Guanajuato, México
When I was in my mid-twenties, fresh out of undergrad, not knowing what I wanted to do with my life, I visited Guanajuato, México, my parents’ home state, with my older brother and mom. I hadn’t been back since childhood. At first, I felt odd, like I stood out, introvert that I was. Then, I visited the mercado, full of locals and colorful piñatas. It was comforting just walking around with the locals, mi gente. We bought fruta in a cup with chili and lime. I bought a pirated jersey of my favorite Mexican League soccer team, León. Mis primos took me to different family parties, discotecas, and even to a local bookstore upon my request. The whole time I was in México, I felt like I was returning home, in a way. At moments, I felt like I didn’t stand out anymore, like in America, at least not physically. I was just another Brown man, Brown hands, Brown face, in my ancient land, but with an American accent. Some Mexicans did seem fascinated by my SoCal swagger and surfer clothes, though. When we ultimately said goodbye to our familia before heading to the airport, I was in tears, we all were. I haven’t seen my Guanajuato familia since then, in more than ten years. I’d like to return soon, but they say it’s dangerous right now. One day, I’ll return, though, I know it, like the dahlias in spring.
Jose Hernandez Diaz is a 2017 NEA Poetry Fellow. He is the author of The Fire Eater (Texas Review Press, 2020). His work appears in The American Poetry Review, Bennington Review, Conduit, Crazyhorse, Georgia Review, Huizache, Iowa Review, The Journal, Los Angeles Review, The Missouri Review, The Moth (UK), Northwest Review, Pangyrus, Poetry, Southeast Review, The Southern Review, Witness Magazine, The Yale Review, and in The Best American Nonrequired Reading Anthology 2011. He teaches creative writing online and edits for Frontier Poetry. He has a forthcoming full collection, "Bad Mexican, Bad American," with Acre Books in 2024.