Introduction: I feel like Darius when he reformed or rather created a new set of rules for the Egyptians as if from nothing; when he had done the same for the Babylonians, he had had Hammurabi’s laws as a template. I do not know what became of my autobiography that I produced five years ago, perhaps it was lost when I formatted my computer. Alas I am also to produce something ex nihilio; and as Lucretius cogently points out in his wonderful De Rerum Natura, this is impossible. Bear with me.

As I record my life, two things must be pointed out, in all fairness to anyone that endeavors to read this incarnation of the events that have shaped and are a part of my life. First, this biography shall be a timeline of my history; some of the things will be written in full honesty, this is to say that I will write them without reflecting on them and will describe them verbatim – from thought to writing (digitalized). Secondly, I will analyze some of the events, which in effect, will cause me to rethink them and see them in a different angle; thus, I shall reexperience these moments as a consequence. But is this not the case in history? History’s role is not to capture things as they happened, for every human individual experiences events differently, even shared events. Having said this, this biography is my take on my life. And from what I recall from my now lost biography, this one shall be nothing like it, my life will be described in such a manner that upon finishing this task, I will have reconstructed a new life – such is the power of words.

Early years: I can say with certainty that the Ocean, i.e., the Pacific Ocean, has played an important part in my life; ironically I don’t really know how to swim, being like those ancient Greeks who for all their dependence on the Aegean and Mediterranean, the majority did not possess such a valuable skill. But then again paradoxes are an essential part of the human condition.

For my twenty-two years of life, I have lived no more than an hour’s distance from the sea; until now. As a child, I almost lost my life to the Ocean on three separate occasions. Children cannot be left alone, for one need only turn away for a second in order for something to happen. Such experiences have taught me to respect the Ocean, to admire it. The Ocean is this vast and mythic expanse of nothingness, a bulwark between two worlds, i.e., the Asiatic and the Western. But this Ocean is not all the same, for its waters are cold and frigid in the north only to lose their extremity and become warm and refreshing in the south. I am only acquainted with the northern aspect of this Ocean, where the waters mingle with fog, clouds whose proximity to the earthly allow man to imagine himself to be flying in heaven as he treads through them. For me, the Ocean is a source of inspiration; only great things can inspire us to be great.

So I was born in a small coastal town somewhere on the Central-Pacific coast of Mexico – that putative democracy to the south of the US – to a young couple during one of those early December days. My parents had married on the 25th of December of 1980 (what a horrible birthday present for my maternal grandfather, who I suspect of never having liked my father) after having eloped on the 19th of that same month. It was a rather unconventional thing to do, then again such has been the story of my family.

In a sense, these early years are not my story, but their story. I recall a lot of moving across the country, going from one state to another; I loved Sonora, perhaps it was the desert, a return to my roots.

Four years later, our nomadic life seemed to have ended and we finally settled, ostensibly. To the family of three, a baby girl was added on one of those days that conclude the month of December. I couldn’t have been happier, for a sister was what I desired and now I had one. Alas, she looked nothing like me. Her skin was not like mine nor her hair. Her fair complexion and blonde hair contrasted with my dark features. She was like ‘an angel come from heaven’ except quite the opposite. Soon after, we began to clash, perhaps it was the fact that we were both Archers; perhaps not.

On several occasions my parents separated; I had to live with my father and my sister with my mother. I felt a lot of anger, especially towards my mother; I felt as if she did not love me, chosing my sister over me, though she and I had similar characters. I was a stranger to my father’s family; I felt as if I had been abandoned with complete strangers. Often, parents do things that though insignificant, are importance in a child’s life.

Eventually, my father moved to America; meanwhile my Mother, Sister and I moved in with our maternal grandmother – one of those independent matriarchal women that form the backbone of Mexican society, a woman of strong character.

In due time, we too moved to America. The family was reunited.

I had no expectations of this new country. I don’t think I realized what was happening, that I was leaving behind my two best friends, never to see them again; when I said goodbye to them for the last time, it was forever. I waved goodbye thinking that I would see them again. Such was my naïveté.

School was hell. I was held back a year because I did not speak English. I cannot begin to describe the feeling of inferiority that this single event produced in me.