This title corresponds to a translation from a line in song by Uruguayan song writer Jorge Drexler, an artist who has kept the absurd of the word “immigrant” floating swiftly on his marvelous and intelligent verses: “Yo no soy de aquí, pero tu tampoco”. I’m leaving the link to the video, hoping that you can find the subtitles in your native language and follow his inspiring music along with the poetry of his truthful words about the human nature to be nomads, far away from the undocumented veil they placed upon it.

There are so many additional stories that this chapter from the book brought back, that a blog entry would not be enough to gather them. I’m going to recommend one particular one when you feel like procrastinating. On the series of documentaries on Netflix titled “Chef’s Table”, find the story of Cristina Martinez.

The quote I want to bring back from the reading is true for the stories in the chapter (for the students), but also for immigrants in general (with or without papers): “Immigrant students… endure great hardships making the trip to America and have a great capacity for resilience and healing”. (p. 76)

I feel it every day and I’m not an immigrant by the book. “I am a legal alien in New York”, a student visitor who is expected to leave along with her family by the end of whatever experience I came to have. I am reminded of this everyday by the news, by social media, by politicians’ speeches, by the many “buts” I encounter to be or to do. I am, on top of all, guilty of bringing my family into this. My kids were placed in a bilingual school which lowered the academic filter of the new by placing them with other kids whose first language was common. I saw this in action at an international High school I visited in the city last week where all the kids were immigrants of four years and under. Is this a way to relief or encapsulate?