Torn

It's been a long time, WAY, WAY, WAY long, since the last time I went back home. Yes, even though I have been living in Cincinnati for 15 years now, which is most of my adult life, Mexico will always evoke for me that one word ... home.

If my memory doesn't fail me, it has been 7 years since I last went to Mexico. And that time around I didn't even go back to my home town. It was just a 3 or 4 day trip to go to the wedding of a friend of mine. The last time I went back to my home town was when we brought my parents to the US, and Sofia was only about 9 months old.  Yes, it has been that long ...

I would love to go back and take the girls with me to show them where I grew up. I would love for them to walk up and down the streets where I walked so many times. I would love for them to experience the food, the weather, the traditions. To see the historical buildings, and to run around chasing pigeons in the park. I would love to take them to the Panaderias, to the markets, to the churches ... I would love for them to see Queretaro, to visit the church where I had my college graduation and Lionel and I got married. There is just so much beauty and life to explore.

If I love Mexico so much, you might wonder why in the world I don't just take a few days off and book the next flight down there. You see ... there is this one little thing .... its called safety, and nowadays it seems like there isn't much of that down there. So as much as I would love to go, the lack of safety makes me feel really torn. If I went down there, and something happened to my girls, or something happened to me that prevented me from taking care of them, I would never be able to forgive myself.  I know millions and millions of people, my friends included, just go about their days and nothing ever happens to them. But I am no longer one of them. I would now be a "tourist", a nervous one travelling with two little girls who - although they would look like they belong - would quickly give themselves away as soon as they opened their mouth. Sure, Sofia speaks pretty decent Spanish, but not without an accent. "I AM A TOURIST", everything about us says now. That, and the "I-am-a-mom-afraid-that-something-will-happen-to-my-kids" look I would probably have in my eyes, would likely put a big target on our backs.

I do have many Mexican friends that year after year continue to go back home. And as they do, I am secretly jealous of them because the very reason they continue to go back, which is their families, is the very same thing that probably makes it safe for them to do so. They have somebody to pick them up, somebody to drive them around, a safe place to stay, and people who know where they should or shouldn't go. Yes, I do have relatives in Mexico, but I barely even know their names. They are "family" because we have the same grandparents and the same last names, but that is just not enough.

When I think about how long it has been since I last went to Mexico, it makes my stomach turn. But when I think about all the horror stories my parents have read about, or heard about first hand, it makes me want to throw up even more. Believe it or not, it literally makes my heart race. I would never want to put my kids in harm's way only to satisfy my nostalgia, so time continues to pass by, and I continue to tell myself: "Maybe someday..."