I haven’t returned to Mexico yet. But my body, my mind… they already feel it.

After Venezuela, Mexico was my first stop.
My first real attempt at starting over.
It didn’t belong to me by passport, but it did by experience.
I lived there for nearly ten years.
I worked. I grew.
I learned to navigate life with what I had.
I learned to survive, to defend myself, to stay alert.

And while those years were meaningful, they were also hard.
When I left, I did it quietly.
No closure. No looking back.
I left with the conviction that there had to be something more for me.
And I found it.
Today, I’m building a new life.
I have stability—one I’ve created through effort, through love.
I even have peace.

And still… now I’m going back.
Just for a few days.
To renew my passport.
To finalize a process.
But something deeper is already moving.

I’m not going alone.
The version of me who once was… she’s coming too.
That young, brave woman who crossed the city with fear but also with dreams.
The one who didn’t know if she’d make it, but tried anyway.
That woman, full of joy, is returning too.

And so is the woman I am now.
The one who no longer hides.
The one who can make peace with her mistakes,
with a life built in another language,
with love by her side.
The one who loves out loud,
and still wonders if her soul remains split between who she was and who she is.

Mexico wasn’t a stopover.
It was a whole chapter.
One I never fully processed.
And now that I’m about to return, I don’t know what I’ll feel.
Maybe relief. Maybe discomfort.
Maybe all of it at once.

How do you return to a place that was both home and wound?
How do you walk the same streets, when you no longer walk the same?

This trip hasn’t happened yet.
But it’s already begun within me.
Because sometimes, the hardest part of going back
is everything that wakes up before you even arrive.

Returning… without having arrived