Back in grad school, I struggled to understand the writing of magical realists like Jorge Luis Borges and Gabriel García Márquez. They had this way of putting bizarre, dream-like events side by side with everyday normal activities. Often, I found myself lost somewhere in between. It’s like I didn’t know if I was coming or going. But now that I’ve lived in Mexicali for a few years, I think magic realism makes a lot more sense. I’m all good with Juan Gabriel Vazquez’s The Sound of Things Falling. I’m in…