How it all began

25 years ago today, my parents packed up their brand-new house and, with a 10-month-old (me) in tow and another one (my sister) on the way, moved from Mexico City to San Diego, California.

Apparently, I wasn't very happy with that decision...

(In the Mexico City airport, looking very worried.)

Things in California didn't turn out the way they'd planned -- they never do, do they? -- and for a time it seemed their decision had been ill-advised indeed. They'd left a very good life, careers, friends and family behind, and suddenly their 'adventure' had left them stranded and alone. (Plus, if you'd asked me at the time I would have told you that Gerber baby food bottled in Mexico tasted a lot better than the American kind. Seriously.) To make matters worse, Mexico's then-president began playing havoc with the economy, so going back was no longer an attractive option.

Fortunately, life has a funny way of working out. It took a little while, but we set up a new life in Houston and surrounded ourselves with a kind of surrogate family, friends who were in many cases immigrants themselves. The United States has been very good to us -- but our roots and hearts still were, remain and will always be in Mexico.

(A happier me playing with my Abuelo.)

'Cualquier contacto con el pueblo mexicano, así sea fugaz, muestra que bajo las formas occidentales laten todavía las antiguas creencias y costumbres...'
--Octavio Paz, 'El Laberinto de la Soledad'