Quotes from Cristina Henriquez

We would be thousands of miles apart from now on and we would go on with our lives and get older and change and grow, but we would never have to look for each other. Inside each of us, I was pretty sure, was a place for the other. Nothing that had happened and nothing that would ever happen would make that less true.

I understood how easily and how quickly things could be snatched away.

Finding is for things that are lost. You don't need to find me, Mayor.

We're the unknown Americans, the ones no one even wants to know, because they've been told they're supposed to be scared of us and because maybe if they did take the time to get to know us, they might realize that we're not that bad, maybe even that we're a lot like them. And who would they hate then?

I'd spent my whole life feeling like that. Like everybody else was onto something that I couldn't seem to find, that I didn't even know existed.I wanted to figure it out, the secret to having the easy life that everyone else seemed to have, where they fit in and were good at everything they tried. Year after year, I waited for it all to fall into place--every September I told myself, This year will be different--but year after year, it was all just the same.

I wanted her to have the full, long life that every parent promises his or her child by the simple act of bringing that child into the world.

It was as if, when her father spoke, her mother looked at him and saw a little goldfish, popping open his mouth over and over again but making no sound. And when her mother spoke, her father looked and saw a piranha doing the same thing.

You have to believe that you're entitled to happiness.

I saw us from above, from the sky, two flecks of being connected at the edge of the wide, pale ocean, lost to everything but each other.

I couldn't swallow. It had to be wrong. We had to be able to rewind. It couldn't be real. It felt so weightless. It felt like an idea, a particle of dust floating around in the air that hadn't landed yet.

Immigration is a system and a set of policies. And immigrants are the people behind those policies and behind that system, and the human stories.

There was only one word—you. It applied to all people. Everyone equal. No one higher or lower than anyone else. No one more distant or more familiar. You. They. Me. I. Us. We. There were no words that changed from feminine to masculine and back again depending on the speaker. A person was from New York. Not a woman from New York, not a man from New York. Simply a person.

It's impossible to hold on to anything really. Everything slips away in due time.

No deberías querer ser igual que todo el mundo. Entonces no serías tú misma".

When someone dies, it doesn't leave a hole, and that's the agony.

I came from México, but there's a lot of people here who, when they hear that, they think I crawled out of hell.

Sometimes I think I would rather just remember it in my head, all those streets and the places I loved. The way it smelled of car exhaust and sweet fruit. The thickness of the heat. The sound of dogs barking in alleyways. That's the Panama I want to hold on to. Because a place can do many things against you, and if it's your home or if it was your home at one time, you still love it. That's how it works.

We left a lot of things behind - not only physical objects, but our friends and of course our families, pieces of ourselves - all for the chance to see that light in Maribel's eyes. It's been difficult, yes, but I would do it all again. People do what they have to do in this life. We try to get from one end of it to the other with dignity and with honor. We do the best we can.

What kind of place required a man to work all day without being allowed to eat or drink? There had to be rules, didn't there? This was America, after all.

Maybe it's the instinct of every immigrant, born of necessity or of longing:

There were torn between wanting to look back and wanting to exist absolutely in the new life they'd created

Americanah; Ayad Akhtar, American Dervish; Julia Alvarez, How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents; Sandra Cisneros, The House on Mango Street; Junot Díaz, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao; Teju Cole, Open City; William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying; Nell Freudenberger, The Newlyweds; Cristina García, Dreaming in Cuban and King of Cuba; Chang-rae Lee, Native Speaker.

Life got its tentacles around you, its hooks into your heart, and suddenly you come awake as if for the first time, and you are standing in a part of the town where the air is sweet—your face flushed, your chest thumping, your stomach a planet, your heart a planet, your every organ a separate planet, all of it of a piece though the pieces turn separately, O silent indications of the inevitable, as among the natural restraints of winter and good sense, life blows you apart in her arms.

Contigo la milpa es rancho y el atole champurrado.