In Gloria Anzaldúa’s novel, Borderlands she portrays a sense of orphanage and loss for both women and the Mexican/American race. Her life, along with other women and Chicanas exists in a borderland, a third country in which she is a semblance of a fractured body and land. Living in a borderland creates the exact image that one sees when they hear the word border. Each day she encounters all sorts of barriers and borders which restrict her way of life.
Readers learn that since a young school child she was kept from using certain words and language when she spoke, for she must speak like an American. Anzaldúa truly is the embodiment of her language. She carries it where ever she goes and it bubbles inside of her, just waiting to be let free. Yet she must suppress both herself as a woman, Chicana and as woman, as well as the language that lets her express all of these identities of self. Her language, both inside and outside of her is representative of cultural collision and a violence that exists at the borders.
The concept of the borderland existing as a third country in this book reminds me a lot of the Langston Hughes’ poem, “Cross.” Both the speaker in “Cross” and Anzaldúa live with an everlasting internal feeling of confusion as to where they belong. When a person lives along the border or at a cross, there is always the question as to which side they belong to or identify more strongly with and whether or not these individuals make a decision one way or another, there still remains a burning inside which asks them daily whether or not they made the right decision.
Borders like those on a map mark off where certain states or towns exist. These borders help people define who they are and gives them a sense of belonging, but Anzaldúa and the speaker in “Cross” will never have that sense of belonging, comfort and definition because they exist in the gray area of the line that divides two nations and races.