January 31

The bar is slowly filling up with people. The first month of the year has already passed. Another January in the Midwest, where my clearly Hispanic face, the accent in my English or the curl of my raven hair gives me that “You look like you are from somewhere warm” look that makes me feel more foreign than I already am. If they knew that every time I hear that phrase, it's like a dagger in the chest. For my Mother, my Grandmother, for the matriarchal family in which I grew up. I go back to a time where I lived as a family. Mami working, Abuela cooking, my sisters and I running and playing on the driveway. We have our white school shirts still on, in lycra shorts, barefoot, free. Without a care in the world.

The waitress’s “Are you doing ok?” reminds me where I am. “Yes, thank you. Can I get another Bee’s Knees, please?”.

You never really know how much you will miss P.R. until you leave. It’s been almost 3 years since I’ve been diaspora. Every payday reminds me of that. It reminds me that I left the Island, that I sacrify seeing Mami and Abuela everyday. Instead I see them grow old through my iPhone screen. I try to think of the photos I will take of them when I go to visit. It’s been 2 years since I last saw them, hugged them…since I smelled them.

The price I am paying these days feels heavy. I was supposed to have these opportunities in my own land but it is here where my job searches have come to fruition. In this country where it seems like we went back in time, where speaking Spanish, depending on where you are, can leave you debating with an ICE agent your citizenship.

I order a chai to go, a second drink and the bill. As I walk to my car, I write in the family chat: “Goodnight. I love you. I miss you.”

Yere- “Rest Ma, I love you.”

Mami- “Rest, mi chely”.

Mary- “I love you too.”

As I put my phone in my purse, I think: “Next month, Ill purchase the plane ticket.”