Essay about a small mexican town.

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The last place I will describe is hill where the name of the city is. Like in Hollywood, there is a hill with huge letters that spell “Jalostotitlan.” One is not supposed to go up there. In fact, it even has some of its ways blocked. But only some of them. This is my favorite place in town. I loved to sneak in however I could and sit on the top of the hill. I had time to think, to reflect. A month ago, when I went back again on vacation, I had the opportunity to go back, to sit there with my boyfriend who I met in this same town three years ago and I realized just how significant the place was. I realize how splendid the town was to my eyes, how much it meant to me.

I cannot describe just how marvelous it is. It has the beauty of simplicity everywhere, buildings, schools, streets, people. But what I can say is that it is the place I must go back to. It is where my friends are, where my family lives, where my life is. It is where I grew up, where I formed my identity, where I built myself up as a person. I believe that if someone truly desires to get to know the beauty there is in a small town, the smell of food cooking as you walk down the street in the middle of the day, the feeling of walking around downtown at ten pm with your friends while drinking coffee with no fear of danger, or simply the comfort of a sunset through the mountains; it is the right place to be.