Puerto Rico

I am writing today from within. I write from the roots of my being. I am an American, a Puerto Rican. I am the daughter of an island born on the mainland of a country in turmoil over identity. Today, I see inaction on behalf of other American citizens, on inhabitants of an island in despair.  Americans absent from inclusion, they live on an island bombarded by the waters of grief and we are all hurting. Our island is in trouble and we are stranded on the mainland, hopeless, fearful, and desperate.

La isla del encanto, la isla de mi niñez, drowned by a storm— is surfacing for air.

And I see all of us crying out for our people.

I see humanity emerging from the depths of tragedy.

We cry out with memories of a coqui singing, the sounds of parrandas bellowing through the night, el cuatro is the backdrop of my childhood, with trio music cascading through my memories.

I still smell el calor de la lluvia que cae en el verano and I hear my grandmother saying to me, “se caso la bruja, lluvia con sol.”  I can’t translate culture. I can’t turn this refrán into something that makes sense in English. Sometimes, I can’t make sense of myself in America, because I am  Puerto Rican. The earmarks of our culture lose meaning when we try to translate them.

We try to translate our being, our identity. We try to be American- but we don’t have to try because we are Americans with a dash of sazón.

Our culture is a mixture of history told over the sounds of an island’s melody for decades.

We are American. We are part of this country too; we are the people of a nation that ignores us.

We fight in wars, we work in your business, we are doctors, nurses, teachers, representatives, we even hold a position in the Supreme Court, we are Grammy award winners, Tony award winners, actors, actresses, sports players, musicians, rappers, poets, writers, executives, secretaries, your neighbors, and friends.

It saddens me that the tragedy which has fallen upon the birthplace of my ancestry has devastated the Motherland. But I want you to remember “Esta raza siempre es brava/ Aunque sople el temporal” (Residente, Hijos Del Cañaveral).

Don’t lose sight of the solidarity that has forged from this tragedy. Make an effort to help. Bring attention to the plight of our island; bring attention to the people of the island. Don’t sit down and remain silent, write letters make phone calls, donate money for relief efforts (Donating items is not always the best solution unless you know what is exactly needed. Avoid waste).

Find out where the relief efforts are, change the conversation of the nation unite with others and make CHANGE happen.

Monday Music Mania

I first came across Snow Tha Product when I purchased The Hamilton Mixtape. I don’t know why I didn’t think of looking her up then. Her flow crosses the language line with ease, she’s a rapper.

So when the Immigrants video dropped last week I went to YouTube to look at what she’s done.

With her fitted caps and shades she’s getting back to rap! She isn’t a Waste of Time, she’s not hitting the Snooze she Woke,  she better not leave that’s No Lie.

I genuinely appreciate her style and music. It’s refreshing to hear a female rapper that can really hold her own lyrically and doesn’t need to flaunt anything but her skill!  “She raps that fire” in more than one language.

ALERT: Book Recommendation!

If you have not read everyone’s a aliebn when you’re a aliebn too I wholeheartedly recommend that you pick up a copy and read it. This a heartwarming tale. A book that takes all of 30 minutes to read. This book explores life, death, love, happiness, sadness, humility, acceptance, how to make friends and what a friend is.

It is witty, fun, sentimental and quite humorous.

If you have 30 minutes in your day I promise that you will be so happy that you read this book.

Stone Hearts

Stone hearts
And stoic faces
Bodies moving
Unfamiliar places

Trying to adjust
Appearing to fit in
Harboring inside
What can’t be shared at all

Internally digesting
Events that make you cringe

Knowing that it’s yours to keep
Preserving classification
Your privacy in tact
No one privileged enough
To get through the external hallowed out remains

Who dares dig deep?
Into your darkest night
Tunneling through
That formidable wall

And despair

Grunts of dejection
Exhaled in the night

An Empty Love Letter

Even though I don’t know who you are, I know that you are the one. At least, I imagine, that, you are the one. The person I will spend the rest of my days with. You will comfort me in my darkest hours. You will watch over me, love me, and caress me,  that is what I tell myself.

You will listen to my thoughts, you will tell me they are silly but, you will encourage all of my dreams. You will fill the void within my bed with sweetened moments of bliss and joy as you wrap your arms around me, providing  me with the safety of your embrace.

We will build memories of our shared life together. We will share our favorite memories and the bitter ones, too. Because,I will remember, forever, the first time you made me cry and how mad I was at you.

I will remember when…. but, that moment has yet to come.

I sit and gaze up at a starless sky. I I whisper to the wind waiting for an answer, waiting to hear your name bellowed in the breeze.

Instead, the wind just howled at me, wooed me away.

I think about this love that’s waiting for me. In the space far away from waking and inbetween the deep sleep is where I meet you now. A dream world where the stars are in your eyes. Then, I wake, alone, again in my empty bed.

As I lay awake, alone in the dark, I think about the moments of loneliness I endure at night.  Then, I close my eyes again, to fall asleep.  I doze off just to meet you once again in a place that’s out of reach. And in the morning, as I wake, I wonder if you dream about me too?

Eternally yours,

Let’s Share: Maledicus

I recently finished reading Maledicus Charles French’s first novel. A work of speculative fiction that is more of a love story within the borders of a horror story. The characters are not your typical heroes, they are all older men in their 60’s and have experienced the loss of someone important in their lives.

What I enjoyed most about this book are the love stories; there is the love of relationships, familial love and the exploration of the love of parents for their children. I do not want to give away any spoilers but there are two points in the story where I felt the sadness of the loss and the beauty of love in the depictions set forth.

This is not your typical horror story, it may not be what you expect. If you are looking for blood guts and terror this is not it, but if you are looking for an intriguing story that gives you the depiction of the power of love in order to defeat evil you may want to check this book out.

Link below:


The Regret

We often ignore our dreams and avoid aspirations because we have responsibilities; this type of avoidance can lead to regret.  “I got bills to pay, mouths to feed, ain’t nothing in this world for free.” Far too often we push aside our hopes and dreams as we douse the passion of fervent youth when reality begins to settle in around us and we take that job to pay the bills.

Then, we comply with the rules of society and work ourselves into graves. Yup, that sums up the whole of existence. Some work themselves into lavish graves while the rest of us meander through to simple boxes in hallow ground.

What will remain of you when you die? Or me for that matter? (This post is really all about me, everything is always about me.) The progeny? Eventually that dies out too.

What will your legacy be?



Personally, I don’t want any more regrets. I don’t want to say I should have done this or that I want to say “I did it.”

So I am going to say I did it.

No ragrats,” right?

I am able to say I’m writing that book and other things. In my copious spare time I am liberating the ideas locked inside while listening to Daddy Yankee’s Shaky Shaky.  My book is a contemporary multicultural romance novel and I am compiling sordid short stories with women as the central focus. My women are unconventional standards of imperfections; they’re the Kate of my mind. They embrace everything we should not be, explore the not so nice parts we like to hide while discovering the quirks and kinks that make us—well “Freak out Le freak, see’est Chic.”

Don’t fret the regret. Don’t give up the dream. Unless it involves becoming a rocket scientist when you aren’t inherently bright or really good with numbers and whatever else that sort of stuff entails. But if your dream involves learning, or visiting a new place, writing a book, becoming a ski instructor, starting a business I say try it.

And, if it doesn’t work at least you know and you can always say “I did it.”