“Ocean fire,” as described by my partner (pictured)
Every year around October I can expect a massive group text from my family inviting me to the annual thanksgiving dinner at Aunt Amany’s house. Though my generation is the first born in America, our Thanksgiving is mostly similar to a conventional one – lots of family, lots of food, football on TV, kids on their cellphones and mother-in-laws critiquing their son’s wives, discussing how the season feels uncharacteristically warm again (trend anyone?).
This year, my partner and I decided to do something different – go to Mexico and avoid the whole thing.…
