Never thought I’d say this—and yeah, it still feels a little strange rolling off the tongue—but here we are: I’m Mexican. Officially. On December 16th, 2024, after a bureaucratic marathon of forms, fingerprints, interviews, and the kind of language exam that leaves your brain bruised and ego humbled, I crossed the finish line.
This all started years ago, not from some romantic notion of tacos and sunsets, but a practical, slightly desperate hunt for a second passport. One that could get me into the kind of places that don’t roll out the red carpet for Americans—Venezuela, Iran, North Korea… the geopolitical no-fly zones. Thing is, I’ve always had a soft spot for the so-called “enemy.” Call it curiosity, call it wanderlust with a rebellious streak. Either way, the stars and stripes alone weren’t cutting it.
I looked at all the usual options: Spend a few years rebuilding a life somewhere far-flung with the promise of a passport down the line, or cough up a few hundred grand for one of those tropical fast-tracks—Dominica, St. Lucia, pick your paradise. Neither felt right. Too detached. Too transactional. Then it hit me—Mexico. Just down the road. Familiar, yet mysterious. Right under my damn nose.
I could bore you with the bureaucratic slog—the lines, the appointments, the Kafkaesque paperwork. But truth is? Compared to what immigrants go through just trying to set foot in the U.S., my path was a breeze. Five years living across the border, studying, showing up, proving I gave a damn. Then the monster exam, and finally, the wait. And then… I was in.
But somewhere along the line, this stopped being about a passport. It became something more. I wasn’t just adding pages to my travel portfolio—I was expanding my soul. My Spanish got sharper, my love for Mexico deeper. I bought a house. Made friends I now consider family. Tijuana—once just a quick pit stop for street tacos and cheap dentistry—became a real, beating part of my world.
And here’s the kicker: I didn’t just gain citizenship—I gained perspective. A second life. A broader sense of home.
Am I still proud to be American? Damn right I am. But now I fly two flags. I belong to two places. And my goal—from here on out—is to give something back to both.
