I was born in Guatemala and lived there until I was eight. Living in Central and South America is like living in Afghanistan. Everything is much harder. The year before I came to the U.S., a gang came to my neighbor’s house. My mom and I were outside in a hammock when we heard gunshots coming from the house in front. We fell to the ground and stayed there until we saw the truck full of men leave. The next day my mom and I went to visit the lady who lived next door. She told us about how her husband owed the men money so they came and killed him in front of her and their daughter. The lady was pregnant and had no other family. So now you see why my parents chose to leave our home, despite the risks.

It was the summer of 2006. We were in Northern Mexico, ready to become Americanos. When we started the journey, we were confident and excited. We felt like we could conquer all, despite the fact that what we wanted was too much. We were dropped off in what looked like an old Texas village, like the ones you see in cowboy movies.

My cousin Katie and I were walking around looking for a store to buy candy for our trip when we saw a woman who would be part of our group. She was obese, had short red hair, and wore a long floral dress. Immediately I wondered, Why is this lady wearing a long dress in the desert? What if she falls? What about the mosquitoes? Everyone was looking at each other thinking, Why is she even here? We all knew that she wasn’t going to make it.

Walking through the desert purgatory is demanding. You have to carry all of your own things, and if you run out of supplies you have no way to get more. As humans, we know that the right thing to do is help people who are having a hard time, but all we were doing was criticizing this woman, whose name was Soyla. Our criticism wasn’t helping Soyla, but she was trying to escape from so much worse. She was running away from her life of depression and disempowerment; she had dreams just like us. Our mistake was believing that just because it was going to be harder for her, she shouldn’t even try.

Our group scrambled into a circle like a football huddle to discuss the plan. Then we started our trip. After 15 minutes of walking, we noticed Soyla was lagging behind. Her face was red. We could see that her body hurt. She started limping, and that’s when we noticed that her knee was hurt. Then she stopped and put her hands on her waist, like she was posing for a photo. Her breathing was labored and her eyes welled up. She realized that she wasn’t going to make it. In her eyes, we saw not only her physical pain but also her disappointment. It was sad, but we were so focused on ourselves and what we had to do that we had to look away.

Eventually, we stopped and waited for her at a hill with three palm trees. My aunt needed to relieve herself, and she told me I should go with her. Quickly she realized that wasn’t a good idea. I was walking ahead of her searching for a good spot to pee when I saw bones. At first, I thought they were from an animal, but no. As I got closer I noticed the skull and the ribs and the spinal cord and the pelvis. I was eight years old. I had seen a dead body but never a skeleton. I was in shock. I just stood there looking at the skeleton and wondering who it was. How old the person was. Did their family know, or were they imagining them living a happy life in the U.S.?

When my aunt noticed, she spanked me. In our culture when kids get a shock or are scared, adults believe that spanking helps distract them so the shock won’t affect them as much. When we got back to the group and my aunt told everyone what we saw, Soyla started crying and said, “I’m next.” She had given up. She could have easily used the skeleton as motivation to keep going and not end up like that person, but it’s not so easy when everyone and everything are against you.

We rested there for about two hours before we started walking again. After 20 minutes Soyla was lagging behind again, so we slowed down for her.

The “coyote” is a person who smuggles Latin Americans across the U.S. border, typically for a high fee. The coyote spoke with Soyla and said, “You should stay behind. It’s not fair that you’re holding everyone back.” Soyla’s face was full of sadness, disappointment, and embarrassment all at the same time. Everyone felt bad for her. Something needed to be done.

We kept walking along a flat field. All around there were trees, half-dead ones. We were all scattered. I was walking next to my cousin, behind my uncle and aunt. The coyote was in the front with a really pretty girl he called mi mujer – my lady. Since he wasn’t the best-looking guy, I wasn’t sure why she was with him. There was a family next to us who didn’t talk much. And then there was Soyla, by herself, struggling to catch her breath, but this time she knew she wasn’t going to make it.

Soyla taught me how powerful motivation can be, but only if you’re strong enough to use it. I wish she had stayed strong for herself. She was strong enough to make the decision to cross, but she wasn’t strong enough to pass through the desert and undergo the pain that it can inflict without the help and support of other people. And we didn’t give her that help and support.

This experience made me realize how awful people can be to others and to themselves. I learned at age eight that people step on others to get what they want. It’s fine to want more than we have, but it’s not fine to leave others behind to make sure we keep going forward. We all want the same thing – to be better, to be happier. Thanks to us this woman full of hope gave up on herself. We could have given her motivation, but we didn’t.

I’m sorry, Soyla. I’m sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry for not knowing how to help you. We should have helped and encouraged you to keep going and not give up. I’m sorry for not doing the right thing. I’m sorry for leaving you behind.