When I meet new people, we usually start with the typical small talk. 

“Where are you from? 

How old are you?

What do you do for work?” 

You know the drill. 

But there’s one question that tends to pop up for me, and it’s a little different from the standard small talk: 

“Why are you thinking about moving back to Mexico?” 

Although this may not seem like an expected follow-up and you may be wondering how we even get to this question, it comes up regularly.

A big part of small talk involves being inquisitive and asking about each other, so naturally this question stems from conversations about us and our identity. A big part of who I am is tied to my culture. I consider myself Mexican-American, and this identity has many layers and complexities. Like the cactus tattoo I carry on my skin, I am shaped by both my Mexican roots and my American experiences. On the outside, I may seem tough and resilient, but beneath the surface are layers of growth, endurance, and adaptation. Each layer holds the essence of my heritage and my journey, reflecting a deep connection to my culture while thriving in a new environment. It’s an identity of survival, strength, and beauty, even in the face of challenges.

I was born in Mexico, but I’ve lived in the United States since I was about five years old. Both countries have been a significant part of my life and have shaped me into the person I am today. However, as much as I feel connected to both places, I am not a U.S. citizen. I’m here on a work authorization that expires every two years called DACA. The next time that happens, I’m considering moving back to Mexico, and this is what sparks the inevitable question: “Why would you want to move back?”

Growing up, I identified solely as Mexican. Being a first-generation immigrant and with both of my parents as Mexican citizens, why would I consider myself an American? My upbringing, deeply rooted in Mexican culture, was one of the biggest influences on how I saw myself.

My parents grew up most of their lives in Mexico but moved to the United States in search of job opportunities and a better life for their kids. They were both raised in very small towns in Mexico, far away from any large cities, so jobs were scarce, and it seemed like this was the best route to take for their new and growing family. My mom was born and raised in San Vicente, Jalisco, or as locals call it, “La Labor Vieja,” while my dad was born and raised in Carrozas, Jalisco. In fact, neither of their pueblos spans over a mile across! I was born in La Barca, Jalisco, a slightly larger city close to my mom’s hometown. During my first two years of life, I was raised by my mom, but she had to join my dad in the U.S., so I remained in Mexico with my grandmother for the next two to three years while they got settled. Eventually, I was brought to Houston to join my parents. To be honest, I don’t remember anything about my time in Mexico since I was only a toddler. But even while I was in the U.S., my parents raised us as they were raised—immersed in Mexican culture.

We celebrated holidays such as Christmas and New Year just like they did when they were young. We ate traditional homemade Mexican meals. The smell of a hot pot of pozole when I came home from a long day at school, the savory taste of tamales melting in my mouth during the holidays, and the cooling ceviche during a beach day were to die for. We would attend kids’ birthday parties, which I feel were excuses for the adults to drink and stay up until all the kids were falling asleep in random places, despite the loud corridos blasting in the background. We also went to traditional events like Quinceañeras. We even lived in a predominantly Hispanic area of Houston, so I often interacted with people who were just like us.

 

Houston is an extremely diverse city, so I also interacted with people who were not like us, but it wasn’t until my freshman year of college that I was able to interact on a deeper level with people who were not like me. That’s when I started realizing that although we were different, we also shared a lot of similarities. I remember having lunch with a college friend during one of our breaks between classes. We were chatting about the lecture we had just attended, and I realized that I was sitting at a college campus enjoying a Chick-fil-A sandwich, having a conversation about our intercultural communication course. I thought about the limited amount of fast food my parents provided us with growing up due to a lack of funds, and the limited schooling they were offered since they didn’t even have the opportunity to attend high school because of the cost. Meanwhile, I attended a free early college high school and graduated with a high school diploma and a two-year college degree, and was enrolled at a four-year university eating fast food way too often. I was truly living my best life.

I continued to realize throughout the years that I was changing and becoming my own person. I had become more American! I remember the shock of realization…The feeling of being dumbfounded. “Why can’t I remember my Spanish well?… Why is it that I can communicate better with my American friends than with my own family? Why did I never learn to cook my parents’ home-cooked meals and instead find myself cooking mac and cheese, hamburgers, BBQ, and hot dogs (or just getting fast food)? How have I gotten into a mindset of individualism, ready to leave my family’s home and grow up as soon as possible?” The time I spent in K-12 and college affected who I had become, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Yet, it was definitely shocking.

The amount of time I spent around other people raised in the U.S., around only English speakers, around fast food, politics, the American school system, pop culture, etc., had shaped me into more of an American than I had realized. At this point, I was wondering, am I Mexican enough? I had never even returned to Mexico since I was a baby. There is no way I could ever move back! But I continued to experience both sides of my cultural identity. I still experience the things I went through as a child, but I’ve also grown up and have had the chance to experience the opportunities my parents brought me here to obtain. I’m now 25 years old, the first in my family to have graduated high school and college, and I am fortunate enough to have traveled and started a career that I love. All of my experiences have made me who I am today, and I am still Mexican, but I’m also American.

 

There are a lot of hardships that come with having my DACA status in the U.S.— the financial strain, the constant paperwork, and the looming uncertainty every time a news headline appears. Yet, despite all of this, I remain deeply grateful for everything I’ve accomplished, the opportunities I’ve seized, and the experiences that have shaped me. But now, I feel a calling to experience my homeland, to truly understand and contribute to the place where my roots run deep.

I’m moving back to Mexico not just to reconnect with my heritage, but to bring all the knowledge, experiences, and insights I’ve gained with me. My journey in higher education is only just beginning, but it has already been filled with transformative moments, meaningful connections, and continuous learning. I’m eager to continue this journey, but this time, with a new mission: to inspire and uplift others in Mexico.

I’ve seen firsthand how education can open doors, not just for individuals, but for entire communities. It touches the lives of friends, family, and even strangers—those we may never meet but whose lives we influence by sharing our stories. My youngest sister, now a junior at the same early college that once changed my life, is living proof of this. Watching her grow reminds me that education is a generational gift, one that can change the trajectory of entire families. My parents never had the chance to pursue their own educational dreams due to the limitations of their small towns. And they’re not alone. There are countless others whose paths to education are blocked—whether by lack of resources, financial struggles, transportation challenges, or the demands of single parenthood or full-time work. But I am determined to change that. I’m going back to Mexico to make a difference, to ensure that more people can achieve their dreams, no matter their circumstances.

This, more than anything, is the answer to my frequently asked question: Why are you moving back? It’s because I’m going home to create opportunities where there were none, to help others rise, and to bring my full self—my Mexican-American identity, my education, and my passion—back to where it all began.