My mother sighs every time the subject of where I live comes up. “I just hate having to tell people you live in Tijuana,” she says, time and time again. “Most people ask why you’re living there,” she continues. “I don’t know what to tell them.”
I don’t know what to tell them either, mom. The universe seemed to align, and it was just so easy to move into my Tijuana apartment; I felt I couldn’t say no. Plus, it’s not like living with my sorta boyfriend in a half-converted garage in San Diego was much better. And when me and my sorta boyfriend broke it off, truth be told, I couldn’t afford my own place in San Diego anymore. So I guess the first answer to the “why” question is: It’s all I can afford.
My rent is cheap, $250, and I’ve been told I’m paying way too much. I’m currently in my paying-back-my-student-loan mode of life, so even the cheapest of the cheap in San Diego was far too high for me. I’m too old to live with roommates and I’m sick in living in garages. This world just ain’t set up for a single, broke-ass writer chick simply lookin’ for some livable space.
The second answer to the “why” is: I was getting bored with San Diego. I like my job and friends, but had I not moved to Tijuana, I think I would have already left this strange place. San Diego’s freeway culture just ain’t for me…I never felt as though I actually lived in or was a part of the city.
And the third answer to “why” is: I need to learn Spanish. It’s pathetic that we Americans typically speak just one language, especially when we live in Southern California. It’s been 10 months now, and my Spanish still sucks, but it is, very, very slowly, getting better. Learning a new language is pretty fucking amazing. I can’t wait until I start thinking in Espanol!