World’s Apart
Luis looked out at a city he’d long dreamt of returning to. This was his first time coming home to Arequipa in 20 years. Luis’ family left for America when he was 13 years old. And while everyone in his family went through the process of legally getting their permanent resident cards, Luis unfortunately was unable to due to an error by the family's lawyer.
Over the next 20+ years, Luis’ life was drastically different from the rest of his family. At 16, he began searching for his first job to help support his family and quickly realized how fiercely unstable his status in this country was. Finding a job and school that would accept an undocumented immigrant was not only difficult but terrifying. Could he trust these companies not to report him? Could he be honest and tell his closest friends? The weight of this secret always dragging behind him, holding him back from having the life he deserved.
Over the last 20+ years, Luis has lived fearing that at any moment he could be deported and sent back to a country he no longer knew: any traffic stop, any ill-tempered person with a grudge, any day.
After marrying his longtime boyfriend, Luis finally received the letter in the mail confirming his status as permanent resident card holder. He felt as if someone had finally cut the chain from his legs, and for the first time was able to walk as an untethered man.
Growing up, Luis dreamt of returning home to Peru to see his large family, who had been very close before his family moved. But due to his undocumented status, if he were to leave the country, he would likely not be able to return. With his new green card status, Luis immediately booked a ticket to Peru.
As Luis flew into Arequipa, he looked out his airplane window, watching clouds pass by. He looked back at me and smiled. Greeting us at the airport, his grandma hugged him tight with tears in her eyes. Everyone hurrying to get in line for a long-deserved hug.
Luis spoke often with reverence about the beautiful stone that his city was built with. Walking around you see the gorgeous chalky volcanic rock everywhere, in fact, that’s why they call Arequipa “the white city”. Arequipa is surrounded by 3 volcanoes, which has produced a large volcanic stone quarry, which we visited. While at the site we marveled at the strength and precision the rock chiselers cut each stone with. But beyond that, we were astounded that so many of them were older than you’d expect for such a physical job. Walking through the city gave us a new appreciation for the hard labor that went into building these structures, many built on the backs of more indigenous communities. That night we talked about the difference in the cities labor and and how the difficult labor often went to the indigenous communities. Luis mentioned how strange it was that in America, he himself was part of the community given hard labor, whereas in Peru his family would have more opportunities for higher paying jobs. The juxtaposition was difficult to deny.
As we drove around the city, he pointed out the spot he used to ride his bike as a kid, the type of car his family drove (which he has tattooed on his chest), the church where his parents got married, his old house, the park he played at and more. He wiped away tears of sadness as he laid flowers down on graves of those he never got to say goodbye to. He met with different family members for each meal, giving every person tight and long hugs and wiping away happy tears from their eyes, smiles aglow.
During the trip he reflected on his upbringing in the U.S. He told me about how his family spent many lonely holidays away from their tight-knit family feeling isolated and lonely, often cast out as “the other.” He came to the U.S. as a teenager and didn’t speak any English. He forced himself to learn to adapt to a new culture. Today he is what they call a “social butterfly,” and I wonder if this was a skill he refined in order to better integrate into unknown worlds.
We drank with uncles, danced with grandma, met with friends, ate with cousins. We took long bus rides to local landmarks and reminisced about what type of job he would have if his family never left. Would he be a rock chisler in the local quarries? Or a bank manager, like his father? He told family members about his husband and how happy they are together. He wondered if he had stayed, whether or not he would have been able to accept himself as queer or whether he would have denied himself the truth.
Luis spent a lot of time talking about what it was like as a child, and wondering what his life would have been like had he grown up here.
We stood and looked out at the deepest canyon in the world. We drove through the Sacred Valley. Climbed to the top of Huayna Picchu to watch clouds float through Machu Picchu. Stopped and listened to stories told by indigenous families. Photographed locals at their shops and in their homes. We watched the sun rise and, when evening came, watched it fall.
I noticed him reconnecting with a land he had forced himself to forget. A culture he has denied himself, in order to fit in. A family he was separated from for so long. And when we left, he seemed both more confused and more connected to his identity all at once. I felt he understood himself better than he had before, but also identified that there were a lot of missing pieces still. But that is for the next trip.
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