Unaccompanied Alien Children

I just read a blip in the news about Elian Gonzalez, that little kid from Cuba who received mass media attention after being found on the coast of Florida, the lone survivor in a tragic immigration attempt. He is 16 now, and reportedly happy that he was returned to Cuba and reunited with his father. Thank God.

This brought me back, immediately, to the many children, ages 4 to 17, who I have seen detained by immigration. I at once wonder how anyone could put their child through anything like this, and at the same time realize that there must have been severe desperation involved, and the knowledge that, if you don't try, your child will never have a real life.

Immigration is not only about adults. There are so many children who come here, looking for a new life, to find themselves in crazy situations, like Elian Gonzalez. Pray for them. They miss their families, and live each day wondering what their futures will hold.

I have a hard job. In this hard job, I witness and contribute to a roller coaster of emotions in children. Happiness, and carefree feelings, sometimes. But it is also often feelings of pressure, sadness, stress, anger, disappointment, hurt. The hardest part about my job is that there is an opportunity for failure. And I cannot always make everything happen the way it should happen. And I cannot make parents come forth for their children, nor can I blame them when they are afraid.

I can give my all. So why does it always feel, when I fail, that I have not given it my all?

Why did I create a blog?

I don't think anyone will ever read this. Which is funny. But at least I will have it - for later? Like one of my journals. This is more interesting because there is at least potential for someone to read it.
I have some great friendships. This is what I found this week. Some mornings I wake up feeling lonely. I think this is because there is no one to eat breakfast with. However, I can chase away this loneliness quickly, simply by thinking about the number of people who love me.
On Thursday I went to New York City for about 6 hours. I had to take a 4 hour plane ride both ways to get there, and so far, every time I've mentioned it to someone, they weren't too impressed. But I thought it was SO COOL. Mostly because I went somewhere, experienced the place, and then left, all in less than 24 hours. I also saw one of my very best friends, a girl I can't imagine my life without. This is someone I never have to make an effort to be friends with, and I can only hope she feels the same way about me, because I am so grateful for this. I am just happy with her, and affirmed, and encouraged. I am myself. We had two Margaritas, and I was silly, and she laughed at me, and told me about her life.
On Friday I went out with my friends from work, who are people I love. I am an ethnical minority amongst them, (strange experience for a white girl in America) and am usually surprised by the I have claimed a small spot in their lives. We laughed and ate and talked about our work, which is taxing and draining and unusual.
On Saturday I went to the garden, which is a place where I talk about my week and reflect on what has happened with my friends there. The Garden Man, who is like a second father to me, laughs at me and gives me advice and reminds me to take care of myself. There is a new friend there, too, who has an unusual name and seems interested in learning more about me. We walked to a parade and watched it together and found joy in it together.
My shy friend called me after I got home from the garden. I didn't answer her, because my allergies attacked my body. She is someone who tells me how special I am and expresses continuously how glad she is to have met me. I need to call her today to tell her that I was ill.
I talked to my Dad. He is my friend, too. I rely on him, to this day, to solve my problems when I cannot think through something. He will fly through my town tomorrow - I hope I get to see him.
I "messaged" with a friend from college today - we have a relationship full of misunderstandings and hurt - but also a lot of laughter and joy. He pushes me to think outside of my realm, and is sometimes frustrated by my faith in my religion. At the end of everything, though, he knows I am here for him, and I know he would do anything to help me. It is a friendship that we push to the brink of limitations, sometimes crossing the line, but it's friendship neither of us are willing to give up. That is why we are still friends. It is an unspoken decision to continue to forgive. He contacted me to ask when I will move back to his town. It will be at the end of this summer.
Now I'm cold. I've been sitting in a coffee shop for too long. It's time.

I just thought I'd try this. Sometimes I have things to say - maybe someone will find it interesing? "Riendome," translated from Spanish, means "laughing," and implies that I am the one laughing with that little "me" on the end. It needs an accent mark - I created this blog on a whim, so I didn't take the time to figure out how to put it there, yet. I don't know if there will be a theme here, or if I even want to attach one. I guess I'll just have to see.
About me? I'm 26. Single. Unintentionally independent. A bilingual white girl. A nail-biter. A runner. A Catholic. The oldest of four siblings. Short. A traveller. The driver of a 1995 Honda Accord that passed inspection AGAIN this year. Optimistic. Impatient. Regular hair donor (Locks for Love). Bad at remembering birthdays. A food lover. Simple. Hopeful. Motivated. Disorganized. Absent-minded. A sea glass collector. A singer - if you want me to stop just tell me. Not a leader or a follower. Muscular. Blonde. Vain? An injustice hater.
And I love to laugh.