Memories

I talked to a friend of mine from Mexico yesterday on the phone. It was good to hear his voice again, to be able to laugh with him again. It brought back everything. He said he just visited Mexico, to see everything again. He says it's not exactly our Mexico any more. I guess the moment we left, it became somebody else's Mexico. And we can try all we can, but will probably never be able to call it home again.

Memory is such a strange thing. Mexico exists to me, the Mexico that I call home, that I will never get to again. It exists in my memory. It's like it has a certain place in my mind, where I can get small flashes of my old bedroom, or a song that I was listening to, or my Mexican church, or Binimea, or the people around me who made Mexico home.

I'm at a crossroads of emotions right now. I feel like I've lost something, because I will never be able to be in the Mexico that I remember. It is something that has happened to me, has passed through me, or I have passed through it. And now it is behind me. And if I had not savored it and payed attention to it while I was in it, it would definitely be separate from me. All I have are the memories.

But at the same time I have gained something. Well... i've gained everything. Mexico was my life. It gave me myself, I guess. I am the summation of what is now behind me. I'm the product of it. I've gained memories, good memories. And friendships. These things could never be mine unless Mexico was a reality. And the reality also was that people must move on, me included.

I think the main reason that Mexico will never be the Mexico I know is because the people that I shared that Mexico with are gone. The friends that I made, the common grounds upon which we understood each other. This is what made Mexico home. Without them, it's just another place south of Texas.