On a torrid August day I moved and left my roses behind. I stopped trying to grow roses in the desert.

I now admit that roses were a sign of my rebellion. An obstinate challenge to the forces of the desert, if you want. Don’t take me wrong: roses do grow in the desert. But they are not “naturals”. You have to keep fighting against the high temperatures to keep them alive. Water them everyday and they will survive. It is in the nature of roses to be resilient and withstand a lot. During the scorching summer months some will even venture to open their flimsy petals for a forgiving early morning but the unbending sun will burn their petals in minutes and destroy their beauty.

It is not worth growing roses in the desert. Even with a lot of TLC they struggle and suffer too much. It is a sad business to grow roses in the desert, believe me.

I moved a month ago (yes, I still live in the Sonoran desert) and I have not planted a single rosebush in my garden. I now grow flowers that are “naturals”. One of them is the colorful and hearty bougainvillea which grows abundantly locally. Bougainvillea are not fussy in the desert: they don’t need a lot of water, they grow joyfully and plentifully in the desert sun. Contrary to roses, bougainvillea don’t require much TLC. Even in the middle of the summer, their branches will produce leaves that mutate into exuberant pinks, deep reds, bright whites and magenta.

I left my roses behind. This does not mean I love roses any less. It just means that I no longer want to fight the fury of the desert.

I need to learn the lessons taught by the indigenous people of the Sonoran desert. For them, this desert I now call home was vibrantly alive. They had a profound respect to this place. They respected its elements, climate, energies and whims. For them, the desert was a sacred land.

I can’t continue to struggle against the desert. The desert is stronger than me. I surrender.

A seed,
blown away by an unsuspecting wind,
finds its way
to the desert

The Desert
–unaware of itself–
shelters the Seed

The Seed is desperate
And angry at the Desert
–And at itself–

“I am an outsider here”, the Seed thinks
“I am hungry and thirsty”
“I am drying out, dying out”

The Desert had been there for thousands of years.
And following the destiny of deserts,
It waits, unperturbed.
It knows that magic can come
–in a single drop of rain–

That night, after a long scorching day,
Rain fell on the desert.

Let me do a bit of rerouting for the sake of this blog: It hasn’t all been sour lemons in Arizona. It is true that Arizona has represented a revolution in my life. But my story in Arizona should not be reduced to “the sadness of geography“, that unavoidable feeling of loss that marks the immigrant experience. I am now aware that Arizona has brought back traumas and memories that had been unattended to for too long. It made me look inside and confront my demons. This is not easy but the proverbial “make lemonade when life gives you lemons” withstands.

Arizona is a mirror. It is difficult to face the mirror.

The truth is I had been negating certain things in my life for too long. I had been telling myself that the easier route was to lead life as if certain moments had not meant much.  Maybe, if I avoided those moments long enough, they would cease to exist? There were too many decades of overlooking, of bypassing, of taking detours. As a natural defense mechanism, I chose to forget and foolishly persuaded myself that a black hole would magically suck up all the bad. Of course it did not.

I struggled to adjust and for years I could not find my bearings.  Arizona painfully and relentlessly pushed me into recognizing my shortcomings. It required not only an interiority but also a sobriety that was not available to me then. I became too self conscious of my insignificance in the United States. More than ever, I was yet another number. A mere immigrant statistic.

Arizona made me more alone. Arizona made me more aware.

My life in Arizona is very quiet. I have made very few friends. It is true that Phoenix is not the friendliest of cities and many people complain about feeling lonely. The vastness of the city makes it challenging to make friends and people hide too many hours in their cars. The long lasting summer heat can also become truly oppressive. People tend to spend their times in air-conditioned spaces and skip their outdoor walks. Yet, to be fair and honest (remember I am talking about mirrors), it’s not alone the vastness nor the heat of Phoenix that are to blame:  I am not the easiest person to make friends with. I am incurably shy and self conscious. On a lighter note, even though loneliness has the power to kill you, it can also make you stronger. You have to look for resources other than people. So there is a silver lining to my loneliness: I feel compelled to go out of my shell and seek solace and company in things and activities. Yoga has been one my best “friends” here in Arizona. It has given me sobriety in the midst of my turmoils. It has showed me that I still have what it takes to face the game. That I can pick up the pieces and move on. It has also taught me that I am responsible for all of my choices, therefore I’d better make good ones. And…let’s face it: Arizona has been my choice. I’d better own it.

Arizona is a metaphor. It is a state of mind.