“Internal tears of flame”

Basically, the lowest point of my life, multiplied by the dark memories of this country.

Sitting here in Berkeley, having a mimosa with grapefruit.

The sun is leaving.

The museum was a good experience, but as I sit in this restaurant’s backyard, I hear Mexican music.

My heart starts to crumble inside since I am stuck here. My conversations with waiters have saved me over the years.

Abandoning something that you love in exchange for freedom?

Or can freedom be from within, even in the worst circumstances?

Flames keep me warm here. Outside after eating a tremendous amount of food. The “American” way of living, overconsumption. I am always asked if I am legal or have papers. The only wish I have is being able to dance to the kitchen music by myself on some faraway island. The years will pass, and I hope my child recognizes me, since I’ve been barely able to survive multiple tears. The flames are being mirrored in my black sunglasses, internal survival, fire of existence. No choice is made but to exist, and for her I live. She is the warmth of my heart and the reason I am here.