Enrique and I are no mas

Pictures of the border line by Kinsee Morlan

I’ve often said it isn’t who you’re with that’s important, it’s who that person makes you when you’re with them.

Let me explain; when I’m with my friends, I’m happy-go-lucky, always-trying-to-be-funny, let’s-all-just-have-fun Kinsee. When I was with Enrique, my lovely little Tijuanense who I was dating until late last night, I somehow converted into bitchy, snobby, crazy Kinsee.

Near the end, Enrique had even started referring to me as two people; Kinsee, the bitch, and Quincy, the fun one (sometimes I’d switch back and forth between Kinsee and Quincy four or five times a day).

I blame my mutiple personalities on misunderstandings and cultural differences. Last night, I was trying to give him directions to where I was and he just wasn’t getting it. On top of that, he was hours late. When I finally tracked him (and my car, which I had loaned him) down, it was past midnight and he was at a bar, drunk.

We Americans are anal for the most part. Time is of the essence and we tend to look down on drinking and driving. Mexicans tend to be a bit more relaxed. Enrique had no idea why I was so pissed at him, which, of course, enraged me even more.

In a flood of tears on my end and “it was fun while it lasted” and “thanks for showing me love again, even if for just two months” on his end, I drove Enrique to Tijuana. As soon as we crossed the border, his attitude changed from trying to play it cool to bitterness and anger — he truly didn’t understand why I was telling him we had to end things.

I stopped the car and got out to open the gate to my driveway. He grabbed his backpack, got out of my car and turned to go.

“Wait Enrique, where are you gonna go?” I asked, “You have nowhere to stay. Just stay here tonight and I’ll take you somewhere in the morning.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “I’m in my country now.”

I turned around to unlock the gate and by the time I turned back toward Enrique, he was halfway down the block. No goodbyes.

So it’s officially over. I cried last night, but I feel fine and refreshed this morning. Enrique and I were different, which I initially loved, but that whole “opposites attract” thing is total bullshit. Opposites can hang out for a few months, they can even think they’re in love with each other for a short period of time, but opposites eventually repel and send one another flying in opposite directions.


About Kinsee Morlan

Arts and web editor at San Diego CityBeat. Interested in art and the Tijuana/San Diego border.
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3 Responses to Enrique and I are no mas

  1. Opposites or non-opposites, it’s all difficult. Just ask my husband to tell you about when his wife’s alter ego, Priscilla, comes home from work…

    Hang in there Kinsee. Or Quincy. Or whomever you are at the moment.

  2. Oslyn Whizar says:

    Oh God, I’m totally you in this situation at the moment….it’s nice to know I’m not the only crazy bitch-lovely girl out there…

    thanks, I really enjoy reading you.

  3. Nabi says:

    Sounds like Enrique was a typical chauvinist Latino. Unless they like seedy adventures, younger girls are generally better off playing around w with men within their own culture. Sure we’re flaky,too, but sharing the same basic social perceptions makes for fewer ugly surprises. I’ve seen so many women devastated when they discover that, by their standards, the guy they’ve gone mushy on is some monstrous freak.

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