My home

Sometimes I wonder if I would ever have a chance to live there again. I miss my home, my language and my people. It is not the same to see Mexicans somewhere else; definitely not the same when in the US every single Spanish speaker is identified as a Latino. I miss my identity, my background.

     I wish I could have had a videocamera recording my life so I could show my children now, how precious my childhood was. How different it was from what they are getting to experience during their early years here in Michigan. No snow, only mommy-made food, everything from scratch, cartoons in Spanish, the ability to walk to the little store in the corner to get some spicy candy...oh, those wonderful moments of my childhood. If they could only see it through my eyes, they would fall in love with my city, my Mexico City.

     Living in Mexico with a little family of my own was great, but it was only a glimpse compared to what it actually was to grow up there. I wish my children could see how wonderful my teenage years were. How different they were from what I know they will experience here in the US. Parties did not have to be church parties so everything could be under control. A guitar and somebody with a nice voice was the only thing we needed to have a fantastic evening. If they could see it through my eyes, they would adore my country, my city, my Mexico City.

     Mexico City, I miss you. I miss you with all my heart. I hope someday I can go back to show my kids how wonderful it is to be called a Mexican, to see sunny skies 300 days of the year, to be happy because there is music in the background and a delicious meal with no preservatives on your table.