As a child, my summer vacations consisted of getaways to visit my family in Mexico.
Seldom did I stay home in California for my three month respite.
Perhaps my adventures to a foreign land intrigued me because I was meeting new friends or consuming copious amounts of delicious Mexican candy.
At the age of seven, I was evidently not undergoing a profound enlightenment concerning the beauty of this culture. Yet subconsciously, my young body craved Mexico for a much deeper reason.
As each new school year began, I was always eager for months to quickly pass so I could return to the vibrant-colored streets of Tamaulipas, where my family resided.
My trips to Mexico became less frequent as I grew older. My free summers were now filled with soccer tournaments and camps. Then abruptly, my trips ended completely because Mexico became entangled in a vicious drug war. The land I deeply loved was crumbling as the government struggled to keep it together despite corruption, violence and drugs.
I have not gone to Mexico since I was about fourteen years old. The stories I've heard of people being kidnapped and mutilated have kept me away. My grandma would call and tell me that the streets I once played on so freely are now being invaded by soldiers with weapons.
Despite such news, my twenty-second birthday was approaching and I wanted to go somewhere special. I'd never been to Cancun, and although I had heard that this area was still populated by drug leaders, I decided to still plan my trip regardless of all the what-ifs that were circulating in my head.
On the days leading up to my trip I found myself not able to sleep at night as I contemplated extravagant ideas of being stolen and held for ransom. The only source of comfort I had was that I'd be in a resort with hundreds of other tourists, and I figured that as long as I stayed in this populated vacation area I would be safe.
The first two days of my trip were spectacular as I spent my time thoroughly enjoying the beach and adventure parks, where I zip-lined, swam in underground rivers and rode ATV's in the jungle.
The exhilaration and joy I experienced was immeasurable, but these activities were not showing me the real Mexico.
On my third day in Cancun I visited Chichen Itza, which was two hours away from the hotel strip, deeply embedded in the jungles of the Yucatan Peninsula.
Here, it was that I found Mexico, in all its beauty and substance. Although the resort and adventure parks had brought me joy, it was Chichen Itza, the cenote (sinkhole) we visited in a family's backyard and the city of Valladolid that truly revived my body and soul.
Regardless of the fact that these places were still heavily populated by tourists, they allowed me to see the remnants of a land deeply embedded in myself and my xicana culture.
It was the deep rich hues of red and orange on the walls, the hardworking hands of the people, the smell in the air and the plaza in the center of the city where families sat, it was here in these moments that I was reminded of my Summers in Mexico, and it was here that my soul found warmth and happiness.
Sadly, today Mexico's beauty has been overshadowed by the chaotic bloodshed that has been cast over its land.
Yet, the landscape, people, music and culture remain as lively as ever.
