Mexico: "You Never Feel Alone"

Adapted from recent conversations between Sandra Cisneros and Caroline Preston

I live in a small town in Mexico, where many of the old values are still preserved. That’s one of the reasons why I chose to move here, San Miguel de Allende, instead of a big city. There are so many things in Mexican culture I want to let go, particularly with regard to women and their place in society. But I appreciate the value placed on respect for elders that’s so prominent in Mexico, especially in the smaller and more traditional communities.

It’s something I found in my own family too. The young people took care of the elders and there is a value in age. Maybe it’s a tradition from the indigenous inhabitants we have here in the Americas. Even in humble communities, you don’t ship out the elderly to facilities. There is a sense of caring and respect.

I see it with myself now that I’m getting older. When I came to Mexico when I was younger, I always had to dress a certain way, to put on my conservative clothes and disguise myself, to be androgynous or asexual, because you didn’t want to be called mamacita or mamasota. But that’s changed.

Yesterday at the airport, a maletero, or porter, came up to me and said, “¿Madre, le puedo ayudar?” (Mother, may I help you?) I am of an age that I am turned into a mother even though I’ve had no children. I thought, Oh my goodness, I’ve been elevated to the status of the goddesses, of Mother Mary, of las diosas. Even though Mexico is a macho culture, it’s a matriarchal culture, and it respects women if they’re mothers. I get a level of respect here in Mexico that I’ve never felt before.

San Miguel de Allende is a kind of bubble, a historical town integral to Mexican independence from Spain. It’s in the state where my ancestors are from. I moved here in 2013 after visiting for a reading in 2011. I had heard a lot about this place, in a bad way. Usually you hear, “Oh, it’s overrun with expats, skip that town,” so I came with a negative attitude, and I was very surprised when I moved there. I still have complaints—no place is perfect—but I’ve found a town that contains two halves of myself, my English-speaking half and my Mexican half.

Last night I went to a kermés, a church festival. It was completely Mexican: families, grandparents, and children listening to music, buying food, and waiting for 10:30 when the fireworks were set off to celebrate the feast of the annunciation. The castillos were lit—fireworks built on reeds, these giant five-story structures. They spin around and send a lot of smoke; it’s beautiful, and it’s scary at the same time. They are burning right above you, with the cinders falling, and at any moment your hair could catch fire. I like these communal rituals, this fusion of pre-conquest celebrations and church customs. I feel a connection with history. Here the past isn’t the past, there’s a sense of living alongside it. That’s so different from what I experience in the United States. I value the traditions that link us to the seasons, to the community, and to one another. You never feel alone.