La Isla Del Encanto-Personal Narrative

La Isla Del Encanto
I wake up at six in the morning barely having slept the night before because of this big day. All possible scenarios played out in my head; good ones and bad ones like driving to the airport an hour or two earlier so I would find parking and avoid traffic on the highways or something as bad as locking the keys inside of the car right before checking into the airport to board my luggage. I stayed in bed an extra five minutes contemplating these ideas with groggy eyes but soon I would be in the shower, wide awake. After getting dressed, I checked the list I made the previous night to make sure I had not forgotten anything for the trip.
The ride to the Boston Logan Airport was long and thoughtful. Looking at myself from the

side mirror as the morning breeze hit my face,“Who am I?” I wondered. The question revitalized my body which had previously been drowsy from sleep deprivation. That is a question I am asked a lot. It is a question that makes my concrete definition of who “Andrea” is, crumble like a fort of bricks stacked without any cement to keep it held together. For a long time I struggled to find my identity. Then suddenly the car stopped and I heard the slam of the trunk as the wheels of my suitcase hit the parking lot ground. In what felt like seconds I had passed through customs and was waiting for my plane.
“Bienvenidos a San Juan, Puerto Rico.” was the only thing I could hear over my widely curved lips and clapping from the passengers four hours after departing. Finally I would see my island again after many years. Again, I would hug and kiss my family that had been waiting for me to arrive and I would be on the two-hour trip to Moca by car. The rest of the time spent here would be pure bliss and self-exploration.
I would drive to La playa de Jobos on a sunny day, sipping an ice-cold malta and listening to Ricky Martin on the radio. After swimming in the clear, blue waters of Jobos and tanning on the hot sand, I settled for some bacalaitos; salted codfish fritters with pinchos on the side; flavorful meat kabobs usually served with a side of pan de bollo (fresh bread) or fried breadfruit.
There are various places to visit like the movie rental shops, festivals with traditional dancing, shopping malls, museums specific to Moca like El Museo del Mundillo, skating rinks, and water parks. Another humble luxury of the island is one’s own backyard--full of fresh fruits and vegetables like plumb pumpkins, lush avocados, ripe guava, and papaya to name a few.
Returning to Massachusetts is bittersweet. The morning rooster crowing in a hoarse voice and my mother tongue which sang sweet melodies to my ear would soon be a memory. However, the trip had refreshed my idea of “Andrea Morales” is. I am American. I am Puerto Rican. I am Taino, Spanish, and African. I recalled that the ingredients in traditional cuisine were Taino (Indigenous). Cassava, corn, beans, and pumpkin are all elements of the typical diet in Puerto Rico. The language, however, comes directly from Spain. As the Spaniards brought African slaves with them, the language took forth a new dialect. The roll of the tongue when pronouncing a Spanish ‘r’ was difficult for the Africans and thus a much more nasally sound was adopted. Realizing all of this information opened my mind to a new view of myself. One that was unbreakable. A new wall of bricks would be formed and this time the wall is stacked up with layers of concrete and then covered in another layer.