Mi casa es tu casa.

I moved. A cute pink apartment one block from the Zocalo and right around the corner from my favorite family. Lily’s friend owns a furniture store in town, and they delivered a new cama, ropero, mesa y 4 sillas for just 5100 pesos (roughly $425).

I am waiting on gas for my hot water; I do not have a refrigerator, a microwave, nor a television. What I miss most is the Internet. Since moving here I have developed a slight addiction to Facebook. But poco a poco, these too will arrive, and I will have my own little casita en Mexico while staying well-informed of Wisconsin gossip.

In Mexico, when you visit a family for the first time, you most definitely will learn this phrase, “Mi casa es tu casa”. They will tell you whenever you would like to come and play one of their many beautifully painted guitars, “mi casa es tu casa”; maybe you mention you like to run, and they have a treadmill; they will say, “whenever you want, mi casa es tu casa”; or perhaps, you live around the corner and just want a place to laugh, eat, and sing karaoke after a long day at the university instead of going home alone – now this is definitely mi casa.

My mentor’s sister and her family live just a block away.  This large Catholic family includes Coco’s mother, brother, sister and brother-in-law, their four children, and grandson Diego. Each has their own talents to offer: One sister and her amazing fashion sense has informed me my face is too delgada and blanca; I can no longer go out in a ponytail without makeup.  She gave me a makeover today in her small fiesta shop while four customers watched in awe, commenting on how much prettier my eyes were with five extra coats of mascara. Another sister is letting me tag along to the sports center with her so I can work off the 10,000 tortillas I’ve eaten since August; her mother keeps me well fed.

The youngest sister is crazy about music, English, and the Virgin Mary – we are going to run over 300 km December 10-11 to Mexico City – it’s sort of like Run Across Wisconsin only you are running for La Virgin de Guadalupe instead of cancer. At the finish line, you crawl on your hands and knees to the Basilica where the original shrine to the Virgin Mary still hangs after 500 years. For my birthday, their father gave me a wooden bracelet with delicately painted Virgins on each little square. The faith of this family is miraculously contagious, even for an atheist.

Coco’s mother lives in Texas for 8 months out of the year but comes back to Mexico from October to January – I met her just three days ago; she’s small yet fiery and gives fiercely strong hugs; already, I love her.

Coco tells me nearly every day, “No te preocupes, we will take care of you” and she has. I originally moved out for more privacy, more independence because that is what we Americans value; but I realize what I really needed was to be closer to family.