Yesterday I encountered Marina by chance. I was on my way to the gym, and she was walking somewhere. “Hi, how are you?” I said, “Ehhh good” she said, as if responding to a courtesy greeting. But I insisted “how are you?” and she said “I guess you’ve heard that Óscar asked us to leave”—yes, I said, and then I told her I wanted to speak with her, whenever she wanted, to “see what alternatives were available”. We convened to meet at night.

Earlier in the morning I had called a phone number for women who suffer from domestic violence, I exposed her situation: a migrant who was very likely trapped in a relationship and situation which she didn’t want, but was there because there was no alternative. I see my own projection here, as I was a undocumented migrant in Spain and the range of possibilities in the matter of freedom is much constrained. Her situation is much more vulnerable and “illegal” than mine was, so I can only imagine her sense of trappedness to be worse.

The woman on the other side of the phone informed me that it was only the woman who would ask for information and get help. I assured that yes, I would pass on the phone number, I just wanted to be able to offer her an alternative—any alternative—to the life she is currently living.

After gym and yoga I rung her doorbell, but Óscar came out and said she was not there. We came home for dinner and then I asked for a cigarette. He said he had them at home, so we went there. We went upstairs and Marina came out of her room. I said hello and was startled, I didn’t expect to find her at home. But then I saw that her boyfriend was there too, and I couldn’t speak with her.