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Chapter 13. Sneaking Through the Backdoor and Time Travel.
Changes changes changes.
I like to talk about them. And recently, there have been many changes in my life. Nothing is like it used to be. It’s interesting what success looks like depending on where you look.
Getting published in a magazine felt like a huge success. The first cover story also felt great. And now it’s a job. I haven’t even done it for that long and I’m already tired of it.
Not writing cover stories. Those are hard to come by. Writing, in general, gets tiresome. But also pictures.
This Saturday wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. I had to take pictures at a hip hop show. The light was shit. But I managed. It was fun.
“If you put more effort into your tours, you would be so successful.” Or so they say.
If I put any more effort into anything I would be more successful.
Effort is hard to come by.
I’m easily satisfied with little.
And yet I have so much more than many others.
I still don’t have a car. And I should get one.
Sounds basic. But I’ve been fine without a car for years. I do need one though. I borrow my brother’s car way too often.
That’s what I’m doing tomorrow.
Borrowing my sister-in-law’s car for a Tijuana Adventure.
Changes. Those changes.
From going to strip clubs and being a mini-pimp to whoring out the city’s problems.
The world-famous Hong Kong.
The world-famous border wall.
It was a bit over four years ago
Time in Tijuana goes fast.
That’s when I started getting published in the magazine. I now do a bunch of things for them. It always feels like I’m pretending to know what I am doing. I have no fucking clue. But it works.
Cover pictures are usually mine. I’ve had a handful of covers already. I have another one in mind. I get published regularly.
I get nervous every single time. That someone is going to find out. That I have no idea what I’m doing or what I am talking about. That I’m just a lazy guy that figures out how to be the laziest and still live.
That’s what I have tomorrow that is making me nervous. Tijuana Adventure tours always make me nervous. No matter what I’m doing.
I haven’t been to the strip club in almost a year. I stopped caring about them. I bet I would nervous if I had to go. I don’t really want to go, but people pay me to take them…
I don’t really want to go to the thing tomorrow either.
It makes me nervous.
I just rather stay at home and play video games.
But I need to make money.
Journalists from New Zealand are coming over to see the border prototypes by Trump. I’m getting hired by journalists instead of by party-goers or perverts.
Two are from New Zealand. The other is a famous journalist working on a book about migration.
Famous as in she has a best seller and a Wikipedia page. I guess famous is not the right word. More like respected in her field.
And that scares me.
I know it’s going to be fine. And it will make a great story. I just get nervous.
The problems of being an introvert/extrovert.
It’s also really early. I have to meet them at 7:30 a.m. at the border. Then a bunch of missions. And end the day early before 2 pm.
My tours usually start at dusk and end at dawn.
This one is the complete opposite.
This week is a bunch of busywork. I don’t want to do any of it. Just like I haven’t been writing. Because I don’t want to do it.
Back then, I was excited about the prospect of writing. It was tough. But getting published was the best. Not only because money! I needed the money!
I had no idea how to make a living by writing. Every small publication I would treasure it.
$100 bucks or so for writing things that I experience. Observe. Write. Details. Quotes. Write.
I also got rejected a bunch. I didn’t really have the fundamentals.
I got rejected by the main editor to the point where he was ignoring my emails. That was pointless. But I kept writing.
I wrote a basic article about what Tijuana was becoming.
So many changes already.
I submitted it to the travel section through the website.
They liked the story.
That was my first publication with the magazine. With the travel editor.
The smallest of the sections in a very small magazine.
And I was so happy with it. I successfully snuck in through the back door.
After that, I wrote about a music festival in Tijuana. After all, that’s what I liked the most about the city and my obsession.
Two editors on my side.
News stories were next. That pays better than travel or music and I landed a great story that involved a border wall riot. I also had the proper contacts for it and had inside information.
That’s how I started writing for the magazine.
My first cover would come years later. And it was about beer.
Meeting the marketing manager came later as well.
And now, I know a lot of people in the office and I do a bunch of shit.
It all started with a shitty travel story about Tijuana’s nightlife.
The story talks about all the changes in Tijuana.
It wasn’t as easy as I made it sound. It took a lot of time. I’m still not in a great position either. I barely make money. But living the Tijuana life helps.
So instead of taking people to strip clubs, I tried to switch my tours to be about music. That was a stupid idea since people that like concerts barely have any money and if they are going to venture to Tijuana already, they don’t need to pay a tour guide.
I was barely making any money through writing. So life was of cheap beer and tequila. My sensei master of a writer, Mr. Chad, drank a lot.
I became a professional writer because of him.
And by that, I mean an alcoholic.
Chad wrote a lot after nights of partying and encountering a deadline or inspiration. He would write through the night while drinking, and drinking a lot.
I’m a sleepy drunk.
As soon as I hit my nice limit, I usually turn off.
I try to never appear drunk despite heavily drinking.
I rarely or ever drink in the mornings. Most of the time that I drank in the mornings was because of Chad.
I miss him.
His room sat across my room. The apartment was basically empty.
Now my mom lives there. I’m not sure how I feel about it. It’s only been a couple of days. And it’s supposedly not to be long.
After months of living alone with my cat.
And before that, one year of living with the same girl who I thought I was going to marry.
Los caminos de la vida, no son lo que yo pensaba.
That song has a fucking exquisite bass line.
My friends from Minnesota are also visiting this week. From Minnesota to Tijuana.
It sounds strange as fuck. Minnesotans in a Tijuana Adventure. Let’s see what happens.
Changes. My life in Tijuana has been nothing but constant changes. I swear I can’t predict what next year will be like.
Maybe that’s what life is in every big city. I don’t know what my life could be like outside Tijuana… It’s a strange one, that’s for sure.
My life is much more tranquil now. I have somewhat of a busy schedule and workflow.
I still feel like I’m bullshitting my way through life and somehow it’s working.
The writing is catching up to where I am now. But before all of that… There were a lot of drugs, alcohol, and women.
The misogynistic writing in the era of the #MeToo in a strange world from a bizarre city continues.