
Overlooking the vast, blue skies and the hills expanding over the horizon, I felt a warm feeling grow in my chest. Tears began to form in my eyes. This is my home, I thought. It is mi cielito lindo. “Mi cielito lindo,” roughly translated as “my little heaven,” is a popular Mexican folk song representing themes of optimism and love. Its lyrics, “Canta y no llores, porque cantando se alegran, cielito lindo los corazones,” translated it says, “Sing, and don’t cry, my little heaven, for singing brings joy to the hearts,” and shows the joy attributed to Mexican culture.
Having left our small home in Mexico at five years old, I only remembered a few fleeting memories of my childhood there. From the dirt road we took to get to kindergarten, to playing with my cousins and neighbors, I seemed to have forgotten most of my earliest memories. Only a few memories kept me tethered to my life in Mexico. As I adopted a new language and attempted to make friends in California, my grandma and dad would tell my sister and I stories of the food and environment in Mexico. It wasn’t until I was able to visit my hometown, my community ranch, the roots of my ancestral lineage, that I realized that only a portion of my personality was expressed. I felt embraced by family and the community surrounding me. For a lot of my life, I didn’t know I was missing a piece of myself that was waiting to be filled with the richness of my culture and the warmth of my family. With every trip to my dear hometown, I rediscover the love of family and am reminded of why I continue to persevere in my dreams. Although the trip is long and tiresome by car, we have countless reasons to keep returning every year. From the first anticipated embrace of returning to one another to the melancholic goodbye, each moment alongside my loved ones becomes consciously finite and precious.
Distance makes the heart grow fonder. I am left with pieces of my loved ones to keep me warm during the cold, winter days. I carry mi cielito lindo with me wherever I go and all the memories it bestowed me with. I recall the morning my aunts sang “Las Mañanitas,” or “The Morning Song,” for my birthday, reminding me of the love others have for me even while I am gone. In the darkest days, I have my great-grandmothers’ singing alongside her kiss on the cheek. I can still hear the birds chirping in the background, and the roosters crow throughout the day in my great-grandmother’s garden. She sits silently on a white, plastic chair with a blanket on her lap. She smiles as I greet her, Buenos Dias, as if she has longed to hear those words all her life. She randomly bursts into song. I simply listen and pray I can hear her voice once more. Another year, another trip. Like Cielito Lindo, advises, my heart will keep singing despite the distance in joyous melody. Hoping, praying, waiting to meet once more, I watch the countless red car lights glimmering at the border.
Before re-entering the States, an officer asks where we came from and who we are. “We came back from visiting family. We live in California,” my father answers. In the dark, the officer examines our faces until he replies, “Okay, have a safe trip back home.”
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