I'm Adelimo, and this is The Slowdown.

I was thinking of the time just recently, when, at 17, my first boyfriend and I drove down

to Mexico.

He camped outside in a little tent in a park by the ocean, eating fresh melon in the

morning and wandering into town in the evening.

He bought me a few Mexican dresses, and I spoke Spanish, at least what I could muster,

to vendors and shopkeepers.

After a week, it felt natural to wander into town, to feel sunned up and carefree, to

also feel at home in the homeland of my grandfather.

I had never been anywhere where so many people looked like me.

So many of the women were my height, and so many of the men looked like my uncles.

It felt like a homecoming of sorts.

Even the smells of the food, the fresh corn tortillas, the roasted chilies, all of it

seemed familiar.

We spent the days on the beach, and I mostly tanned, while my boyfriend mostly turned red.

It was an adventure without too many pitfalls.

My car actually made the trip.

We rarely fought.

We only got lost twice.

It wasn't until we were going back into the United States that things started to feel

squirrely.

Even with my California driver's license, I started to get nervous at the border, and

...