About half past four, we arrived at the beach besides the border. Getting off the van, I was told that just a few years ago, this beach was desolate and soulless but a low fence made of metal plate. However, all I could see was that children and adults were playing by the beach, Pacific rhythmically was washing people's feet and sun was shining in every corner. Not far from us on a small plaza, a young boy was doing karaoke with shocking strength. But next, there was the wall.
We took a picture on a platform above the beach, and just looked at the ocean. A placard on the platform caught my eyes, and there was a phrase-"Ciudad sin Fronteras". What a funny phrase, because if I just turned my head, I could see steel fence about ten feet high with concrete wall not far behind it. Are these Mexicans lying to themselves? Why do they lie to themselves?
Walking along the wall, I could see all sorts of arts and emotions: prayers, graffiti and sometimes outcries. There was this flag of the United States flipped vertically with little crosses instead of stars. At this time, the boy thanked the crowd, and started another song. I was thinking that Mexican folk songs were always such lively and joyful, and could it be joys that blinded them from the harsh wall? Or, could it because when they were facing pains of separation, instead of filling themselves with remorse and negativity, they would always look towards esperanza and joy? This thought immediately shocked me, and I understood the phrase "Ciudad sin Fornteras". That was not a lie. That was esperanza.
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