It's been hard trying to think of a good introduction to this blog, and to this initial post, but I think this will serve both me, the writer, and you, the reader, best if I just dive right in. Below are some random paragraphs I've already written, some to people in e-mails, some just as writings for myself.

I just spent the afternoon walking around my neighborhood, something which Cristina(landlady and friend), and Daniela(previous host mom and friend), or Abraham(ex-boyfriend) for that matter, never, and I mean never, do.
I spent the afternoon walking around my neighborhood some, trying to get situated and find a good tortilleria. I like knowing where I am, and here there is something almost voyeuresque about walking around because no one goes on walks. By that, I mean that no one who owns a car walks more than 1 block, even if they are only going two blocks. I’m realizing that I’m already slipping into generalizations of Juarez and the border, which I fear will become easier the more I live here and the more I try to find my place amongst the variations of how people live in Juarez. But, none the less, I found some neat folks. Talked to a guy in an abarottes(like convenience store), with whom I had the ever familiar conversation of whether or not it is easier to speak and learn, English or Spanish. He was interesting enough, and I was up for the conversation, having spent most of the weekend by myself. Looking back on it, nothing much was said in the conversation, but I think that was my most pleasant moment of the day. I then spent the afternoon in the park, cerca de la calle Costa Rica, watching kids play soccer, throw around balls, and families engage in goofy park behavior. I got to listen to a roll of hearty laughter which dealt me some vicarious happiness. I sat there, happily ignoring those who stared at me, and finally finishing A passage to India. Maybe it is simply a change in my perception this time here, but I am receiving less obvious attention. I’ve gone running twice in the mornings, and no one has cat called me…no one. For a fleeting moment I missed the familiar sounds, but quickly rejoiced at being one step closer to ‘blending’ or to not be a blaring, shiny foreigner. Even at the grocery store, I feel as if I belong more, whatever that means. Maybe there is something about returning to a known place which merits you the status of more comfortable, and less obviously misplaced. But I don’t feel displaced either, I know exactly where I am, most of the time.

Right across the street from my house is a shelter/prison for the minors who get deported from the US. We visited it because two students will work there, and so we get let in. locks on all the doors, a security guard, meanwhile most of the windows are broken. But you wouldn´t know it from the brightly colored orange wall which surrounds it. Inside, there are lots of people, lots of adolescent boys, some little boys, and a few pregnant women and a few women who have children who are there. People have to wait here until someone comes to pick them up or their family is contacted. The place smells like piss. There are no resources for any kind of activities, and i don´t write this to sound dramatic, but their eyes are simultaneously haughty and desperate... it´s not that they are special or unique or warrant any other kind of treatment than anyone else. But, I haven´t been able to stop thinking about those kids/people who are right there. I run right by their windows in the mornings, and there´s just something about the situation, both in a physical place sense and in a political-humane sense that i can´t get out of my head. Very few people know this place is in this neighborhood, which is odd. There are nice houses with gates, normal house with open doors, and then the ever so classic in Juarez (and I'm sure in many parts of the world), house which isn´t a house but just a big pile of concrete and shit that someone didn´t or couldn´t deal with.