¡Feliz Navidad!

Today is the day we commemorate the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ.  In remembering the everlasting and greatest gift to humanity from God, we celebrate by giving gifts to all the persons in our lives that we love and cherish.  The best gift of all is love, the love we share and manifest throughout the whole year in so many different ways.  Just to name a few of those ways that have lifted my spirit or made me feel good I came up with this short list:

·        smiles that brighten an otherwise cloudy day;

·        unexpected phone calls just to say hello;

·        spontaneous hugs or kisses;

·        hilarious emails that make me laugh out loud;

·        getting together with friends to talk, have coffee or tea and cookies and cake;

·        having quiet time and reminiscing about the many, many wonderful moments I have had with my family and friends in the past.

Christmas is very special to me in many ways.  I especially love to remember my childhood and all the happy times I had with my parents, siblings and family that include the special foods, going to church for the Christmas pageant, and the anticipation of receiving gifts, always hoping to get that one special item we had requested. For me the best was the Christmas tree with its sparkling lights and ornaments that filled the living room with magic, pine scent and excitement. 

My sister Abby and I share the same feelings about Christmas, especially the tree.  We think this began for us as sisters during a Christmas holiday that my mother left us, four children, at my grandmother’s house during two weeks while she went off to Puerto Rico with her sister, Elba.  Abby was only a year and a half and I was almost eleven.  I think Abby felt abandoned (the first few days she cried a lot) and my natural protective instinct took over; I became her surrogate mother.  Even though we had adult supervision by our grandmother and Aunt Carmen, I took care of Abby all the time.  I made sure she ate and that she was happy.  The memory that often comes to mind is how every night I sat in grandma’s rocking chair in front of the Christmas tree with Abby on my lap and sang holiday songs till she fell asleep.  Unknowingly to us as children, we were forging a strong lifetime bond of love between sisters.

There are many other moments that fill my heart and that I hope to never forget. For a few years in our family we were only three children, each one of us two years apart in age.  Those early Christmases are real to me too and I revel in them from time to time.  The following poem is a walk down memory lane when it was only my sister Lily (deceased), my brother Joseph and me; Abby and John came into the family later.

Life is Good

Sometimes I need to reconnect with my childhood.

It’s a longing that magically conjures images,

images that make me feel all warm & peaceful inside.

I close my eyes and there we are,

my sister, my brother, & me,

in our secret hallway closet playing house.

The tea sets, mini pots & pans, dolls and

blankets are all around us.

The minutes & hours tick on,

but we don’t care.

I don’t want to open my eyes,

life was so simple back then.

I close my eyes again and there we are,

my sister, my brother, & me,

in the sun filled backyard,

under the garden hose that Mom tied

to the clothesline.

We squeal & jump up & down

as the cool water sprays

our hot & sweaty little bodies.

I wish I didn’t have to open my eyes,

life was so sweet back then.

Sometimes I don’t need to close my eyes.

When I sit in front of my own Christmas tree,

alone, in a dark and hushed house,

I am mesmerized by the sparkling lights and

soothing aroma of pine that permeates the air,

I remember the Christmases of long ago,

I even taste the anticipation,

the excitement of Christmas morning.

I hear the squeals of delight for

the dollhouse, the Lionel train, the flirty eyes doll;

everything we wished for was there!

Life was so blissful back then.

It seems I cannot let go of those moments;

or is it that I don’t want to let go?

All I know is that there are times,

in the midst of my life so hurried,

when I need to go back for an instant

to recapture and relive

the simple, sweet, & blissful times,

for the child that reveled in them is alive &

yearns to be reminded that life is still good.

I hope this special time of the year brings back good memories to all of you.  I know that some are suffering greatly this Christmas because of unexpected losses and my heart goes out to them. However, I too have gone through great losses in my life and I can truly say that over time, even though the scars remain, the wounds have healed and I can laugh and enjoy life.  I believe we need to keep that inner child alive no matter our chronological age.  I know that and this Christmas I gifted my inner child.  Merry Christmas!!!

                                                                                                                      

Tragedy Strikes Again

Disbelief. Evil. Senseless. Rage. Pain. Anguish. Heartache.  Sorrow.

Grief. Compassion. Empathy. Prayer. Supplication.

            These are a few of the words that describe my thoughts and emotions as I sat in front of the television watching and listening to the horrific events in Newtown, CT.  I know this same wave of emotions swept the nation.  Even today, it seems like a nightmare and yet it is the stark and abysmal reality of what our nation has collectively undergone.  If we, in our distant homes, feel the pain and helplessness, imagine what the parents and families of those massacred are feeling and will continue to experience for a long, long time.  I can only pray that their hearts be consoled in whatever way is meaningful to them and that they have the strength to go forward through the dark valley they are now treading until the day comes when they can regain some sense and direction in their lives.  It will never be the same, but they will be able to go on.

            This inconceivable catastrophe brought a poem to mind that I shared many times with my literature students.  It is by Mary Connell and was published in her poetry book titled Help Is On The Way (1986).  I ask that you allow these words to penetrate your hearts; hold on to them in a meaningful way, especially the last two stanzas.

            Final Sightings

            That which commences must end, alas.

            It is implicit in the first time that there should be a final one.

            Maybe it will come to a close spectacularly

            on some Tuesday afternoon in a country like Norway,

            where everyone is wearing furs except yourself

            and the street lights are burning all day long.

            And perhaps it will last happen on an ordinary Saturday morning

 at home,

            while the percolator is muttering to itself

            and the Dallas Times Herald is lying in the rose bushes,

            its secrets guarded by thorns.

            But if it is of human origin, it will sometime stop.

            It will eventually happen for the last time,

            And likely no one will know when it happened

            that it stopped happening.

            A mother may someday remember that her son who is in the third grade

            used to sit on her lap, and does so no more.

            But she will not remember which time was the last time,

            This is probably merciful. It would not do, I think,

            for her to know he was seeking that comfort finally.

            She might tend not to release him – to hold him until

            he squirmed and kicked and screamed,

            breaking the Satsuma table lamp and bringing the neighbors

gasping in.

            So it is with every sweet occurrence

            That lends any sense or comfort to our lives.

            The ultimate gaze, the final phrase, is pretty hard to recognize.

            So kiss me every time you go, against returning so obscure.

            For, even though I think I know a certain thing, I can’t be sure.

            And joy of such dimensions makes a wise man insecure.

Nostalgia

                                   

As I watched the Banco Popular of Puerto Rico Christmas special this past weekend, I had an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia.  For about twenty years the historical and possibly largest bank of Puerto Rico has produced a Christmas program that presents the traditions of the island through song and dance.  Some years the show has been dedicated to outstanding composers, poets, or musicians; this year the theme was the island’s music recording industry from the 1940’s to the present. 

Music and dance have always been an integral part of the Puerto Rican people inherited from its early inhabitants, the Taino indigenous people, and through the integration of different groups that colonized the island, mostly the Spaniards and Africans.  Just like the people of Puerto Rico reflect a fusion of many cultures and races, the music and dances are testimonies to its rich cultural heritage.  This year’s presentation touched upon the different music genres that have been a part of the lives of Puerto Ricans over the years.  In addition to music and dance, spectacular scenes of different parts of the island were part of the show; from its sandy beaches and deep blue oceans to the lush green mountain sides, it brought back many memorable moments and of course, nostalgia.

As I reflected on the content of the program I also thought about my own life and how I was blessed to have gone to the island of Puerto Rico as a young woman and establish residence there for 42 years.  I learned so much about my heritage culture and was able to integrate that culture into my life in a more complete way than when I lived in Brooklyn, NY.  My life was enriched in many ways through Puerto Rico’s history, literature, music, theater, art, and most of all, through the beautiful people who live on the island.

I do not live there now because of decisions one makes in lieu of responsibility and moral obligation, yet I dream that there will come a time when I will be able to divide my life equally between Puerto Rico and continental USA. Dreams are essential in our lives, the day we stop dreaming we stop living.

Following is a poem that tells how I see myself in this complicated world of dreams and realities.

                      WHO ARE YOU?

You ask who I am; I say I am a woman,

Born in a city teeming with diversity,

to a Puerto Rican jíbara and a New York City guy.

I flourished between two worlds,

two cultures, and two languages.

At times I was integrated, dichotomized at others.

I learned to savor arroz con gandules, pasteles y lechón,

yet also relished turkey, stuffing, yams, and pumpkin pie.

I was taught to say, “Bendición, Mami,”

before going to sleep at night,

and in the morning, “See you later, Dad,”

as off to school I went.

Who am I?

I am a woman who remembers iridescent snow flakes falling,

The crunch beneath my boots, the wind stinging my face,

eyes smarting & crying.

Christmas trees sparkling,

glimmering ribbons, red & gold,

tinsel shimmering in dusky darkness;

the comfort of warm, pine scented homes.

Who am I?

 I am a woman who was reborn on a tropical island;

 the island of my heritage that slowly and

 almost imperceptibly made its way into my heart,

 permanently.

 The island where I blossomed,

 and dared to dream a different life,

 and then went on to experience it

 in depths and dimensions of joy and pain

 that I could not have imagined, ever.

 It is the island where my existence,

 past and present, crystallized.

  

 Who am I?

 I am a woman who loves the early morning

 mist of tropical winters,

 palms waving in a delicate breeze,

 blue-green ocean, swaying, seducing,

 cool, lazy evenings that lull,

 rain soaked grass and dripping ferns,

 the orchestrated songs of coquies in the night.

 Who am I?

 Sometimes I am distinctly Puerto Rican,

 other times undeniably American.

 Most times I feel unique; harmoniously interwoven.

 I revel in the differences and repose in the sameness.

 You can call me Nuyorican, Puertorriqueña, Latina or Americana,

 It really makes no difference,

 For when I look inside myself or in the mirror glance,

 I know who I am.

                                                Mildred Santiago

Jíbara – country girl

Arroz con gandules = rice and pigeon peas

Lechón asado  = roast pork

Pasteles  -  meat pies made with plantains and other roots; Christmas tradition.

Bendición Mami –  Bless me Mom (traditional custom that some still practice as a greeting when arriving at grandmother’s or mother’s home and at night before going to sleep).

Coquies (coquí)  – tiny tree frogs that sing loudly at night, especially when it rains.

Sometimes Plans Backfire

So many times in our daily lives we plan events or moments that do not work out exactly as anticipated.  I believe that very few of those moments turn out better than expected, some are somewhat acceptable, and many end up as colossal disasters.  The control person than I am, I must reluctantly admit that the lesson to be learned from such experiences is that we do not have control over all the elements of those falsely named planned events.  Following is a story about one planned moment that backfired, much to the planner’s surprise. The event is true, but the names of the characters and the moments leading up to it are fictitious.

Lily loves her house and neighborhood.  The streets are lined with mature oak trees and crepe myrtles; the lawns are lush green, lined with flowering plants and bushes that are neatly trimmed.  It’s a small community that can be described as an oasis in the middle of a hot, hectic, crowded city.  Every time Lily exits the highway and makes a right turn, she drives into this beautiful neighborhood that causes her to feel peaceful and happy; that is, until she passes Mrs. Gabbler’s house which is next door to her own home.  You see, Mrs. Gabbler is a busybody. 

As an elderly person who lives alone, apparently Mrs. Gabbler does not have much to do, so she spends hours sitting on her front porch watching the neighbors come and go.  But it doesn’t end there; sometimes she goes to other neighbors to comment on who visited who and even makes up stories about why they visited.  Two weeks ago, Lily became her target. 

Lily has two young adult children who attend college and still live at home.  Like all young persons, they have friends who visit often.  Lily loves to have her children’s friends visit because she gets to know them and even gets to know her own children better too.  But Mrs. Gabbler, who did not have much to do, imagined that some of the young visitors were probably into drugs or who knows, maybe even some black market business because the cars they drove were fairly new and seemed expensive. That was the story that was going around and which, as we all know what happens with gossip, came back to Lily (somewhat distorted) through a neighbor whose only concern was Lily’s reputation and the well-being of the children.Really!                                                                     

Lily did not want to confront Mrs. Gabbler directly because she knew it would create and even bigger issue and probably involve other neighbors (the ones who repeated the stories to Lily).  She decided to try an indirect approach which she carefully planned.  One evening, Lily quietly went to Mrs. Gabbler’s front door and left a supermarket bag on the welcome rug; it contained a bar of soap.  The next morning, Mrs. Gabbler opened the front door, picked up the bag, looked inside and quickly went back into her house.  Nothing else happened, not from Lily’s side of the fence or from Mrs. Gabbler’s side of the fence.

Two days later, Mrs. Gabbler was at it again. She commented to the neighbor across the street that Lily’s son had brought home a girl that was scantily dressed and who knows what they were up to.  Of course, this got back to Lily who, in keeping with her plan, that evening proceeded to tie another bag on the front door knob; this time it contained shampoo.  Mrs. Gabbler was secretly watching Lily from behind closed curtains and as soon as Lily left, she opened the front door, grabbed the bag and closed the door fast.

Lily was a bit frustrated; she was not getting the response she had anticipated, that is until Friday of last week.  A few minutes after Lily got home from work, Mrs. Gabbler knocked on the front door.  Lily thought, “Okay; this is my chance to tell this nosy neighbor a thing or two.”  She opened the door and Mrs. Gabbler immediately gushed, “Oh, Lily, I just want to thank you for being so nice to me.  How did you know that I didn’t have enough money to buy soap or shampoo?  That was such a lovely neighborly thing to do for me.  I know I have not been minding my own business lately and even said some things I shouldn’t, but I promise that it will stop.”  She hugged Lily, turned and walked away before Lily could utter a word.

Lily was stunned.  What she had done to provoke a confrontation with her elderly neighbor turned out to be a peaceful resolution and Lily did not have to say a word.  Little did Mrs. Gabbler know that Lily had used the soap and shampoo as bait.  The plan was that when Mrs. Gabbler came to question why Lily deposited soap and shampoo by her door, Lily intended to tell her that she needed to wash out her mouth and stop spreading lies among the neighbors.  That was what Lily’s mother used to do to her and her brothers whenever they used dirty language or repeated lies they had heard.  However, Mrs. Gabbler never got to hear the rest of the story. She is now trying very, very hard to stop gossiping (a difficult task for her), and Lily has become her guardian angel.

Sometimes, only sometimes, things work out better than we planned.

Life Does Not Stop for You

The pain of breaking up happens to most women and at times some cannot or do not want to understand or accept the full meaning of such a crisis.  The dissolution of their relationship with a male partner, be it marriage, cohabitation, or a romantic involvement, causes them to go into a downward spiral that results in self-doubt and depression.  So many times throughout my life I listened to female acquaintances discuss this situation during coffee breaks or in powder rooms. I witnessed how the end of a romantic relationship caused them to become miserable, sorrowful women who were not willing to find a way out of that momentary darkness that enveloped them. They acted like life had ended.

There is no denying, and research confirms the fact, that breakups are hard to bear emotionally.  It doesn’t matter how strong or independent a woman may have been before the breakup, she will go through an identity crisis and this may in turn lead to emotional distress (Slotter, et al).  It is important to know that a woman cannot remain in that initial stage of grief and despair, she needs to move on into a healing process.  It is not easy, it is a difficult task, but it can be accomplished.

I watched an interview this past weekend with Dr. Santiago Rojas from the South American country of Colombia on a channel called Caracol.  Dr. Rojas has written various books about self-help in different situations that affect us all and cause physical and emotional illnesses or moments of crisis.  In his latest book about breaking up (Alíviate el Corazón Roto y Descubre Como Encontrar un Nuevo Equilibrio), he states that we need to allow both our cognitive and emotional abilities enter into the healing process, it is not the heart alone (emotions) that plays an important role.  Dr. Rojas was emphatic about the importance of the mind in this process. He claims that once two persons have broken up, they need to accept the reality of the situation, suffer and grieve, but then move on and not go back.  Life does not end because a romantic relationship ends, yet he understands that we need time for healing.  A valuable component of the process is to learn how to do different things that will help, like meeting new people.  It is necessary to surround ourselves with persons who will listen to us and not judge. Not only that, we also need friends who will support and energize us rather than pull us down and deplete what little energy we may have at that time. Most articles I read on this topic agreed that it is essential that we explore new interests like taking painting classes, going to a gym, taking non-credit courses or even obtaining a degree.  Finally, we need to strengthen our spirituality through prayer and meditation or meeting with those who can help us grow and become stronger in spirit.  In keeping with what Dr. Rojas recommends, we need to find a new equilibrium in our lives.

A significant aspect of this breakup crisis is that we cannot remain in the woe-is-me mode; we need to pick up the broken pieces, put them back together in a new, creative and exciting way, and move on.  Remember, life does not stop for you; it continues going forward and will leave you behind in your misery if that is what you choose.

The following poem tells the story of a woman who suffered a breakup with her significant other.  She cried and grieved and thought she would die, but in the end she decided to go on with her life.  Read and find out what happened.

PHONE CALL

The phone rang insistently.

She answered.

A voice from the past resonated

and ruptured her peace.

Forgive me,

he begged.

I was confused,

Didn’t know what I was saying,

Didn’t mean to hurt you,

Please,

Take me back,

I need you,

I need your comfort.

Confused?

Didn’t now what you were saying?

You seemed so sure,

so adamant.

Your words whipped me.

Every fiber of my body was hurting;

My spirit mourned the deadly blows

for days and months.

Forgive me,

He cried out again.

I discovered I still love you.

I was blinded momentarily,

Foolishly trying to regain youth,

Not valuing our love.

I need you.

I need your knowing ways.

My knowing ways?

You forced me to learn about loneliness,

You forced me to learn that love dies,

You forced me to learn that life continues.

So, I learned.

I learned to heal my wounds,

I learned to live for myself,

I even learned to laugh & love again.

Forgive you?

I forgave you that day I looked into the mirror

and discovered a different woman.

She’s vibrant,

She’s happy,

She’s strong.

That woman found a new path,

She doesn’t need you to define her anymore.

Ciao, she whispered softly,

and placed the phone back in its cradle.

           

Slotter et. al. “Who Am I Without You? The Influence of Romantic Breakup on    

                The Self-Concept.”  Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 2010, 36 (2):

                147.

Looking Good, Feeling Better

Most magazines geared towards women will have titles on the front cover that address physical aspects.  That is, how to feel and look better by losing weight (even while you sleep), dressing like a professional, eating anti-aging foods so we can look at least seven years younger, so forth and so on.  Not to mention all the television reality shows and talk shows that find it a need to tell us that we absolutely must improve our appearance.

            I don’t know if this is a worldwide trend but I do know that in the USA there is an obsession with not looking our age at whatever cost.  I don’t advocate that we not care for our appearance because we need to do it for the sake of our own self-esteem.  What I am protesting is that most of the time women are the focus of mass media ads and programs that stress the importance of outward appearance.  How about balancing this a bit with hot articles on what we can do to improve our brain power or our spirituality?  There is a joke that has been making the rounds on the Internet about the girl who has no wrinkles on her face, no love handles, big boobs,  perfect skin and haircut, but when she opens her mouth she has absolutely nothing to say!  Duhhh!! It may be funny, but the scary thought is that we actually do have some walking around at this very moment.

            Like I said before, I am not advocating we should be at home or go out looking like we just fell out of bed.  Yes we do need to take care of our appearance whether we are professionals going to work, stay at home moms, or retirees.  No matter what we do or what time of the day it is, we can be neatly dressed, hair combed, nails clean, etc.  We do not need to obsess about the fact that we now wear a size 16 instead of a 10, or that we are twenty pounds heavier than way back when we were eighteen, or that we have a wrinkle or two or three; hey, that comes with something that is called aging.  There’s another truth that we need to factor in and it is called genetics.  Before we go stir crazy about our looks, study your family and understand what part of your body is purely a genetic reality.

I challenge you to ignore those magic formulas that usually make promises that are false and frustrating. What is important is that we are happy with who we are and that we lead lives that are balanced; an added bonus would be that we surround ourselves with people who lead balanced lives.  A manicure and pedicure once a month are great, if you enjoy them; a haircut and styling are also good, as are moisturizers and body lotions.  However, it is equally vital that we are up-to-date on local and world news, pick up a book once in a while and read, watch educational television programs, and have thought provoking conversations with our partner and friends.  In addition, let’s not forget to nurture our spirituality, whether by going to church, reading the bible or daily devotionals, praying, and reading books by women and men who are bona fide scholars in the spiritual topic at hand.  All of these activities are consequential in our lives.  Let’s not lead lopsided lives.  Let’s be at peace with ourselves. 

SUPERMARKET ENCOUNTER

As I hurry up and down the supermarket aisle,

I check my list, then my watch,

Move, people, move!

I have papers to correct, dinner to cook,

clothes to wash!

Hurry, hurry, hurry,

No time to lose!

Finally I speed around the corner

of that remote last aisle.

My eyes dart, fix and stare,

My wingéd feet vacillate,

I come to a complete stop.

It's the magazine rack!

No! No! No! Don't stop!

Remember…things to do,

No time to lose!

Lose?  Ahhhh!

"Lose Those Extra Pounds!"

"35 Secret Fat Burners"

"Chocolate Pie Without the Guilt!"

"Look 5 Years Younger!"

"How Strong is Your Love?"

A voice deep down inside me screams,

"Run!  Run!  Run!

Remember, no time to lose!"

Another voice rebukes,

"Ah, go ahead…take a look!

Whadda ya' have to lose?"

Guiltily I succumb and skim some pages,

Hopefully…skeptically…cynically.

Promises, promises, promises.

Pounds to lose, youth to gain,

Fires to light!

Help!  I am lost!

As I shove my cart toward the checkout line

I mumble and grumble all the way.

Hrumph!

Young vs. mature

Svelte vs. chunky

Sexy vs. nurturing,

The battle is raging

In this image crazed world!

Age, weight, sags, libido…

When can I let go?

When can I be ME?

Damn, I should've just skipped

That treacherous last aisle!

                                                                                   

                                                                       

Relentless Jurakán

 

Jurakán is the name of the Taino evil spirit responsible for storms, earthquakes and bad crops.  That word is mentioned by the Spanish historian González Fernández de Oviedo y Valdes in his chronicles of life in the Indies.  The Spanish derivation is huracán and the earliest known use of the word hurricane in English dates from the 16^th century (myetymology.com).

                        Hurricanes are a very real and scary part of life in the Caribbean.  The season officially begins on the first day of June and ends on the last day of November.  In other words, for six months of the year residents of the islands in the Greater and Lesser Antilles of the Caribbean Sea live under the threat of devastation. During the 42 years I lived in Puerto Rico, every year was unique when it came to hurricanes.  There were years of very little, almost no storm activity, other years that hurricane threats became heavy rainfalls, and a few  years we were subjected to the extensive destruction only a Category 3 or more hurricane can cause. 

            The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, better known as NOAA, informs that there are five hurricane categories as established by the Saffir-Simpson Hurricane Wind Scale which are as follows: Cat. 1 – 74 – 95 mph; Cat. 2 - 96 – 110 mph; Cat. 3 – 111-129; Cat. 4 - 130 -156 mph; Cat. 5 – 157+ mph.  From Category 3 to Category 5, the hurricanes are considered major and can cause great damage.

            The first written records of hurricanes in Puerto Rico were provided through reports that the colonizers sent to Spain and in some chronicles.  The storms were named for the saint of the day they impacted the island.  The first to be recorded happened four days after Ponce de Leon arrived on August, 1508 and it was named San Roque (St. Rocco or Roch). Records indicate that hurricanes came upon the island of Puerto Rico many, many times, some years even two or three hurricanes touched land.  The Spanish Friar Iñigo Abbad y Lasierra observed the indigenous people of Puerto Rico, the Tainos, and narrates how they were able to prognosticate a storm was coming by the changes in nature as observed in the sun, the stars, and the sea; they also heard a certain subterranean sound that was muted.  According to the Friar, the Tainos knew a storm was on the way two to three days before it actually made landfall (Robiou-Lamarche, Tierra Huracanada, El Nuevo Día, 24 de junio de 2007)).

            San Ciriaco (St. Cyriacus) is considered the most destructive hurricane in the history of Puerto Rico even though it was a Category 3.  It crossed the whole island from east to west in 1899 (one year after the US invasion of 1898), and left behind over 3,300 persons dead in addition to destroyed homes, agricultural lands and crops. Thirty years later, in 1928, San Felipe Segundo made landfall in Puerto Rico as a Category 5; it is the deadliest hurricane that has ever struck the island.  The numbers of deaths associated with San Felipe Segundo are less than San Ciriaco because the people were warned 36 hours earlier and they were able to prepare for the ravages of the monster storm that approached the island. It caused massive destruction of properties and crops (coffee, tobacco, sugar cane) that took years to restore. The storm was named San Felipe Segundo (St. Philip the Second), because a previous storm had struck the island in 1876 on the same day.  To read about hurricanes and the damage that they cause in Puerto Rico and other Caribbean islands insofar as lives, properties, crops, and infrastructure, is disconcerting and sad.  However, to live through one of these devastating hurricanes is a horrific and frightening experience because one is completely powerless in the face of such a relentless force of nature; I know because I have experienced a few. 

The first powerful and destructive hurricane I experienced was Hugo in 1989.  I had been living in Puerto Rico for 24 years and the hurricane seasons had not been extremely devastating; there was rainfall and flooding which caused damage to crops and property, but no Category 3 or 4 hurricanes. Hugo was a borderline Category 3/4 that struck the island with torrential rain and estimated winds of 130-160 mph.  It made landfall in eastern Puerto Rico and left two hours later through the area of Luquillo and Rio Grande, nevertheless, the effects of the hurricane (wind and rain) before and after landfall lasted for twelve hours and extended to San Juan and the metropolitan area because of its huge size.  In its wake, there were millions of dollars in damages including uprooted trees, roofs blown off homes, windows shattered, electrical power lines on the ground, and landslides.  Many roads were intransitable.  Thousands of homes and businesses were left without electrical power and potable water service. Our home was not the exception. 

Hugo made landfall at about 7:00 AM and moved slowly.  We had already been experiencing the rain which precedes the actual full blown hurricane; soon the wind started blowing with more force and kept escalating to the point that it was pounding on the windows. Eddie had boarded the sliders but the wind was so strong that water seeped in through the bottom rail.  We frantically searched for old towels and placed them by the sliding doors to keep seepage to a minimum.  There was no visibility to our back yard but we could hear the bamboo trees snapping one after another like firecrackers.  The incessant howling noise the wind produced was very scary; it resonated throughout the whole house.  This scenario lasted for hours; at first very intense and then slowly subsiding.  When it was over we did not have power, water service, or phone lines and for two days the roads that connected us to the main highways were blocked by fallen trees and all sorts of debris.   

Slowly the cleaning and restoration of services began.  In the meantime we had a camping stove, bottled water, and canned goods that allowed us to manage for a few days without problems.  Our phone service was restored and we got in touch with family both in Puerto Rico and the USA to make sure everyone was safe and to tell them we were doing as well as could be expected.  The roads to and from our home were cleared and we were able to go out and purchase bottled water.  As we rode to and from the supermarket, the landscape devastation was frightening; so many trees and plants had been flattened by Hugo that it seemed more like a bomb had been dropped.  One week later we were able to visit my mother-in-law in Bayamón, a town that was only twelve miles from where we lived.  She was one of the lucky ones to have both power and water restored.  From that moment on we went to her house every night to take a bath and bring water back to our home.  At first I was fine with the situation because it was a natural disaster, damage was extensive, and I was not alone in my hardship; many Puerto Ricans were going through the same problems.  However, as the weeks went by, my level of tolerance was diminishing.  Two weeks; three weeks; now when we got to the crossroad just before the road that took us home and looked into the darkness that seemed to envelope the road, my heart dropped.  It was depressing.  The beginning of the fourth week without utilities I decided to boost my spirit by going to a place that did not reflect what Puerto Rico had gone through.  I called the Cerromar Beach Hotel in Dorado and asked the receptionist if there was electricity and running water.  She laughed and said, “Yes we have both services. We also have rooms available.  Come on down!”  I quickly made a reservation for that weekend, from Saturday to Monday morning.

When my spouse got home that evening, I told him what I had done and that he should not worry because I would pay for the expenses with my part-time work paycheck which I had received the prior week from Inter American University.  It also occurred to me to say, “Eddie, even if the power and water services are restored on Saturday morning, we are going to the Cerromar Hotel.”  I must have developed my psychic powers during those four weeks because that is exactly what happened.  When we got up Saturday morning we had electric power and running water!  Eddie looked at me with a puzzled expression and before he uttered one word, I said: “We are going to the Cerromar.”

            When we got to the hotel it was like we were in another place altogether; it was not the Puerto Rico we had been experiencing.  Everything was so perfect and in order, including the trees and plants.  For two glorious days and nights we forgot about our house and the four weeks of cooking on a camping stove, transporting water from Bayamón to Guaynabo, using powdered milk for my coffee, not having air conditioning in our bedroom, keeping a cooler for the few refrigerated items we kept on hand, and many other inconveniences.  Those two days were refreshing and energizing.  When the next devastating hurricane came through Puerto Rico, Hurricane Georges (1998), we were ready.  We had installed a reserve water tank and had purchased a generator with the capacity to provide electricity for the refrigerator and a small, 110 volt air conditioner that was in our guest bedroom.  There were other hurricanes and tropical storms between Hugo and Georges, but they were not as calamitous.

            Hurricanes have always been and will be a part of the Caribbean just like every country in the world has its destructive forces of nature to contend with, whether they are earthquakes, typhoons, tsunamis, blizzards, tornados, droughts, volcanoes, and more. If we choose to live in those areas, it is our responsibility to be prepared for the moment of disaster.  Different to some natural disasters that arrive unexpectedly, hurricanes that affect the Caribbean are followed from the moment they start forming off the west coast of Africa and for days the people are informed of its possible route, force, and day of landfall.  We have time to prepare and pray that it will not be devastating.  Once the hurricane has passed, we also need to be willing to rebuild and restore with patience.

            I wrote the following poem during the days that followed Hurricane Georges.

                                                            JURAKAN

                                                            Jurakán!

                                                            Malignant spirit,

                                                            Violent force

                                                            That strikes

                                                            Mercilessly,

                                                            Ripping out,

                                                            Flattening,

                                                            Flooding,

                                                            Destroying

                                                            All that stands in your path.

                                                            Jurakán!

                                                            Relentless spirit,

                                                            Feared by our ancestors

                                                            Who witnessed in terror

                                                            Corpulent ceibas uprooted,

                                                            Plátanos, guineos, flattened,

                                                            Rivers raging, overflowing,

                                                            Forging new paths

                                                            Marked by devastation.

                                                            Jurakán!

                                                            Undying spirit

                                                            That today resurges,

                                                            Strong & unswerving,

                                                            Striking out in fury,

                                                            Ripping roofs,

                                                            Exploding glass,

                                                            Twisting steel,

                                                            Making us feel powerless,

                                                            Insignificant,

                                                            Afraid

                                                            In the face of your unbridled force.

                                                            Jurakán!

                                                            You've finally left us!

                                                            In your wake instead

                                                            A unifying sprit rises,

                                                            Human forces

                                                            Working as one,

                                                            Removing debris,

                                                            Recovering roads,

                                                            Replanting trees,

                                                            Reseeding fields.

                                                            Starting anew.

                        Reclaiming, rebuilding,

                                                            Restoring

                                                            Boriquén.