Last March, my Abuela decided her extended stay in the states was over and she wanted to go back to Puerto Rico no matter what. So reluctantly, my mother and I hopped on a plane and took her back to Cidra. Upon landing, the electricity was out in the airport. At the baggage claim we bumped into a friend from home and wished each other well on the adventure into the unknown. The sides of the road were littered with scattered debris: palm fronds in piles, trunks precariously horizontal against two stumps on the side of a mountain, wires dangling in in the air high above the autopista. Just as we came around the bend near Caguas, my playlist hit Almost Like Praying and my eyes welled up as I took a deep breath. All those months waiting for news and worrying what the new landscape would be. But there we were. The island was still there, a little bare, a little tattered but there were signs of rebirth all around. Buds on trees, shoots growing on tree stumps... And now one could see homes that were previously hidden behind the flora.
The air was fresh and delicious with scents of mangos and hibiscus while the people were cautiously optimistic while telling stories of the struggle to return to normal. In my abuela's house there was only electricity in the bathroom and luckily there was an electric socket and the her neighbor brought over a long extension cord. We connected one small lamp and put it on the dining room table. We had a dull light that spread into the bedrooms, enough to climb into bed to be serenaded by the symphony of the coquís. After a night of laughter and café con leche, it was all we needed. I only wish my daughter had been with us to complete the quartet of mothers and daughters we had been when my abuela was with us in the states.
It's been many months since my trip and things are still not quite back to as they were and I suspect that Puerto Rico won't ever quite be the same. Whether that's positive or negative remains to be seen and will probably be debated for a generation. As for now, esperanza is what I keep in my heart for Puerto Rico to emerge from the darkness and create a light that shines brighter than ever.
The air was fresh and delicious with scents of mangos and hibiscus while the people were cautiously optimistic while telling stories of the struggle to return to normal. In my abuela's house there was only electricity in the bathroom and luckily there was an electric socket and the her neighbor brought over a long extension cord. We connected one small lamp and put it on the dining room table. We had a dull light that spread into the bedrooms, enough to climb into bed to be serenaded by the symphony of the coquís. After a night of laughter and café con leche, it was all we needed. I only wish my daughter had been with us to complete the quartet of mothers and daughters we had been when my abuela was with us in the states.
It's been many months since my trip and things are still not quite back to as they were and I suspect that Puerto Rico won't ever quite be the same. Whether that's positive or negative remains to be seen and will probably be debated for a generation. As for now, esperanza is what I keep in my heart for Puerto Rico to emerge from the darkness and create a light that shines brighter than ever.