Tijuana: The City Of Eternal Thoughts

Miwsig’s Rocio Flores on her Mexican homeland

When you begin to remember that years have passed and things that used to make life worthy have transformed into the absolute power of ignorance, you begin to save those memories that in their agony never stop breathing at your ear.

This comes about as my present case of continuous symbolic configuration of the past, as I cast my eyes once again about the antagonistic and new world of the Tijuana.

I walk by the streets that I once abandoned, by means of reuniting the pre-requisites of a failed love, which stayed suspended, not in my recollections but in a bubble of multiple voices. And I keep walking by the streets that never changed, an eternal fatigue full of objective morals and thoughtful feelings.

Tijuana: The city of surreal and peculiar smells, with sewers that make people fly high into the blatant sky without ever given a chance of returning back, where the banda, ranchera, dance, rock, and indie music display harmonies in a united scream that gives us the most reliant exquisiteness of a city that never stops.

So far, I continue to process the whys and hows as I walk the streets in search of the perfect photograph and the unforgettable experience. The citizen transforms next to the paradigm of modernity’s bad conjunction, velocity and tiredness.

Some search the streets for the perfect image that would remind them of the place they long for; others pretend a sympathetic gesture, searching for the shops that sell more than third class articles, dreams to fulfill. We cross the streets in search of nothing and at the same time of a whole that will provide us with an explanation about why we don’t run away like others do, or why we always long for the dense smells of the human condition.

There is no escape, either from the empty spaces in between the people, nor from the pretentious feelings of the City of a Thousand Thoughts. To finally turn back and find our willing so different, at the same time procuring a turning to anything anew, and smiling at the exact moment when the city opens her big welcome door to let us in.

Tijuana is the city of thousand words; mine are just a soul piece suspended in the highest walls of diverse voices and mellow hearts, a verifiable description of some one else’s freedom that naturally becomes my own.

Any metropolis strives for the radical changes. The situations that will never be the same but remain immersed in an eternal cycling pattern. Like deep wounds and tragic scars, results of what already occurred.

I just can’t help to return to the city over and over again; a huge concrete monster that attracts whomever lived or wish to live in it with intensity and expectation, sometimes happy and sometimes crying behind every street corner.

© 2007 Rocio Flores

© Miwsig