Here We Go Again

After two hours and thirty minutes of driving in this U-Haul, I see the sign, the one I’d been dreading for two and a half hours. Welcome to Eagle Pass, Texas. My first thought was, “ugh… here we go again.”

Do I belong here? The weight of the boxes made me ask myself this while I was unloading the U-Haul. This was the hottest April I’ve seen. It’s as if Mother Nature said, “nah, you don’t need a spring this year.” I was standing in the living room, holding this box, questioning my life, thinking, which room do I want to take.

I had to live in my mother’s house because I need to wait for the lease to end for the current tenant living in my house. Which is why I had to contemplate which room I was taking. I had two rooms to choose from. One had two windows and the other only had one. Normally this isn’t an issue because I love natural light, so the choice is usually easier than this. The only thing is that the room with two windows used to be my grandparent’s room, it felt odd moving in there. This isn’t something I never thought about before moving.

I was born in San Antonio, TX and lived there until I was 3 years old. Long story short, my dad wasn’t the best, so my mother moved us out of SA to my grandparents’ home when I was about 3 years old to the humble little town of Eagle Pass, TX. I then moved out of Eagle Pass when I was 21 back to San Antonio. I was so happy moving to the city I was born in and to my vacation spot. When I was a child, my mother would ask, “where do you want to go for summer vacation?” I would always say San Antonio. On the moving day, I thought, “I’m finally moving out of here and I hope I never have to come back.” So, when I saw the sign I said, “here we go again,” it was a punch in the gut to my ego.

There’s a stigma when someone comes back to Eagle Pass. Whenever you bump into someone you knew in high school, they usually stare at you, waiting for you to tell them what happened and why you couldn’t make it on “outside” or why you “had” to come back. I could already hear the questions and feel the judgment as soon as I saw the sign. But now moving back at 35, things are different.

The last time I was in my grandparent’s room, they were still alive. I can still smell the musty and musky scent. Looking at the room now, I thought, how strange that my grandparents had separate beds. I didn’t think anything of it when I was younger, but now I’m curious as to why they had it that way. I also thought, what if their ghosts are in this room? Is it disrespectful to stay here?

I place my box in my grandparents’ room. It’s mine now.

I can’t believe how much time has passed since my grandparents passed away. I began thinking about how fragile the memory is. I have forgotten so much of my grandparents. Standing in that room, so many memories felt like they “unlocked.” The room is just empty and cold even though the temperature was 94 degrees. The sense that they’re gone, and how I didn’t think about them or remember them much which got me thinking, how will I be remembered?

There was this quote I read that made a huge impact on me and how I want to be remembered even after my “three” deaths. “There are three deaths. The first is when the body ceases to function. The second is when the body is consigned to the grave. The third is that moment, sometime in the future, when your name is spoken for the last time.” By David Eagleman. How can I be remembered after the last person who knows my name dies?

At the beginning of 2024, I lost my job in San Antonio. My savings dried up, and I had applied to 70+ places, none got back to me. The ones that did get back to me were to “regrettably inform” me that they decided not to move forward with my application. I got so good at spotting rejection letters, I didn’t even need to open them anymore. I could tell with the preview text on Gmail that they were not hiring me. Not only that, but I had to move in with my mother and ask for her help financially. That went on for a year. That murdered my ego. It was necessary.

In Feb 2025 my mother makes an offer I can’t refuse. She said, “what if we move back to Eagle Pass, I’ll gift you one of the rental properties, help pay some debt off with the money from the sale of the house.” “So, you’re saying I can be back in Eagle Pass, debt free in my own house? Say less!” I can go from being homeless to homeowner just by moving back? I’m going back better than I ever was. If I didn’t murder my ego, I would still be living in San Antonio with my debt and in my mother’s house.

That’s the full circle moment as to why I’m back in Eagle Pass. To leave a city where people will forget about me soon, to a place where I was forgotten when I first left. But not truly. Someone in San Antonio will hear, see or smell something that reminds them of me. And when I bump into someone I knew from Eagle Pass, they’ll remember the high school, tall, quiet, band nerd, emo kid. And they’ll make new memories of the person I am today who is still tall, has a beard now, tattoos, who is working on becoming a writer, cinematographer and storyteller. Time to create new memories and forget some.

I’ve noticed I seem to place more value on material things because it has a price tag, the higher the price tag, the more I perceive it to be of higher value. What I wish I learned earlier on is that the opposite is true, the things we get for free in life, are the most valuable in the world. My family, body, friends, love, and most importantly my mind and memories. How grateful I am to remember my first kiss, first time my dad bought me a cake with my name on it, when my mom went to my first high school drumline performance. With my memories I get to play my “mind movies” like I’m back in the 90’s watching a movie I rented from Blockbuster.

To help me with this, I discovered journaling. I used to think there’s no point to having a journal. I can remember all of my thoughts and experiences, so why would I need to write them down. So, I thought. It wasn’t until I saw a video which gave me an interesting take on journaling. She’s in her late 70’s and she was advising the crowd to start writing in a journal. She’s beginning to lose her memory. She said that reading back her journals helps her relive those moments and thoughts. Then it made me think about photos, they are a memory of what we looked like, but a journal is a memory of what we thought about. I started to think, what if I had a journal from my dad who passed away when I was nine years old. How amazing would it have been to read his thoughts and ideas. To get an insight on who he was to himself internally. So, I made the decision to start a journal. To record my thoughts and memories for when I get older and have a difficult time remembering. To also leave behind my thoughts, ideas and memories to my future kids and family. To have a conversation with me even when I’m gone. Also, so that I can live on in the pages. This is how I will be remembered after the last person who knows my name is gone.