A taste of Mexico City
I was recently in Mexico City, or as we Mexicans call it: CDMX (Cuidad de México).
Premature jacaranda blooms showered me with purple flowers the whole time I was there.
The city (which is one of the largest in the world) was beautifully chaotic, intense, exciting, delicious, polluted, colourful, raw, and wild in its own unique way.
One of the reasons that drew me to (re)visit Mexico City after not being there for perhaps 14 years (?!) is that my mum was born and lived in there before she got married.
During the last couple of months I’ve been in Mexico, I’ve taken on a sort of quest into reconnecting with my “Latin” roots while exploring what being Mexican means to me.
Throughout my life, I’ve had a complex relationship with identity, particularly an identity tied to a specific culture (having two violently contrasting nationalities such as Switzerland and Mexico definitely doesn’t make it easy to fit into either).
I dance between a sense of knowing I could never be defined solely by having ties to any given geographical place, and a visceral yearning to understand myself better by belonging to a kindred community that mirrors who I am.
In all honesty, I’ve never felt very Mexican (if at all). I found growing up in this country deeply challenging. Most of my childhood was spent daydreaming escape plans of varying degrees of fantasy and complexity to get out of here as soon as I possibly could (which I did, when I was 18).
As an adult, I’ve found immense healing in returning with curious eyes and an accepting humility that no longer demand it to be anything other than what it is.
I have finally given us both permission to be exactly as we are, and to enjoy each other. What a liberation.
It’s fascinating how the qualities we love the most about a place or person also have a shadow side that we can often resent. And yet we wouldn’t have one without the other. The relaxed, easy-going and warm Mexican is only possible by having the same laid back approach to rules (just a suggestion), time-keeping (always guaranteed to be late), and drama (kind warmth can quickly escalate into a devastating forest fire of emotions).
One of my favourite words in any language is apapacho, which comes from Náhuatl and means “caressing with the soul”.
After living in Europe for so many years, I find the generosity, and soul of this country incredibly moving. I am deeply grateful I had the experience to be shaped by the vibrant richness of a culture that makes the heart want to sing and weep all at once.
Muchas gracias, mi México lindo, por arroparme con tus flores de jacaranda y calidez del alma🫀🇲🇽