When my husband and I decided to retire in Ajijic, Mexico, in 2025, I wondered how I would feel returning to my roots. The answer to what “home” means was unexpected.
I was born in Parral, Chihuahua, Mexico, and lived with my grandparents until I was five. My parents then moved to the United States in search of better opportunities. Every summer, we returned to Chihuahua for three months to spend time with my grandparents and extended family.
Leaving my abuelos at the end of each summer was always difficult. I returned to the United States with a deep sense of loneliness, leaving behind my family, my language and the culture I felt so connected to. Once again, I had to readjust to life in the United States. As the years passed, I adapted to a new country, culture and language.
Coming back to Mexico decades later awakened memories of those summers. When my neighbors greet me with “buenos días,” “buenas tardes” or simply “hola,” I remember being a little girl in Chihuahua. Gathering in the plaza reminds me of my grandparents taking me to their town plaza for my favorite nieve.
During those childhood visits, I would tell my grandparents about my life in the United States and watch their reactions to experiences that seemed so different from life in Chihuahua. They laughed when I told them about seeing snow for the first time in Colorado and learning to build snowmen and throw snowballs. I told them about living in Nebraska, where I learned French while the rest of my class learned Spanish. My Spanish teacher joked that I knew more Spanish than he did.
Food connects me just as strongly to my childhood, my grandmother and Mexico. I still treasure the memory of waking in my grandmother’s house to the smell of freshly made tortillas. She made me feel special by adding a little butter and salt to “my” flour tortilla. To this day, I have never eaten one without remembering her. The smells of cumin, cilantro and peppers take me back to our family kitchen. In Chihuahua, we enjoyed menudo; in Jalisco, pozole has become a favorite comfort food.
Music was also an integral part of our lives. Someone was always playing music in the house. I especially remember a mariachi band arriving early in the morning to play Las Mañanitas for a birthday. Now, seeing mariachis in their traditional charro suits takes me back to those moments. Even hearing the local trash collectors play music and sing while they work makes me smile.
But returning to Mexico has not meant returning to my childhood. Mexico has changed, and so have I.
My grandparents have been gone for many years, as have other immediate family members. My relationship with language has changed, too. As a little girl, I spoke only Spanish. Today I am fluent in Spanish and English, though sometimes I feel I speak neither perfectly. Living between two cultures has not always been easy. At times, it has left me wondering where I truly belong.
My husband and I chose to retire in Ajijic rather than Chihuahua. I have no extended family here, but I have discovered something unexpected: community. We now have friends from Mexico, Canada, Germany, Brazil, the United States, Hungary and elsewhere. Ajijic has given me another way of belonging.
As a child, returning to Mexico meant reuniting with my family. As an adult, it has come to mean something deeper: understanding where I came from, reconnecting with my Mexican roots and appreciating the culture that helped shape who I am.
I have also realized that, although I have changed, much of that five-year-old girl remains within me. In returning to Mexico, I have rediscovered her.
The little girl who left Mexico crying has returned home!
A proud Mexican American, Maria Salayandia-Noullet served in the US Army as a medic before earning a BSN and becoming a certified psychiatric nurse. She retired in 2025 after serving as a Nurse Manager for a large hospital specializing in mental health.
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- The Meaning of Home - October 31, 2026
