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It's been a year since that dreadful day when hurricane María hit the island, like a furious titan, smashing everything on her path. Marked in the calendar as the most deadliest natural disasters in American history, Puerto Rican's remember today the day we reborn from the ashes.
The clock stopped ticking for months, practically disappearing from maps, radars and satellites. Our voices were silenced, choking in cries, hunger and despair, still we persevered. We overcame being mocked as towel paper was tossed to our grimy faces and defrauded by corruption. When the people most needed help, 3.5 million people were treated as beggars instead of equals.
But here we are, standing on our own feet, watching with sorrowful eyes flags low while counting our deaths... deaths that were mourned but not buried because some claim they never died.
The world keeps spinning and we're just a dot on the map, barely seen from space, but hey, here we are, now making some noise, playing some music and roasting lechón, celebrating an anniversary. Because that's how Boricuas are. You won't see us a day like today sitting in front of the TV watching, napkins in a runny nose, some documentaries on the day the story hit, no! We celebrate how strong we are, how resilient we've became and the lesson learned by making a party. We get together and we laugh to our anecdotes only retelling the funny stories, omitting any sad part, never forgotten, but thrown to the bottomless pit of the ocean.
"Don Benancio, how are you?" Mother welcomed the neighbor.
"Good evening, doña Alicia. I'm fine, thank you", the old man replied, beaming a smile while opening the gate to come in.
"I've cooked sancocho. Do you want some?"
"Yes, thank you."
"We were talking about the morning that María hit us", I pulled a rubber chair for Don Benancio to sit. Remember, us climbing the rope to make it to your roof?"
"If it wasn't for that, and the second story on your house, the raging river floods would have dragged us to God only knows where", my sister added, sipping her coffee.
"I was scared to death, but we made it... I hit Nelly's butt so hard she climbed two meters up in a second!" I cracked.
"Here you go. Buen provecho. I hope you like it", mom served the man a deep plate loaded with the steaming and aromatic heavy soup crowned with viands and three different types of meat.
"Yes, we barbecued the first two days what all the neighbors saved from the refrigerators, while playing dominoes in the terrace and listening to the only radio station on air... those were good times." I sighed, staring to the distance, where a flamboyant tree swayed to the gentle breeze.
"Lots of pork chops and drumsticks that we cooked!" Don Benancio added. "Good days indeed."
"Skies never looked that starry... never that clear after the storm when we all laid on the floor or swung on the hammock", my sister gazed up to the orange sky, the sun setting down.
"When the fragrance we all wore was Off and eucalyptus oil to get rid off mosquitoes", mom laughed.
"Wow", it came somehow in a whisper, "Can't believe it's been a year..."
"Buenas doña Alicia", another neighbor just arrived, waving at the gate. "I've brought flan... cheese flan", doña Lucía paraded towards us holding with pride the tray with the recently prepared desert. Vanilla scent filled the air.
"I'll get the plates and spoons", I hurried to the kitchen.
"Remember when all ya us, adults and children ran outside to shower in the rain... we were like crazy, clothes on rubbing soap and pouring shampoo..."
Y hustled back to the balcony. That was another story I enjoyed to recall.
This is the link to a special homage paid to the island. It was recorded this morning at the exact time and place where the eye made an entrance.
The song says a bit of I'm a fisher of dreams I've got Borinqueña blood I'm a son of the palm trees Of the fields and rivers and the song of the coquí of valleys and coffee plantations of sugar cane and pineapple of guava mampostiales custards and mauby.
Just select it and choose look up, then search on web.
