde habite aux É-U dans ma famille, sauf moi). Peu avant la veille du Nouvel An on avait pensé acheter de la tequila, des raisins et du cidre pour fêter l'entrée dans la nouvelle Année. Quand le jour est finalement arrivé, j'ai décidé d'animer la nuit en mettant de la musique et en servant du cidre.

Je pouvais voir que ma famille amait bien cela parce que ça fait très longtemps qu'il ne vont pas au Mexique, alors peut-être qu'ils ont senti que le Mexique était arrivé chez eux. Aux É-U les gens se couchent très tôt et je n'aime pas cela. Je prefère mille fois passer le Noël et le Nouvel An au Mexique qu'aux É-U. Pourtant, puisque ma famille habite aux É-U, j'adore passer du temps avec eux. Cette année sera ma dernière année aux États-Unis et il me semble que je vais passer Noël et le Nouvel An 2010 au Mexique. On va bien l'arroser!

El gato de Sèvres

El coleccionista de cerámica, sintió que el corazón le daba un vuelco. Al pasar frente a la pequeña tienda de antigüedades –en realidad de baratijas, según la había catalogado al primer vistazo- observó que un gato escuálido y roñoso bebía leche pausadamente en un auténtico plato de Sèvres, colocado en la entrada del establecimiento.

El coleccionista llegó hasta la esquina y después volvió sobre sus pasos, aparentando fastidio e indiferencia. Como quien no quiere la cosa, se detuvo frente al escaparate de la tienda, y paseó la mirada desdeñosamente por el amontonamiento de cachivaches que se exhibían: violines viejos, mesas y sillas cojas, figurillas de porcelana, óleos desteñidos, pedazos de cacharros supuestamente mayas o incaicos, y, en fin, las mil y una menudencias que suelen acumularse en tiendas de esta especie. Con el rabillo del ojo, el coleccionista atisbó una vez más el plato en que sorbía leche el gato. No cabía duda: Sèvres legítimo. Posiblemente del segundo tercio del siglo XVIII. Estos animales –pensó el experto, refiriéndose a los dueños, no al minino-, no saben lo que tienen entre manos...

Venciendo la natural repulsión que le inspiraban los gatos, se agachó para acariciar al gato. De paso examinó más de cerca la pieza de cerámica. El coleccionista se dio una palmada en el hombro: no se había equivocado. Sin lugar a dudas, Sèvres, 1750.

-Michito, michito –ronroneó el coleccionista, al ver que se acercaba el propietario de la tienda.
-Buenas tardes. ¿Puedo servirle en algo?
-En nada, muchas gracias. Sólo acariciaba al animalito.
-¡Ah, mi fiel Mustafá...! Está un poco sucio, pero es de casta: cruce de persa y angora, con sus ribetes de Manx. Observe usted que cola tan corta tiene. Eso lo distingue.

El gato, efectivamente, tenía sólo medio rabo, pero no por linaje, sino por que había perdido la otra mitad en un pleito callejero.

-Se ve, se ve –dijo el coleccionista, pasándole una mano enguantada por encima del lomo-. ¡Michito, michito mirrimiau...! Me encantaría tenerlo en casa para que hiciera pareja con una gatita amarillo limón que me obsequiaron. ¿No me lo vendería?
-No, señor. Mustafá es un gran cazador de ratones y sus servicios me son indispensables en la tienda.
-¡Lástima! –dijo el coleccionista, incorporándose-. Me hubiera gustado adquirirlo. En fin, que tenga usted buenas tardes.

El coleccionista hizo ademán de retirarse.

-¡Un momento! –lo llamó el propietario-. ¿Cuánto daría por el gato?
-¿Cuánto quiere? –le devolvió la pelota el coleccionista, maestro en el arte del trapicheo.
-Cincuenta pesos.
-No, hombre, qué barbaridad. Le doy treinta y ni un centavo más.
-Ni usted ni yo: cuarenta morlacos y es suya esta preciosidad de morrongo.

El coleccionista lanzó un suspiro más falso que manifiesto político, sacó la cartera, contó los billetes y se los entregó al dueño de la tienda. Este a su vez los contó y se los guardó en el bolsillo. El coleccionista, siempre aparentando una sublime indiferencia, señaló el plato con la punta del bastón.

-Imagino que el animalito estará acostumbrado a tomar su leche en ese plato viejo, ¿no? Haga el favor de envolvérmelo.
-Como el señor disponga –repuso el anticuario-. Sólo que le advierto que el plato cuesta diez mil pesos...
-¡Diez mil pesos! –aulló el coleccionista.
-Sí, señor. No sólo es un auténtico Sèvres, 1750, sino que además me ha servido para vender trescientos veinticinco gatos desde que abrí mi modesto establecimiento...



Autor: Marco A. Almazán (1922-1991, escritor y diplomático mexicano)

The Sèvres Cat

The ceramic collector felt his heart was going to jump out of his chest. Upon passing by the small antique store---actually a trinket store as he had already labeled it in his head when he first glanced at it---he observed a scrawny and dirty cat drinking milk slowly in an authentic Sèvres plate that was placed in the entrance of the store.

The collector went up to the corner and then turned back trying to appear annoyed and indifferent. Reluctantly, he stopped in front of the store window and looked from above his shoulder to see all the junk being displayed there: old violins, chairs and tables with missing legs, porcelain figurines, faded oil paintings, pieces of supposed Mayan or Incan pots, and the infinite amount of trinkets that usually pile up in stores of this type. From the corner of his eye, the collector glanced once more at the plate the cat was sipping its milk from. There was no doubt about it: a legitimate Sèvres, possibly from the second third of of the 18th century. "These animals---thought the expert referring to the owners rather than the cat---don't know what they have in their hands . . ."

Overcoming his repulsion towards cats, he bent over and pet the cat. While he was at it, he examined the ceramic piece more closely. The collector gave himself a pat on the back; he was not mistaken. Without a doubt, a Sèvres, 1750.

“Kitty, kitty,” called the collector when he saw that the owner of the store approached him.

“Good morning, can I help you with something?”

“No thanks, I was just petting this nice kitty.”

“Oh! My loyal Mustapha . . . ! He's a little dirty but he's a purebred: a Persian and Angora mix with Manx features. Look at his very short tail. That's what distinguishes him.”

The cat did in fact have half a tail, not because of his lineage but rather because he had lost the other half in a street fight.

“You can tell, you can tell,” said the collector, rubbing the cat's back with his gloves on. “Kitty, kitty, meow! I'd love to take him home to be the partner of a little yellowish female cat that I got as a gift. Would you sell it to me?”

“No, sir! Mustapha is a great mouse hunter and I cannot do without him in the store.”

“What a pity!” said the collector, standing up. “I would have liked to have it. Anyway, I hope you have a good day," the collector motioned that he was about to leave.

“One moment!” the owner called him. “How much would you give for the cat?”

“How much do you want?” replied the collector, a master in the art of bartering.

“50 pesos.”

“Are you kidding me? I'll give you thirty and not a cent more.”

“I tell you what, 40 pesos and this wonderful feline is yours.”

The collector sighed in a very fake fashion, took out his wallet, counted his money and gave it to the owner of the store. The owner, in turn, counted it and put it in his pocket. The collector, still pretending to be indifferent, pointed at the plate with the tip of his cane: “I suppose that this little creature must be used to drinking his milk fom that old plate, right? Please wrap it up for me.”

“As you wish,” replied the antique dealer, “Let me just warn you, though, that the plate costs ten thousand pesos.”

“Ten thousand!” cried the collector.

“Yes, sir. Not only is it an authentic Sèvres, 1759, but it has also helped me to sell three hundred twenty-five cats since I opened my modest shop . . ." [!]





Author: Marco A. Almazán (1922-1991, Mexican writer and diplomat)
[Translated by: the author of this blog]

¿De dónde viene el gendarme?

Para no perder la costumbre, hoy subo nuevo blog. Sin embargo, como no se me ocurre nada chido voy a contarles que "descubrí" la etimología de una palabra francesa en clase de francés el otro día.

Estábamos hablando de la historia que leímos para ese día en clase de francés y pues salió el tema de que había un gendarme y pues el gendarme sale de la "Gendarmerie." Hablábamos de armas también ...

Cuando de repente se me ocurrió que arma en francés es "arme" y lo de "gend" no es nada más y nada menos que "gens d'" o "gente de" por lo que los gendarmes son "la gente de armas"! Les gens d'armes o como se escribe en nuestros tiempos: un gendarme.

Yo sé que muchos se estarán diciendo...qué nerd! Pero bueno...soy de lingüística aplicada ehh La aplicación para el gendarme? Pues sirve relacionar el significado original con la palabra para que no se olvide nunca jamás la palabra francesa. Ahí está.

DREAMs

Hit by the acute economic crisis during Carlos Salinas de Gortari in Mexico and with the added pressure of a false accusation at his job, which those who know Mexico might sadly know that they often happen, my Dad was lured by “the American Dream.” My uncle knew that my Dad had a family of four to feed back home so his reaction was of course to help him come to the USA. Three years passed when my Dad realized that he had to go back to Mexico only to bring us to the USA. My older brother was 14, I was 12, and my younger brothers were 7 and 6 respectively. My little sister was born here. I went to middle school and high school, from which I graduated with honors. Deep down I was convinced I was going to work in something I did not like for the rest of my life, as my father was. However, my dad had always instilled in us that we needed to get an education. He and my Mom would always set themselves as examples of people who unfortunately could not get an education when they were young. "The world is in the hands of those who have an education," they said. I knew they were right but was not very encouraged by the situation in schools.

One day in my senior year my French teacher told me that I needed to go to college and that it was extremely important. I knew that but was ashamed of telling her I couldn't go because I was brought to the USA illegally. Even though it wasn't my fault, and I don't blame my parents either, being in that condition lowers your self-esteem and makes you want to be in the shadows. Thanks to my French teacher's insistence I received a scholarship that I could use in any university within the NC higher education system but I had to settle for a community college because I was not accepted at a four year institution. I really appreciated the opportunity and will forever thank my French teacher and my sponsor for opening a window of hope that would later make me stronger.

Not being able to transfer to a four-year college I took a decision that would impact my life permanently. I decided to go back to Mexico after ten years of never even DREAMing of going back. I thought: “I'm Mexican right? They have to accept me.” It was extremely difficult adapting to the system and everything was in Spanish. Add to that the fact that I was far away from all of my family for almost four years. It took a lot of motivation to go through college there but I finally did it. I got my Visa once in Mexico and can now visit as many times as I want. While at work in Mexico (I teach English at a high school and college) my boss posted an announcement for a scholarship to the USA. It was an MA in Applied Linguistics at a University in Georgia. I didn't even hesitate and applied for the opportunity. The process was expensive and drawn out as I had to go to Mexico City a couple of times, pay for a couple of very expensive exams and go through all the things that someone goes through when they apply to a college in the USA. It was all worth it in the end and I was accepted. I am basically now being paid to do my Master's Degree in a city that I love, Atlanta, close to my family.

The point being, never give up your DREAMs. Don't settle for less whether you are in the USA or elsewhere and do what you have to do. I strongly support the DREAM Act so that students who have been in my position don't go through all the difficulties that I had to go through and so that they are allowed to go to college paying in-state tuition if they graduate from an American high school in good standing. It is a great adventure but why do it when you DESERVE an education at your new home, the USA. These students are not looking for handouts from the government. They want nothing free. They just want an opportunity to fight for their aspirations and for their future as any other human being would.

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By CIR_DREAM2009 - 150 AP
Edited: 28 February 2009

Approximately 2.8 million students will graduate from US High Schools every year. Some will go on to college; others will join the military or take another path in life. But they will get the opportunity to test their dreams and live their American story. However, a group of about 65,000 students a year will not have this opportunity because they bear the inherited title of undocumented immigrant. These highly motivated individuals have lived in the United States all their lives and want nothing more than to be given the chance to become Americans.

The DREAM Act ‒ introduced by Senator Richard Durbin of Illinois and Rep. Howard Berman of California ‒ can solve this growing problem. Under the rigorous provisions of the DREAM Act, undocumented young people could be eligible for a conditional path to citizenship in exchange for completion of a college degree or two years of military service. Undocumented young people must also demonstrate good moral character to be eligible for and stay in conditional residency. At the end of the process, the young person can finally become an American citizen. The DREAM Act Portal hopes to turn this dream into a reality.

Source- http://dreamact.info/

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