Despite having explored hidden and touristic sites all over the world, I have a place that makes me feel in paradise, extremely happy; it really is my favorite place on the whole earth. The house of my grandmother, my Abi, in the city of Spring, denominated as “the house of the deer.”

       Since I was a kid, we used to visit my grandmother every single weekend. We would escape the chaos, rivers of people, and never-ending hubbub of Mexico City. We would shelter in the sun of Cuernavaca, underneath the ceibas, and on top of the freshly sprinkled grass by the rain. Most of my memories from my childhood and my entire life are kept like treasures in between the trees and the rooms of the Red House.

       The trip would always begin on the road with the same rock playlist made by my dad because “if he was the driver, it was his duty to pick the music.” It was an unbreakable golden rule. That’s how he tamed us with his musical taste with cult bands such as Pink Floyd, Pearl Jam, Fleetwood Mac, Led Zeppelin, The Beatles, The Cure, Caifanes, Soda Stereo, and U2, piercing through our brains with guitar solos, the poetic lyrics, and the stories from the bands. In the beginning, it was hard for my sister and I to fall asleep because my mom would always begin with endless interrogatories on our life plans, hobbies, dreams, and any other topic of conversation that you could think about.

        I would always close my eyes when we passed through the curve of “the pear” because I would get terrified in my own fatalist thoughts of our car falling off the edge until I opened them again and we were through the woods. This would generate an unsatiable desire of wanting to get out of the car to explore and get lost in the woods. It became an unconscious routine every time we passed the gas station, where I would have a deadly need to pee.

“Hey…” I would say with a very specific tone.

“Ay, no, Ale. No, not again.” My mom would answer very upset, while she rolled her eyes, and looked at me from the copilot seat.

“I really need to pee. I can’t hold it any longer.”

“That is why we told you to go at home before we left.” My dad would say back.

“I did! Please, it is urgent…”

“Fine, we will stop on the road.”

“Ugh, that is so embarrassing.”

            He would stop the car in the middle of nowhere, I would get down and leave my door open, open my mom’s door, and make a kind of “curtain.” My sister would just laugh from behind in her seat.

            After an hour and a half of driving, we would get to our neighborhood. This was my favorite part. My dad would let me go in the pilot seat, and drive until we found the black door. It was an undeniable task that my sister and I had to open the door and hold back our beasts, Luna and Bongo. While they were barking, they would jump and scratch us from their excitement. My Abi would be waiting for us by the stairs, just right
before the entrance, ready to tell us all her romantic anecdotes of my grandfather, may he rest in peace.

            The breakfasts have always been sacred, and they carry a huge family tradition, where coffee with milk and sugar could never go missing, sunny side eggs on top of a tortilla, and beans. The after-table would last more than an hour, where all the gossip from my aunts and cousins would come to light, and when my sister and I would start polemic conversations. Afterwards, my sister and I would run to the pool to try to push my dad and be able to play “Shark”. My mom would lie on the chair like a lizard under the sun with a book. 

          The palapa was the most iconic place in the world, which has hosted insane parties, weddings, and birthday raps. My dad calls it the “palapounge”, where he always prepares ethylic juices, we play cards, and do karaoke to 80’s dances until sunrise. I have had millions, millions of unforgettable memories. One of them was the weekend when I turned 18 years old and invited around 20 friends to celebrate. We sang all of our songs, saw the sunrise on top of the hill, we were hungover in the pool, love started to arouse, as well as polemics. That was the time when I realized my true friendships and the ones that would last forever. I also celebrated my 19th birthday there. I did my goodbye party when I left to Europe, and it was one of the best weekends of my life. The legendary “Topless Gang” was born there, and the iconic song Hips Don’t Lie by Shakira is prohibited after I have had 8 shots. By the way, Josune, you owe me a home-made movie.

            I saw the love of my parents grow and develop in that garden, since most of their anniversaries were celebrated there with fake weddings surrounded by all of our family, their vow renewals, or remembering their wedding in that same place. The story has repeated itself with my cousins, Caco and Fran, who had a post-pandemic wedding. I hope I am as lucky as that one day.

            My family and I lived there during the whole pandemic, which united us in a crazy loving way. My mom and I grew a vegetable patch. I would skateboard with my dad on the tennis court. My sister and I
would walk our beasts every evening. I celebrated my high school graduation and
mourned my failed admission to the university that I wanted, thank God.

            Nevertheless, I think that my cousin, Arantxa, is with whom I have created the most memories within that garden. As kids, we used to always do mischievous and naughty antics. One time, we went up to my Abi’s bedroom, where we got possessed by an evil demon. We decided to cut a gorgeous hand-made bed cover, so we could set it on fire afterwards. Fortunately, my parents stopped us just in time before a
catastrophic fire. Our punishment would be to get down on our knees on top of rocks while holding heavy books, no talking nor crying, and they would laugh, and carry snacks in our faces. We saw The Lion King, The Little Mermaid, and all
the Disney Movies more than a hundred times. We would bully my sister all the time. We would swim for hours playing mermaids and then surviving zombie apocalypses, winning in The Hunger Games, or fishing by the tiny river.

            I remember that my designated place to sleep was next to my Abi in her king-sized bed. I will never say I was the favorite granddaughter, but there were plenty of signals. LOL. I would wake up to find toasted bread with butter sprinkled with sugar and a Chocomilk. I would spend hours playing in her bedroom with my stuffed animals pretending that I was a veterinarian, organizing her jewelry, or making armies with my Little Pet Shops. I also cried uncountable times, while I did my math Kumón homework with my hidden and forbidden calculator.

            We helped Luna on two occasions when she gave birth to her little puppies, and we took care of them until they were four months old. The first time it happened, Luna hid in a burrow and
wouldn’t let anyone get near her, except for me. One by one, I took out her pups so that they could survive. It was amazing to see their growth and evolution. My grandmother is the most dedicated and patient human being with animals. My beautiful “Doggo Gang” was born there alongside my project of Petography.

            The house of the deer is my sacred place. My grandmother taught me millions of life lessons, and one of them, the most important was about the power of authenticity. My Abi is a whole character; she doesn’t care what people think of her, and yet, she is
overflowing with love. She is the best hostess and the most caring person I know. She spends her time singing and dancing, cursing, and saying reckless things. She is extremely brave and resilient. She loves being surrounded by company and sharing her anecdotes. She takes care of her garden and her beasts as if it were her last day on earth. She is a person that makes me laugh like crazy and transmits lots of cuteness at the same time. The truth is that I am the luckiest to haver her as a grandmother.