At Mexico City’s biggest outdoor venue, El Zócalo, legendary singer Joan Manuel Serrat is performing. I’m pinching myself, I can’t believe I’m seeing him for the first time, in the heart of my homeland.

Since late April, the 78-year-old has been performing on a farewell tour across the U.S., Spain and Latin America.

After the first song, he told the audience to “put aside any hint of nostalgia and melancholy, from now on, everything is the future.” Then, Serrat sang Barquito de Papel (“Little Paper Boat”). The song took me back to my childhood. I was overcome with emotion and started crying.

My late sister, Esther, introduced me to Serrat’s music in our home in the ’60s. His singular style immediately caught my ear. In the ’70s, I started buying every album I could find at record stores, including Dedicado a Antonio Machado, poeta.

As I began to appreciate Serrat, I was especially intrigued by his bilingual identity. His songs in Spanish were profound but the ones in Catalan were a revelation. I’d sit at home in the living room with the gatefold open, listening and quietly singing along, trying to figure out the pronunciation of songs such as Pare (“Father”), a composition about the environment.

One of his biggest hits, Mediterráneo established him as a major pop music figure worldwide. The lyrics say, “I’m a singer, I’m a liar, I like playing and drinking, I have the soul of a sailor. What can I do, if I was born in the Mediterranean.”