This guest post was written by Marco Cobian ’25. A slightly different version is appearing as BC Law Magazine’s Winter 2025 In Closing column.

Growing up in Ramona, California–a rural and dispossessed, secluded and dust-strewn town tucked into the upper-hinterlands of San Diego County–I was acquainted with the rhythms and cycles natural to a certain way of life. Among these were the buzz and crackles of the morning commute, of pickup trucks leaving early for their daily pilgrimages only to return in the evening to start over again the next morning. This is the cycle that defines Ramona–the departure and the inevitable return, week after week, year after year, generation after generation.

This too, is the cycle that defined my family. I was born and raised in Ramona, just like my father before me. Moreover, I was born and raised in Ramona, the son of a first-generation American, the grandson of two undocumented Mexican-immigrants who settled in Ramona in their late-teens; I was born and raised the proverbial and vaunted embodiment of their hopes and dreams. As all three generations of my family ventured outside of Ramona and glanced at horizons just beyond the town’s borders, the gravitational pull of this cycle wrenched them back in, and just like that, the cycle repeated. And with each iteration, a certain impression of reality solidified in the psyche of my family–fortified by structural barriers and generational trauma, this cycle created limits on what one could imagine oneself being and doing.