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Back to My Childhood Home in Mexico City

For my siblings: Lourdes, Gerardo, Eduardo, and Alex.

HAVANA TIMES – I rang the doorbell, and—as always—no one answered over the intercom or opened the front door. I noticed the presence of a camera and thought that the homeowners didn’t know who I was, which was why they hadn’t responded. No one in Mexico wants to risk being robbed due to a moment of carelessness.

For years, I have made this same pilgrimage and received the same response. Every time I visit Mexico City, I try to go to the house where I lived for twenty years—throughout my childhood and adolescence—in the hope that, one day, they will open the door and let me in.

I simply wanted to see again the places where I played, dreamed, ate, and slept. Nothing more. It is—I know—pure nostalgia. And a genuine inner need. I require it to find peace. I want to know if my wonderful, yet convoluted, memories align with reality.

To me, that house—number 10—located in the northern part of the Mexico City metropolitan area, is my home.  In the United States—that land of mobility—I have moved through a countless number of houses and apartments, from Los Angeles all the way to Miami. And although my children grew up there, I still dream of the house where I lived in Mexico before embarking on my USA adventure.

But this time, something different happened.

I was just about to leave when, in the distance, I noticed the front door opening. Excited, I ran toward it—taking care not to startle the woman standing in the........

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