"I wondered about the matrix of separation and dislocation, our years bound to the phantom pain of a lost homeland, because now that we are together again that particular hurt and sensation that something is missing has faded. And maybe there is no nation or citizenry; they’re just territories mapped in place of family, in place of love, the infinite country."

"She wondered about that if by birth one could already be out of step with destiny, but only replied that she was very tired and ready to sleep."

"That night I thought about how love comes paired with failures, apologies for deficiencies. The only remedy is compassion."

"I often wonder if we are living the wrong life in the wrong country."

"I hate the term undocumented. It implies people like my mother and me don't exist without a paper trail. I have a drawer full of diaries and letters I never sent to my grandmother, my father, even to my younger sister that will prove to anyone I am very real, most definitely documented; photos taped to our refrigerator, snapshots taken at the Sandy Hill house or other friends' fiestas, the Sears portraits our mother used to dress up for every year, making us sit on bus seats still as statues so we wouldn't wrinkle to have a perfect picture to send back to her mother. Don't tell me I'm undocumented when my name is tattooed on my father's arms."

“The deep sea is a haunted house: a place in which things that ought not to exist move about in the darkness.” 

This was weird, but enjoyably so.
I would have liked to know what all that was about with Lydia though.