It was not until later in life that I realised that the extreme violence that was part of everyday life in Tijuana was not a universal experience. It was only after I had lived in Aotearoa for several years that I came to the realisation that—for many people—it was not normal to grow up discussing what you would do if your parents got kidnapped, or seeing mutilated bodies hanging from bridges, or having classmates murdered by the cartels. Still, I grew up surrounded by love from my family and an incredibly supportive group of friends who allowed me to blossom into the proud socialist, transgressive queer that I am now. Tijuana taught me what love in the face of adversity can look like.