I’ve finally made it home. Today, I started very early. I don’t know if it’s the lack of sleep, the exhaustion, the uncertainty, or simply that my heart is fading away.
Today marks three months since I arrived in Canada. I remember the last thing you said to me at the airport: “You’re my bravest little girl.” Today, I’m not sure if I was brave, Mom. I don’t know if you’d be proud of me or if you’d say, “What are you doing over there? You have everything here in Mexico.”
When you arrive in a new country, whether by choice or because the situation in your own country forced you to make such a drastic decision, you seek out your own people—those who speak your language, who enjoy the same food, who guide you, teach you a few things, and even lend a hand, just a little, when you need it. You hope they’ll share their success stories to inspire you and help you hold on to your strength.
But today, Mom, I met someone on this path who didn’t smile at me. Her name is Aurora. She’s Latina and runs a cleaning company (don’t say anything—I know I was a well-known psychologist in Mexico). I didn’t think getting my hands full of soap would feel so sad today.
Aurora called me to meet her in downtown Vancouver. You’ll like it a lot when you visit. I found a coffee shop just like the ones you love. Aurora asked me a couple of questions—I think she wanted to hear my English because she didn’t say a single word in Spanish throughout our entire conversation.
She offered me a job cleaning houses. She said today would be a trial day, that she wouldn’t pay me, and she would only give me 3 dollars to get back home. I accepted.
We arrived at an apartment owned by a couple. The lady greeted me with a big smile, and the man was sitting at the table drinking coffee and reading his newspaper.
My beloved mother,
I tried my best to secure the job, even though Aurora offered me less than the minimum wage here. I thought it would be okay (until I feel more confident with the language).
I spent three hours cleaning alone, Mom. She just watched. Three hours where I wanted everything to be perfect, but it was a bit challenging. The apartment looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a long time (now I know this is called deep cleaning and costs more).
After three hours, Aurora called out to me in a hurry and with a harsh tone, “It’s time to go. Do you think they’ll pay us for what you’re doing? There are more houses to clean.” (Now she spoke to me in Spanish).
I was kneeling, cleaning a corner of the room where dust had accumulated, and I hadn’t finished. I told her I was almost done. But she didn’t repeat herself. She grabbed the bottle of bleach we were carrying and threw it against my back. I only felt it smash against me. Unfortunately, upon impact, the bottle burst open, and the liquid began soaking my clothes.
I turned to look at her, and she snapped her fingers. Mom, I was speechless! I didn’t know what to say. I just saw her towering over me because she was standing, and I had to tilt my head back to look at her since I was kneeling on the floor, still holding the rag in my hand.
Mom, it wasn’t just my pants that lost their colour; my hopes faded, the little strength I had left washed away, and my dreams are slowly losing their brightness. Mom, I’m scared!
Now I’m in bed. I’ve taken a shower, and I’ll sleep tonight clinging to the phrase you told me: “You’re my bravest little girl.”
I love you Mom,
Gaés
