The Last Trip

When I returned to Puerto Rico, I felt it in my bones-it might be the last time. But this visit was different. I wasn't just coming home. I was bringing my children back to the place that raised me, hoping to pass on something time couldn't steal.

Through familiar streets and fading memories, I showed them where our story began-mango stands, rivers, old houses that still echoed with music and laughter. And in doing so, I remembered who I was before the world got too loud, too fast.

This is a story about roots. About the island that never forgets. About what it means to belong-to a place, to a past, to a family.

Because home isn't just a place you leave behind.
It's the place you carry with you.
Forever.