STUDENT WRITING - THE IGNORED TV SCREEN by FRANCISCO FLORES

While I’m sitting at the coffee shop, the image of that invisible line that separates the U.S. from Mexico comes to my mind again. Even the first time I drove on the I-10 east highway, I was shocked by the visual contrast between houses in Juarez and the surroundings in El Paso. It is not because it was something I have never seen in my life, as I come from one of the poorest countries in Latin America, but because of the strong picture it evokes of all those dreamers and fighters that struggle to have a better life.
As I drink a coffee that doesn’t taste like coffee, a lot of young dreamers walk past me. Others are sitting and reading books, writing notes, surfing on Facebook; a commonplace cafeteria. But there is something particular in this little place that has a really strong smell of hazelnut syrup: most of the people in it speak ‘Spanglish,’ which makes me think of those that somehow made it here to the University of Texas at El Paso. Those Latin-American women and men that decided to get a big loan, invest their family savings, or, in the best scenario, get a scholarship given by their country to study in a better place. Whatever it is, they are here pursuing their dreams, dreams that for some reason they couldn’t accomplish in their own homeland.

There are three plasma TV’s hanging on the walls of the coffee shop and I have the feeling that no one looks at them. Maybe because of the location, maybe because they have no sound, or maybe just because people want to ignore them. But there is a fourth huge TV screen that we can easily ignore and we shouldn’t. No matter where you are in that shop, you can see through the big glass “screen” that connects you with the street, and at the edge of your vision you notice tons of tightly-packed houses whistling that a war just happened there. It can give you the impression that nobody lives there, but the truth is that Juarez has double the population in comparison with El Paso. Hopefully, the students that are here with me can realize that this little glass cage with the room temperature set at a comfortable level is an opportunity but also a privilege that those invisible children that play on the top of that hill at the end of the rows of little houses on that TV will never have in their life.

The invisible line comes to my mind again while I talk with a young Venezuelan girl. By the time I offer her some fruits, I have asked her if there is something that she misses about her country and its people. Just as I finish my question and without blinking, she tells me that there is nothing in Venezuela that she can miss. The answer doesn’t surprise me; that’s the first sentence that comes to the mind of people that live in countries like the ones we both come from. Still, I struggle not to forget that my people are not the problem, and despite the fact that there are murders, lootings, kidnappings and any number of bad things happening in those nations, there are humans who are desperate for love and company. They ask for the same things I ask for, and in this case the Darwinian belief is not fair because unlike others animals, we are the species that can reason, which is something that gives us the leverage to decide how we envision the future. The girl and I keep talking about that topic and I keep looking through the glass. Those houses don’t look that much different from other ones in other countries of the continent, including Venezuela and El Salvador; that line doesn’t exist.

After listening to her answer, I change the conversation and we start to wonder why people that go into the book store, which is in the same building, leave their bags outside the store. We both conclude that it is because it is prohibited to come into the store with bags; maybe because they believe you can steal something. I look for the opportunity to come back to my original conversation. I had changed the subject just because I felt challenged about her answer about her country and people. I was sure there was something that she missed and could say about it. I tell her that it is ironic that in places like that book store people could believe that students want to steal things, and she tells me that there are bad people everywhere. “You are right,” I say. “So we can agree there are also good things all around the world too, right?” I say, and we agree. She then shares with me how beautiful Venezuela and its nature are, how people love to laugh even if they haven’t eaten in days, and how Venezuelans work hard if they have the opportunity to do so.

We both leave that coffee shop, each one of us in our own world and, I’m pretty sure, thinking about completely different things. It was good to have the time to look around that place. I love that huge TV screen because it is a reminder of how blessed I am. It is also a portrait of the things that I want to help to change somehow. I cannot erase that picture on the glass and paint a nicer one, but I truly believe that we can contribute from our trench if we really want to and also always be thankful for the good things that show up in our path and withstand the bad ones that are sure to come.