“I’m gonna get you, you little thief!!”
She screamed at me from a distance while waving around her spatula.
Ha. She'll never catch me.
She’s an old, fat street vendor,
and I’m way smaller and quicker.
What’s she got to lose anyway?
It was just a tortilla!
It’s not like I took a whole taco.
I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday morning.
I’ve been living on the streets of Mexico City for 3 months now.
Yeah, I had a family before…
Life was very different then...
My mother was from France,
and my father was from Mexico,
and I actually had two siblings as well.
But it all fell apart after the accident.
We were still in France then.
My mother was driving my brother and I back from the grocery store
when we crashed.
I don’t remember what happened...
I was really young and it all happened so fast.
I woke up in the hospital and saw my dad crying besides me.
I was in and out of consciousness for days until I finally woke up.
He jumped up and hugged me happily and kissed me all over.
He was so happy that I was fine.
I looked around and saw no one else in the room,
so I guessed that they must be in hospital beds too.
“Papa, how’s Mama?”
His face started to change, but then he smiled again,
and said, “Mi niña,
mama and your brother are going to be your guardian angels now.
They will watch over you and protect you.”
I guess I kind of knew then what he was trying to say to me,
but I still waited for them to come back, for years…
When I got out of the hospital,
my dad decided to move back to Mexico,
and just took me with him.
I started a new life there,
I went to school, I made new friends.
It felt kind of normal despite it just being the two of us...
When I turned 7,
he brought my sister home and we were reunited as a family.
We were finally all together,
what was left of our family anyway…
And then he sat us down and told us that he was going away.
He had joined the army and was going to Vietnam.
I really didn’t understand how he could leave us.
Especially after everything we went through.
“Why Papa?
Why do you have to go?
You’re all we have left!”
I screamed as I got out of my chair.
He knelled down next to me and put his hand on my arm,
smiled and said,
“I know you’re angry,
I’m sorry but I have to do this.”
Tears filled up my eyes
as I looked deep into his to try to understand.
“But if you really love us,
you wouldn’t leave us.” I begged.
All he said was,
“I’m sorry sweetheart.”
Then he gave me and my sister a kiss
and then left.
I never saw or heard from him again after that.
After that, we were sent to live with my aunt
who had a problem with drinking and other stimulants.
She treated us both really bad,
she shouted and beat us for years
to make us get her what she wants.
From the age of 7 until 9,
I lived my life trying to find ways to get money
for her to buy drinks and other stuff.
She’d threaten to throw us out on the streets
if we didn’t bring her more money.
At one point, I was stealing money from my friends' parents
just to have something to give her.
A little while after I turned 9,
I decided that living on the streets had to be better than this,
so, I left.
It was the scariest thing I had ever done.
It’s been three months now and it’s still scary.
There are a lot of kids living on the streets actually.
All of them were runaway kids.
But, you have to always be careful of everyone.
At least I have Karla.
We met not long after I ran away.
She’s two years older and she’s a really good friend of mine.
We steal food together.
One would distract the vendor,
while the other would take the food and run.
In the night, we would sleep in churches or train stations.
Huh.
Funny to think back on it now.
To be honest, I totally forgot about my life before this…
How I got to this point...
Someone grabbed my arm and picked me up.
I tried to struggle away but two more arms grabbed me.
I had no chance.
“Hey niñita!
What are you doing here?
When’s the last time you’ve been home?!
Where are your parents?!”
As I struggled, I watched them take Karla away,
interrogating her with the same questions.
They threw us both in an orphanage
until they can figure out what to do with us.
It’s been a haunting place here.
There’s barely enough space,
some kids have to share their small bed with another.
And it’s dirty as well,
but I guess who am I to complain,
I was living on the streets.
At least there’s food.
Still…
I think I’m safer on the streets.
A couple days later,
they were going to take me to my aunt's house,
but the social worker assigned to my case
realized her problems and that she was unfit to care for me.
They had no place to take me, so...
They sent me to a foster home.
I was safer on the streets.
When I got there,
the foster parents made it very clear
that I was to call the woman “mother”,
and the man, “father”.
We were a family they said.
A family…
From that point on,
the “mother” used me as an unpaid worker,
and the “father”
did the worst thing that has ever happened to me
at 2:30 AM every single night.
Yeah.
I was definitely safer on the streets.
6 Months later,
I’m being dragged back to the orphanage.
“This little one is too angry!
She’s making our lives very difficult.
We cannot keep her anymore, this ungrateful little girl!”
And then, she throws me on the ground.
The man is standing behind her saying nothing out of his mouth,
but everything with his eyes.
I was definitely safer on the streets.
I was bounced from foster home to foster home for 2 years…
But finally, my grandparents in France are taking me back.
So, I’m going back to France.
My sister and I shared looks with each other knowingly.
We held each other as two kids
who were no longer the same as they were 2 years and 9 months ago
when we last saw each other.
I looked at my grandparents
and they tried their hardest to make things seem as normal as possible.
But, we are way passed normal now.
When we got “home”,
I sat on my bed and stared off into space...
Am I safe now?
Is this permanent?
It’s hard to feel safe when nothing has ever been before.
It’s even harder to believe
this is real.
It’s near impossible to be relieved.
Would I be safer on the streets?
The next days after that got rougher and rougher.
I tried to fit in sometimes,
but most of the times, I just didn’t.
I have issues and it doesn’t look like they’re going to be able to handle them.
I’m just protecting myself.
If I didn’t protect myself,
no one else would.
I can’t just turn it off, because I was at my grandparents' house.
One of the days, I saw them whispering with some brochures in their hand
as I watched passed the kitchen.
They’re probably sending me away.
Back to Mexico or something…
And, I wasn’t wrong.
The next morning, they sat me down and told me that
they were going to send me to boarding school.
In boarding school, things started to settle down.
I would visit my grandparents every weekend,
and I even started studying ballet.
But, there was still something that wasn’t right.
Instead of getting better because of the stability,
I felt sadder and sadder.
Every day, I just feel worse and worse.
I don’t even know what’s the point of going on anymore.
It feels so heavy.
So dark.
So pointless.
I can’t do it anymore.
Sometimes I would wake up drenched in sweat
from nightmares of what happened to me at the foster home.
2:30 AM.
I can’t do it anymore.
There were lots of questions that came up in my mind…
Why did this happen to me?
Why do I feel so alone?
Am I a bad person?
Is that why all these bad things happened to me?
Or am I a bad person now after everything has happened?
What have I done to deserve this?
Everything ached, but yet,
felt numb.
It’s hard to describe.
Either way...
I...
can’t...
do it anymore.
Where am I?
Looks like the infirmary.
Oh, my Principle is here.
And, my grandparents too.
“We’re sorry…
But we really can’t have an example like this be set to the other children.
It’s out of our hands.”
My grandparents both look really troubled.
I am a bad person.
How could I do this to them?
This wasn’t the first time either.
I guess that’s why they’re kicking me out.
What's the matter with me?
Why can’t I just get over it?
I bursted into tears.
My grandparents walked over and my grandmother held my hand.
“I can’t do anything right.
I need help.”
The mental hospital actually isn’t as horrible as you would think.
It’s hard, yeah,
but it’s no harder than trying to cover my feelings all of the time.
It’s been quite a relief.
I finally felt free.
I could talk about what I had been through and how I was feeling.
Other people around me had their own issues too,
so I never felt like I was being judged.
We were all just trying to get over what had happened to us.
We were all trying to get better.
And finally, I feel like I’m on the right path.
Finally, at 15 years old,
from fighting to survive since I can remember,
I’m starting to feel safe.
9 years later…
“She’s an orphan.” The social worker told me.
“She’s currently in her third foster home.”
I took a look at her, and everything came flooding back.
Hey.
I’m 24 years old now.
After the mental hospital, I went to university and studied Psychology.
I’m a Psychologist now.
Not every day is easy,
but I can honestly say that I’m finally happy.
I haven’t really thought much about my past anymore.
At least not until I saw Lila.
It was as if my past had walked into my door.
She was so broken,
so hurt,
so young.
When I told her my story, she started crying uncontrollably.
She said, “finally,
someone who understands how I feel.”
“Finally,
somebody who understands how I feel.”
I thought about what she said, over and over again.
When I was her age,
if I had somebody who went through what I went through, tell me about it,
I probably would have felt some hope a little sooner.
I would have been able to imagine that there was a chance for things to get better.
And that’s why I wanna share my story with you.
Despite everything I’ve been through,
I’m happy,
so there is always hope.
Thank you for sharing your story with us.