Oye, Méjico

Sometimes I call you home, other times I refer to you as Mexico. You are in all my legal documents, and you are the first thing that comes to my mind when someone asks me who I am. I don’t think we know each other very well.

We’ve been having a love/hate relationship for a long time. There even was a time when I couldn’t tolerate your presence anymore and I left you.

You weren’t giving me the knowledge I was hungry for, and the excitement my body needed. I went back to you a few times, and I enjoyed you because I knew I was going to leave you again. I built myself away from you, and something was always missing.

Now, I know it’s you. It’s our daily battles and disagreements. It’s hard to understand your argument and disagree with you when I’m so far away. We really suck at keeping in touch.

I miss you, and lately I’ve been thinking of those days when I just wanted the mariachi to play “El Son de la Negra.” It makes me smile. But I know your mariachi is just a touristic reality.

I’ve been wondering if it would be a good idea to come back to you. You know, like the good old times. Yeah, I know, it will not be like before.

This idea is scarier than dying, I have to confess. I’m about to leave behind what took me six years to build, it includes some meaningful relationships and other mundanities that made my daily life not that bad. You’re right, we need to talk. I’ve a few questions, though.

What if I fail? What if I don’t recognize you anymore? What if I don’t belong there either? What if they don’t talk to me and I can’t write any stories? What if they talk to me and I distort their stories? What if I finally discover myself?

Is a one-way ticket to you the right step?

1…2…3…breathe. My heart gasps for air, my lungs beat faster. The mere idea alters my whole system. It took me so long to finally adapt to this life, will it be the same down there? Do you think they will see me as their paisana, or will I just be an intruder?

What comes after living a dream? They told me to get a job. Anything; just something profitable. They told me to work for a Latin newspaper/magazine. I’m Latin so I assume I only belong there. They told me to write in Spanish. Why should I complicate my life by writing in another language?

What do you say? It’s only you and me.