Puerto Rico

I sincerely apologize for my leave of absence from this blog, The last five days I was in the beautiful island of Puerto Rico. Unfortunately this was not a vacation, I was morning the loss of one of my boyfriend's family members. But we also sought out the opportunity to go not only to celebrate her life but to see the sites where a part of my boyfriends family originated.

Puerto Rico, a Caribbean Latin American Island, not that far from Florida and a US commonwealth, felt like I stepped into another county. I have never been to Puerto Rico before, this was my first trip and I can say I loved it there. We arrived around 6 p.m. on a Saturday afternoon, our flight was a two hour trip and went through smoothly... Sorta. Let's just say I found out I do not like flying on a plane. I have nothing against the mode of transportation but its like a roller coaster simulator and I get highly irritated of that feeling. I almost broke my boyfriend's hand when we took off in Florida and landed in PR.

First thing I was told about Puerto Rico before going there wasn't that it was a beautiful country nor was I suggested places to visit. I got the negative first and was told of the high amount of Zika cases present in the country. Hell on the way to the airport, I saw a giant condom billboard ad promoting safe sex, because Zika is sexual transmitted as well. A friend of mine was like "Don't catch the Zika!" So my boyfriend and I packed travel size bottles of military grade bug spray in our carry on bags. I was also told before leaving how the country is practically going bankrupt and how their taxes is higher than those in Florida. Oh not the mention the driving! The driving was worse than a drag race through congestion of the I-95, for those who live in Florida, you know that is hell. My road rage couldn't handle getting behind the wheel.

But I will say I saw many beautiful scenes while I was in Puerto Rico, the mountains, beaches, and the unique community of people made my experience a good one. Not to mention the drinking age is 18 and up, so almost every night I had an alcoholic beverage in my hand. The food, although most of what I had was fried, made me gain a few pounds while I was there. The pork, although I do not eat pork often, was to die for. The crispy skin and the Hispanic seasoning we all know and love made the food there amazing. One of my favorite things to eat while I was in PR was Bacalaítos, fried cod fish in like a pancake batter. My goodness! God bless the Puerto Rican Momma who made this, I had it almost everyday I was there. Each day at Puerto Rico brought me to a new experience to another Hispanic culture besides my own. Learning of their legends, stories and Catholicism traditions in the island has brought me closer to my boyfriend and his family. Stay tuned for each day of my adventures in the beautiful island that is Puerto Rico.

This was taken from my hotel room.

Being the stranger

While reading James Baldwin’s, Stranger in the Village, I felt not only the urge to travel but a sense of empathy towards his story. I understand the feeling of being looked at like you don’t belong. When I was about seven years old, my family and I went on a road trip to a family’s farm in Ocala. Not a beautiful Swiss village like the author experienced, but I experienced the farmlands in Florida. If one has ever been to Ocala, they know some parts of it are very widespread, very country like as far as landscape goes. What Baldwin felt was a strong feeling of dis-attachment to his surrounding area. I felt the same thing, but I was only seven when I felt it, not as an adult. One morning in Ocala, my dad wanted to grab some breakfast at a Dunkin Donuts that we saw the night prior. When my parents, baby sister and I stepped foot into that Dunkin Donuts you can hear a fly fart. The entire Dunkin Donuts lobby was silent, everyone stopped talking and just stared at us. No one moved their eyes from us when we approached the front counter, even a little boy, same age as me at the time, was looking at me like I wasn’t a little girl. I wonder how he saw me, I often wondered how he mentally contrasted us in his young mind. In Baldwin’s article the children ran down the road, calling him a “neger” but they didn’t know better. No one told them it wasn’t polite. Then again no one told the people in the lobby that staring was not polite either. Being only seven years old, I had a problem with not thinking before speaking; I looked at my dad and said loud enough for those to hear “Daddy, why are they staring at us like that?” I believe that snapped everyone into reality because the full lobby of people resumed talking amongst themselves. My dad didn’t say a word to me inside the Dunkin Donuts but when once we left he merely said they were staring because we are different. Now down here in South Florida, I have always been told because of my fair skin complexion no one would ever realize that I am a West Indian and Hispanic mix, most assume I’m just Hispanic, sometimes mistaken as white. When I was in Ocala I feel like those people saw all the minority in me and judged me for it. My father felt the same way Baldwin did in the article, a sense of anger for being looked at differently. My dad said never wanted me to feel racism because of the way I look because he had to go through the same things when he first came to this country from Trinidad. I remember speaking with a student in high school, whose ancestors were American to the bone whereas I am the first U.S born citizen in my family; he told me in his eyes I’ll never be white or considered full American because of where my ancestors hail from and what my mixed cousins look like. At first that offended me but most,not all, white people I have met in my life has proven to me that they hold a piece of racism in them. With either slick comments about me eating rice and beans, black jokes that are out of line, calling indian people terrorist, referencing my family to the Spanish requisition, asking if Trinidad a Spanish country, or assuming my dad or I speak Spanish. I felt the tension in that restaurant and so did Baldwin when he would walk the streets of the Swiss village, we both felt like outsiders. But he was an outsider in a foreign country, I was an outsider in my own home state, in my own country.