Imagine seeing almost the entirety of your family in eight days. That’s what happened to me over winter break. I visited the family I had known since birth, and then I mentally prepared for the new family I was about to meet — the family I had never met before.
To make a long story shorter, my father was adopted at birth by a farm family from Kansas. My dad reconnected with various branches of the family tree over the years, and his younger half-brother even came to visit us in the summer of 2022. 50 years later, my dad finally made the trip to his birth country of Mexico to meet his birth mom, his other three half-siblings and a whole lot of nieces and nephews. My father asked my brother and I to accompany him, and who says no to a request like this?
I was frankly not looking forward to this trip. I was going to a country I had never visited to meet and stay with total strangers. I’d previously suffered allergic reactions in Ireland and England. How was I supposed to protect myself in a country where I didn’t speak the language?
The entirety of the journey to Mexico City, I was anxious, irritable, annoyed that Dad had robbed me of the last few restful days of my holiday break. I had plenty of family on my mom’s side, and I had built my chosen family in college. I was trying to figure out who I wanted to be after graduation; I didn’t need a whole new family thrown into the mix, or so I thought.
I could not have been more wrong.
Friends I told about the trip told me that I would instantly feel connected with these total strangers. I didn’t believe them, but I should have. Two of my cousins, Abich and Leila, are close in age to me, and we instantly hit it off. On the first night we arrived, they offered to share the Wi-Fi password, and I realized they weren’t that different from me.
I’ve spent most of my life living with a “bonus mom,” my stepmom, but now I have a bonus grandma. My abuela is a spitfire who only knows one word in English: chicken. She’s barely five feet tall, and she’s lived more lives than a cat. When she told us that she’s had five children with five men, I pulled out my phone to translate “You’re a flirt, Grandma!” When I spoke it aloud, she responded with the Spanish equivalent of, “You’re darn right I am!” I miss her so much already.
As a family, we tried to make up a lifetime in not even five full days. We visited the mercado (market), the fútbol stadium (where the first match of the FIFA World Cup will be played in 2026) and the Zócalo, where the President’s house and their government buildings are located.
Although the tourist moments were fun, what meant more to me was the cultural exchange we experienced. My brother and I explained to our cousins how to appropriately use the f-word and why NOT to use the mf-word. They wanted to practice their English; we wanted to practice our Spanish; so most of the week we spoke in this weird combination of Spanglish, or as they say “White-xican.”
When we didn’t have the words on the tips of our tongues, we pulled out Google Translate on our phones. Thank goodness for modern technology. We would point at things and teach each other how to pronounce them. We had a good laugh when explaining “flour” vs. “flower” and how both sound so similar to “floor” but are entirely different.
More than anything, my family made me feel safe in a country I was terrified to visit. I visited hospitals in Hawaii and England due to my severe dairy allergy. This time, I left the Continental 48 without an allergic reaction! My tía Sonia, my abuela and my cousins took me to the most amazing taco restaurant (so good we went back the next night), and they informed me that American-Mexican restaurants exaggerate the use of cheese in dishes. I remember holding up my phone for my aunt to read the Spanish translation of, “Thank you for helping me find safe food.”
My family taught me so much about Mexican history and culture — on our last night, we played Mexican Bingo called Lotería — but I was surprised when I did not have as much to teach them. Coca-Cola products were available everywhere we went, and we heard Taylor Swift and Bad Bunny on the radio. When my tío Nefi pointed out a statue of Mexico’s founders, he compared them to George Washington and Benjamin Franklin.
I had never heard of his country’s founders, and he knew mine by name. This visit truly put into perspective how strong the American influence is around the world.
As we drove through the city, my family pointed out the wealthier neighborhoods and the less fortunate parts of Mexico City, home to 22 million people. They tried to explain this disparity and pulled up the word “gentrification” on their translate app.
United States citizens relocate to Mexico because their money will stretch farther down there. However, this is causing a problem for people who are born and raised there and want to stay. Similar to Hawaii and other popular vacation destinations, the influx of permanent tourists raises the prices for everyone, including the locals. U.S. Americans are willing to pay more to live in those areas, so the people that live there are forced out to make way for nicer, pricier buildings.
Almost every day, the consequences of electing the new U.S. president came up. I refuse to mention him by name because I won’t give his web analytics the satisfaction, but he was on everyone’s minds during this trip. Heck, his looming return to power was one of the many reasons we finally made the trip. Being in Mexico reinforced how wrong he is about our southern neighbors. I was exposed to so much beauty and joy during my time in Mexico. Every country has its challenges, but the Mexican people are not the enemy our new president would like you to believe they are.
My trip to Mexico gifted me with new perspective, new family and new memories — I already miss Mexican candy! When saying goodbye, I couldn’t believe how quickly I had come to consider these humans my family. Hugs of obligation that greeted us became hugs of a promise to meet again when we bid farewell. Even though I was reluctant to go, I was even more reluctant to leave, but I am comforted by the belief that I will be back someday.
