Story of a Boricua
Earlier this year I had to write a paper for a history class about my experience as an immigrant. I thought I would share excerpts of it because there are many of us whose stories are similar. You are not alone!
My grandmother, Luz Nereida Ortiz, does not remember the year she moved from Aguadilla, PR to Brooklyn, NY, but she mentioned my dad was around 5 years old, placing them in the mid-1950s. She had just gone through a hard divorce from a very abusive marriage and wanted to give her son a "better" life. Her parents helped pay for their airplane tickets, and my grandma, who is terrified of airplanes, started her journey to the "New Yores", which is how pretty much anyone from her generation calls New York. Abuela moved in with her aunt, whom she tenderly calls Chevita. Chevita was her mom's sister, and whenever we talked about her, my grandma's voice would fill with this sweet nostalgia that tells me her aunt was a very influential person in her life.
Chevita took both my grandmother and father in. She was recently divorced as well and lived in a small apartment with her two teenage boys. Chevita and another of Nereida's aunts, Gladys, assisted my grandma in finding a couple of jobs in different textile factories. My grandma would drop off my screaming dad in pre-school to go work shifts sewing lingerie, military uniforms, and men suits. She continued to do this for two long years, at which point she made the decision to go back to Puerto Rico.
She told me over the phone that she had decided to move back because she was not convinced the schools in the area were safe for my dad. She didn't go into too much detail but basically described the environment around the school as "suspicious". I - having heard from my parents that she eventually went back to my grandfather when she returned - knew she was not telling me the full story. We have a great relationship, so I probed her and asked - did you go back home because you wanted to give the relationship with grandpa another shot? She laughed nervously and made a very sad attempt of telling me that was not the case. You see, my grandfather was both physically and emotionally abusive to her. He would be cold and distant when sober, and would beat her when drunk. It was bad. A few years ago, she opened up about it and said that he would point his gun at her all the time, threatening to kill her and would even hit her with the grip of the pistol. My grandmother admires my independent and fiery nature, and I think she was embarrassed to admit she wanted to give him a second chance. It didn't quite work out for them, and she, thankfully, left him for good.
After their short stint in NY, my father and grandmother never left Aguadilla again; unbeknownst to all us, I was next in line…
In early 2009, while pursuing law school, I was working as a contractor for a great digital media agency in San Juan, PR. I loved the company and all my co-workers. It was more like a tight-knit clan of crazy fun people than anything else. We would kiss on the cheek every morning, go on two-hour lunches, and work late evenings. They would allow me to come to work with Akira, my dog/faithful companion. I loved it. I had also just gotten back with my high school sweetheart and within a few months, he confessed that he wanted to join the United States ARMY. Less than a year later, I was packing all my belongings and starting a new life in Ft. Hood - Killeen, TX.
It will be seven years in the summer since I've lived in Texas, four since I’ve called San Antonio home. San Antonio is a great city, people are very welcoming and friendly, and there's this big movement towards a healthier lifestyle, which fits our lives very well. Killeen was different. For the most part I felt like a social security number there. Just another ARMY spouse in a city filled with them.
The first couple of months Jorge and I slept in a mattress on the floor and ate on top of a collapsible table, while sitting on those metal chairs that remind me of church. The “dining set”, as well as kitchen supplies were donated to us. We had one car, which he used to go to work with, so for what felt like an eternity, it was just me and my baby Akira stuck home all day. For the first couple of weeks all I did was binge watch Netflix (from our mattress) and pause only to play with Akira outside or make lunch if Jorge could break away and come home during the day.
After a few weeks, I was done feeling sorry for myself and started applying for federal positions I thought was qualified for, then I started applying for federal positions I was overqualified for, then SUPER overqualified for and nothing… I went to a spouse assistance program on post, which is supposed to help spouses get placed in jobs and met women who had been actively searching for over a year. It was a rude awakening. I had started from scratch before and was not afraid to do that again so I started applying for EVERYTHING I saw online and quickly landed an interview as a bank teller. I was offered a part time position which was not economically feasible for us at the time. I politely explained my situation to the recruiter I had interviewed with and she seemed to genuinely understand. A little over two weeks after that conversation, she called me about a full-time position in their corporate headquarters for an analyst role with the Human Resources department. My resume would've never passed the initial screening process but because she and I had talked about my experience, she knew the transition wouldn't be that much of a stretch. I interviewed for it and got the job!
When I think about that time in our lives, it feels like forever ago. We now own a beautiful home we both love in SA, sleep in a comfortable bed, I have transitioned careers, enjoy what I do now, and love my co-workers. We don't kiss each other on the cheeks every morning but most Mondays, because we have genuinely missed each other, we do bear hugs all around. I have friends here that are truly chosen family. People outside of my husband, within driving distance from me, who I can call if I ever need anything.
There are markets in SA that sell Puerto Rican goods which means having a traditional - abuela-like - meal isn't that hard to accomplish. But just like that meal won't taste quite the same, living here is not truly home. As hard as my husband and I try, there's always something missing, something not ever quite right. There’s a void that only - the smell of the Caribbean ocean, the sand running through your toes, the taste of that coffee your grandma makes especially for you, the tight hug of your parents, their scent, your grandparents grabbing you by the face, telling you how beautiful you are, the snapping sound of your flag waving in the air, of salsa blasting through a home's window, the cheering sound your friends make when you arrive at the usual get-together spot, the very special way the coquis serenade you at night, the accent of my people, so distinct, it gives me goosebumps and brings a smile to my face the seldom times I hear it here, the sounds of the waves crashing while the gentle swing of the hammock lulls you into the best nap you've ever had - are capable of making me whole again.
Although it is our choice, living far away from family is not easy. Goodbyes get harder and harder. When you live close to your parents and grandparents, you don't notice how fast they are aging. Not really anyways. But when you see them once, every couple of years, it is blatantly apparent. It is hard not to burst into tears when you see them, and want to hold on to them and never let go.
It also hurts to read the news and everything that is happening in our island. Sometimes it feels hypocritical and selfish of me to be here and not go home and help in any way I can. I am not alone in that train of thought. Some fellow Boricuas (a term we use instead of Puerto Ricans, it pays tribute to the name our "Indians", the Taínos, gave our island - Borikén), the ones who still reside in the island, call us that don't anymore - quitters. There are social media campaigns and slogans about it. It is hard to read those comments, especially when it is a friend posting them.
After the initial sting has passed, I think about how much I can do for Puerto Rico by living outside of it. I have conversations all the time, and help educate others about our island, our status, and our people. About the fact that we are US citizens and fight the same wars, however, we do not get to vote for the President of the USA, although he/she is our commander in chief and has the final say on anything regarding our island. We don't even have representation in Congress! We do receive certain benefits but, like my dad says, “nothing in life is free”. The US also makes a profit from things like the Jones Act, a 1920s law which prohibits Puerto Rico from having a local shipping industry or using non-US vessels to import goods. Everything that lands in our shore typically costs 15-20% more because of the added costs/fees/taxes that result from this treatment. So many people who live in the US are not aware of the reality of what is happening in PR! It makes me feel proud to be able to bring that sort of awareness.
Hi my name is Wandalis Suárez Arocho, I was born and raised in Puerto Rico, and I will forever be an ambassador to my beautiful island - regardless of where I live.
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