It’s quiet. We are quiet. They like us to be that way. It’s not a debate of us vs them. I know what you are thinking. It goes beyond that. I call my mom everyday in the afternoon to get a glimpse of the life I’m missing not being there—not being beside her in the hot West Texas sun. I talk in Spanish, uncomfortably shifting in my body for most of the people around me don’t speak my mother’s tongue. The hot sun strikes my face and dark hair. She tells me she is roasting chiles