My dad hung up and tears began to stream down my face. I was crying not just because I was in an unknown country surrounded by strangers but because loneliness crawled inside my skin and it hurt. It hurt just like when the bullies at school kept pulling my hair while calling me fat. At the airport I was internally wishing my dad would magically appear to pick me and cover me in a warm blanket. Loneliness and sadness were two evil twins that kept following and appearing in every single low blow that life gave me. As I was seated on the floor with my head between my legs crying and an unknown person approached me.
“Are you okay?”
My heart beat fast as if I was running a marathon yet I was not moving an inch.
“¿Estás bien? ¿Necesitas un taxi? Do you need a ride?”
I cried even harder thinking to myself that I was in the US for less than 20 minutes and I was already about to get kidnapped and most likely get my organs sold before I could even get to meet my dad. However, before I could keep making more scenarios in my head my phone started ringing.
“Hija, todavía no puedo encontrar un taxi”
“¿Es este tu papá? You dad?”
“Hija, ¿Quien esta ahi?”
The men who kept switching between a weird Spanish and English took my phone scaring me even more.
“Primo! Soy un taxi. Me encontre a tu hija, si quieres la llevo a donde vives, solo dame la direction”
“Primo! Gracias es que no encuentro un taxi, la dirección es…”
After hearing the deal between my dad and the man, he took me to his car and drove me off to my dad. I was still being precautious and holding onto the door ready to open it and jump in case I felt in danger. Of course it was not necessary because the man was more interested in getting paid than kidnapping a 16 year old. Yet, living in Mexico for the past 14 years taught me that I could never really trust anyone.
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Work on the spacing for new paragraphs. I share my edits here —
My dad hung up [the phone] and tears began to stream down my face. I was crying not just because I was in an unknown country surrounded by strangers but because loneliness crawled inside my skin and it hurt. It hurt just like when the bullies at school kept pulling my hair while calling me fat. [I was at] At the airport I was internally wishing my dad would magically appear to pick me and cover me in a warm blanket. Loneliness and sadness were two evil twins that kept following and appearing in every single low blow that life gave me.
As I was seated on the floor with my head between my legs crying and an unknown person approached me asking,“Are you okay?”
My heart beat fast as if I was running a marathon yet I was not moving an inch.
The voice above me continued, “¿Estás bien? ¿Necesitas un taxi? Do you need a ride?”
I cried even harder thinking to myself that I was [had been] in the US for less than 20 minutes and I was already about to get be kidnapped and have my organs sold before I could even get to meet my dad. However,
[B]before I could keep making more scenarios popped [into] in my head my phone started ringing. I heard my dad’s voice, “Hija, todavía no puedo encontrar un taxi”
“¿Es este tu papá? You dad?”
“Hija, ¿Quien esta ahi?”
The stranger now took my phone scaring me even more. I heard my dad and this man switching between a weird Spanish and English, “Primo! Soy un taxi. Me encontre a tu hija, si quieres la llevo a donde vives, solo dame la direction.”
“Primo! Gracias es que no encuentro un taxi, la dirección es…”
After hearing the deal between my dad and the man, I followed the man to his car. [As we drove off,] I was still being precautious and holding onto the door ready to open it and jump in case I felt in danger. Of course it was not necessary because the man was more interested in getting paid than kidnapping a 16 year old. Yet, living in Mexico for the past 14 years taught me that I could never really trust anyone.