caroline garcia rivera

It was around August of 2021. Moving to another city was like taking a window panel full of photos & wiping them clean off. It was like taking a glass & shattering it into millions of pieces. It’s ironic, isn’t it? No matter how many times you move, no matter how many times you start to gain some sort of balance in life, life itself takes it away like gusts of wind, going at 100 mile per hour speeds you wouldn’t even begin to imagine. Overall, moving was hard. Ever since the pandemic, my family & I have had discussions about moving to El Paso. We had many reasons to do so, the common denominator mostly coming down to family. Even so, I couldn’t complain. As much as I wanted to smash my head against a boulder, as much as I would’ve liked to just take a metal chair & WWE it to a next-door neighbor, I chose to move here.

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Regardless of my complaints, I can’t help but think of my father’s words as we drove off in my family’s navy-blue ford explorer. It would be great to start new opportunities & be with family in El Paso, wouldn’t you agree? As his words swarm through my mind, I couldn’t help but agree with him. The prospect of having/creating new opportunities & being close to family became so compelling to me, that my decision to pack my bags & move out became my sealed fate.

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As we arrived during the scorching heat that was the month of August, I was not prepared for the underwhelming feeling that coursed through me as I stared at the area that was El Paso. Dry, just dry. It was really the first impression that I had received when I saw the land that was known as “El Chuco.” To be frank, the first few months had been exciting. Going to new restaurants, meeting new people, being in a new house, seeing family, all great, right?

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It didn’t take long for the excitement to dissolve away. If I could choose between moving to El Paso or moving to Egypt, Egypt wins by a long shot. At least you could get nice photos of the great pyramids instead of photos of dry grounds. My house couldn’t have been any different, as it’s the house I still currently live in. A 2-story, 4 bedroom, 3 ½ bathroom house. Peachy. Living in El Paso is, & continues to be, a roller coaster. The weather: bipolar as ever. The roads: cracked, intricately shaped & connected as a newly fresh artwork from Picasso. As an avid traveler, El Paso made sure I saw plenty of them. Even if El Paso didn’t exceed the grand expectations I had conjured up in my mind, what made me really dislike moving here is simple: fear.

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Most people don’t tell you what is on the other side of the fence when it comes to moving. I was afraid. A coward if you like. Fear seeped into me the moment I arrived at our new house. It clawed at me, its scratches leaving doubts in my mind as I pondered on every decision I’ve made up to this point in my life. It turned me from an excited 20-year-old to a shaky leafy child who had no idea what they wanted to do in this new chapter of their life. Would I make it here? Will I find a Job? Will I make friends? Would people even like me? Two years in & those questions haunt me to this day. Don’t get me wrong, El Paso has its charm. Its high mountains & perilous terrain would make any visitor or traveler come down for its delightful sights. The food & shops can enchant customers for days. Being next to Juarez, the great Juan Gabriel’s childhood city, adds the icing to the cake. Despite all of this, El Paso remains dry.