I get out of the car, run towards Andres, and we fall into each other's arms. I haven't seen my cousin for 11 years. The whole family greets each other with tears in their eyes and showers each other with kisses. I see my Mexican-Venezuelan family far too rarely, and my heart aches when I finally get to hold them in my arms again. At dinner, I hear my father say to my uncle, “It's nice to see them all together like this,” and he nods and smiles. We have gathered for my father's 60th birthday in the Dominican Republic, and for the next few days, we can call this island our home away from home. Over the next few days, my Caribbean family repeatedly tells me how similar the cultures here are to their own: the dialect, the food, the people, the cities. “It reminds me of Maracaibo,” my father says quietly as we drive through the outskirts of Santo Domingo. He hasn't been to his hometown in Venezuela since many years. I look closely and imagine we are there together. My heart aches again as I write these lines. It has been a long time since I felt so close to my family and my roots; in Germany, it will be more difficult again.