Coming home

I knew I was home before I was really outside the airport.

The doors opened and the heat hit me.

I'd forgotten how heavy the air could feel here. Mexico City could be hot but it wasn't this. This was like walking into something.

Mami cried when she saw me. Papá didn't, but he hugged me for a very long time.

For the first few weeks everybody kept asking when I was going back to Mexico and I kept saying I didn't know.

Eventually I realized I wasn't going back.

The strange thing was that Puerto Rico didn't feel exactly like home anymore either. I had spent almost five years missing it and then I came back and felt slightly out of place.

That lasted longer than I expected.