The Border
Both of my parents were born in and grew up in Mexico. They had a different life experiences- a whole different country with different laws and a language. My mom was born in a ranch, called El Pie de la Cuesta. In English it’s called The Foot of the Hill. She grew up in small ranch in Topia, Durango. My dad was born in Tepic, the capital of Nayarit, a city as big as Sacramento. He grew up there until he moved to Los Angeles, California when he was a teenager. And for the first time I was going to go to Mexico- my family, the culture, the people,
I was seven years old when my family decided to take our first family vacation-to a new country, Mexico. All my extended family, aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, second cousins, lived there. At the mere age of seven it felt like a whole new adventure. We started off by waking up early in the morning and driving toward Los Angeles, and I remember how my mom would be talking fast out of excitement and how she went on explaining the names of unknown aunts and uncles and third
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I remember the cool breeze and the cloudy skies. We ate a delicious breakfast there-chelaquilas, menudo, and conchas (Mexican bread). From there we took a taxi and drove for seven hours toward Topia. It was crazy. In Mexico, the faster the driver gets to the destination the more he gets paid, and driving at least 60 mph at least 5,600ft, is not fun. We were driving pretty fast through a road with no pavement only big enough for one car and not to mention that the fact that in Mexico, most of the taxis have NO seatbelt! I had a horrible headache and I butterflies fluttering in my stomach, and to my dismay… I felt something slowly coming up my throat and I remember