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Soy un hijo de Borikén Jíbaro thru and thru Aunque naciera en la luna This statement would be true Ancestors living in me Reminder of who I am I yearn to one day Lay my body in these lands En el campo o en el metro In the mountains or at the beach Mi cultura y mi gente Are always at my reach My roots go deep Anchor me to this place Fighting to stay alive From people who want it erased Puerto Rico sin Boricuas They want to make it so Borikén is everlasting We won’t ever let it go Borikén is for the fighters Borikén is for the lovers Borikén gets knocked down Borikén will recover Gracias a Don Pedro Betances, Capetillo Hostos, Agüeybaná Lolita y el trío El Pueblo de Borikén Will always rise above Boricuas persist cause Borikén is who we love

I hold on to the illusion of us like Americans hold on to the illusion that we’re free My words of love and desire infringed like my first amendment rights My fight for you as intense as the fight for the rights enshrined in the constitution You deny my right to love, to vote, to have gender-affirming care, to make choices for our bodies, To make choices for who we want to marry, to make choices on how we want to fucking live I let my walls down and you erect yours like a southern boarder Are they really stopping how I feel for you? Or will I always find a way to your lands To the lands of life liberty and the pursuit of happiness A land that was taken A land soaked in blood A land that’s haunted A land that only knows violence, erasure, and conquering A land that I want to inhabit at the cost of all of my sanity Because this land is so precious it’s worth fighting for So we fight and revolt and move forward for liberation Hoping one day my love Our collective humanity will be what you seek An unrequited love for a country who could never love me back I wasn’t a part of your great design Your manifest destiny never matched what I envisioned for us The reign you’ve held on my psyche is nearing its end Couldn’t come any sooner

"It started in Africa, con la conga; skin on wood," explains Nuyorican salsero Izzy Sanabria in a now-ubiquitous video . I see it at least once a year on Instagram. I reposted it today. Rauw’s album Cosa Nuestra  paid homage to an era of Puerto Rican music rooted in New York City, even as its sounds and rhythms came from the Caribbean. The heyday of Fania Records—with Héctor Lavoe, Willie Colón, Ismael Miranda, and La Lupe—painted a gritty portrait of El Barrio. Despite crime, violence, and poverty, you could still pasarla bien entre familia y amistades . You could still find your Sofía and fall in love, hoping she wasn’t playing you. Or your Puchi, who barely spoke Spanish but could sing La Borinqueña  without missing a note. Artists like Rauw Alejandro carry that lineage. You can tell he grew up with music. His father played guitar on Cosa Nuestra  and joined his most recent tour. That’s different from someone who just digs in crates for old sounds. Rauw’s breadth is natural, and the depth he brings to each project is like a researcher scrolling through microfiche to find primary sources. Cosa Nuestra: Capítulo 0  widens the timeline but dives deeper into the music. It highlights the Caribbean rhythms that powered its predecessor. Listening, I think of Izzy breaking down salsa—where it comes from, how its parts build the ritmo , and how those parts echo across all Caribbean genres. "It started in Africa, con la conga, skin on wood. El bongo. The basis of salsa, el clave." That’s what Carita Linda , Caribeño , and GuabanSexxx  bring: a foundation that goes back centuries to enslaved Africans who carried their cultural practices to new, hostile shores. Bomba  carried resistance, plena  rose from the hunger— jíbaros y jíbaras  singing himnos  on the mountainside—songs that sustained them while American banks and corporations (fuck Domino Sugar) stole their land (see Nelson Denis, 2015). Voices crying for libertad,  dignity, and humanity. From there, the album transports us to the 1900s as Puerto Ricans arrived in the Bronx, mostly post-WWII. Saso steps in to represent that collective, fortifying the foundation. The ancestors walk an invisible air bridge between the archipelago and places like the Bronx, Loisaida, Spanish Harlem, Chicago, Philadelphia, and Hartford (ask Elena Marie Rosario about Hartford, she can speak for days). Saso brings plena and its descendants, and Rauw honors the “Great Family” of Taínos, Africans, and Spaniards whose sounds mixed into our heritage. (For more on the myth of the Great Family, see Jorell Meléndez-Badillo, 2024.) That foundation is set like cured concrete in GuabanSexxx  and Buenos Términos . Traditional percussion layered with a modern tresillo , like only Los Sensei can do. Rauw’s menacing bars on GuabanSexxx  float like the feet of bomba  dancers directing conga players. The haunting tones of Buenos Términos  don’t scare—they invite the ancestors into the room like an incantation. All that’s missing are candles and a salt circle. "El ritmo. De África pa’l Caribe. Puerto Rico, Santo Domingo..." Rauw goes beyond música típica  de Puerto Rico. This is love for Borikén and El Caribe. SILENCIO , co-written and co-produced by Romeo Santos, takes us to la República and Barrio Obrero in Santurce, carrying sounds perfected by our neighbors. That crying guitar strings stand out like Jenniffer González at a PIP rally—except their presence is actually embraced. El Cuc0.0   slaps with a dembow/mambo hybrid, transporting us to Kiskeya, before a track that feels straight from The Noise in 1995. Contrabando , with Wisin y Yandel and Ñengo Flow, honors reggaetón’s history of being policed by parents, government, and authority figures. Play it in the mid to late 90s and watch mano dura  break down your door (see Marisol Lebron, 2016 or listen to LOUD, The History of Reggaeton ). Pure perreo  joy—like Fania in the ’70s—where youth carved out happiness against oppression and shrinking opportunities. It serves as the heart of the album that unites generations. "Here mixed with the Indians; el timbal; el güiro, todo un ritmo; las maracas..." The album slows at its bridge like an intermission before the final act of a play. Romantic melancholy spills through, the kind Los Adolescentes, Lalo Rodríguez, or DLG might create today. Rauw and De La Rose’s voices ache on Nostalgia de Otoño , echoing Aquel Lugar  as they mourn a lost relationship, albeit more lust than love. Náufragos  finds Rauw, like Lalo, pleading with a lover to see that beyond the passion they share, there’s something real. Besito en la Frente  is a bomba -filled promise, like La Quiero a Morir —an eternal love meant to outlast them all. Love, lust, heartbreak— central to Caribbean music of this era. At first, Santa  felt misplaced, like a play to get up the streaming numbers. But pairing Rauw with Nigerian singer Ayra Starr and Jamaican artist Rvssian on an Afrobeats track reframes it for me. A modern echo of the African sounds that built Caribbean music. A nod to Jamaicans who migrated to Panama and birthed rhythms that decades later became reggaetón (have you stopped and listened to LOUD yet? ReggaetonConLaGata is another great resource and her podcast is a must listen). You could make the case, at least. Shrugs. "And now, the heartbeat, the SOUL, el corazón de la salsa; the bass... From Europe, Europa, the 88s; el piano... The sons and daughters came to the United States, the influence of jazz; the brass!" Sanabria’s words ring as the album closes with Callejón de los Secretos , FALSEDAD , and Mirando al Cielo . BOY, am I hooked. Rauw mixed the parts into a whole, like a curandera  preparing a remedy in a pilón . For this 34-year-old Boricua of the diaspora, it cures homesickness, sparks belonging (and Saturday cleaning), and radiates joy—a sonrisa , a loud WEPA . The duet with Mon Laferte recalls La India and Marc Anthony’s Vivir lo Nuestro : two singers sparring, bar by bar, over love and forgiveness. FALSEDAD  is no cover; it’s Rauw embodying a salsero in his prime, as an ode to Frankie Ruiz, Eddie Santiago, Héctor Lavoe, but adding his own fire. Finally, Mirando al Cielo  closes the circle. I can see the full salsa band, beckoning the floor to move beneath me, cross-body leads, double turns, shoulders shimmying coming out naturally. I’ve always dreamed of singing backup in a salsa band, and Rauw makes that dream real for three minutes. Artists like Rauw and Benito honor those of us raised in the diaspora. We grew up with a fierce love for an archipelago we didn’t live in. I’m lucky I spent summers with tíos Gillie y Iván, titis Millie y Yoly, abuela Nellie, and of course, to’ los primos. Luckily I can still return each year and show Amaree the land of her ancestors. But even if I couldn’t, Rauw Alejandro brings that essence: continuation of culture, recognition of history, and deep love for Borikén. Gracias, Raúl.

As I’m figuring out what I want to do with my life, part of what gets me stuck is guilt. In an individualistic, capitalist society, I’m encouraged to turn my hobbies into side hustles. To find a way to monetize what I do. To dedicate hours of spare time, to get where I need to be. And I reject the desire to be a producer for this system. I choose to accept that the pull to be productive all the fucking time is a symptom of this kind of system. I also need to balance that with the fact that when we lived in more communal spaces, there were trades people. There was exchange and cooperation. Maybe what I’m doing can be in contrary to capitalism and for the pursuit of building community. I don’t need to become a millionaire and grow and scale and stretch, but if I could be sustained by what I am doing, isn’t that enough?

I’m filled with so much emotion. I feel overwhelmed by the world. I don’t know where, or even how to exert my efforts in a way that would make me feel full. I just want humanity to thrive and for the people of Puerto Rico to be good. To be fulfilled and in control of their own destiny. There’s a magnetic force that yanks me from CT and teleports me to PR. Being a kid of the diaspora we have this romanticized vision of the archipelago. And it’s so much harder for the people who live there on the daily. But no es culpa del pueblo. How can you expect to live a life that’s fulfilling when there’s rampant corruption and disregard for the poorest of the poor. I see it here too. I think because PR is so small, I can really wrap my mind around it all. Around the systemic issues. The obvious systems of oppression that benefit outsiders, gringos, at the expense of the locals. I can also see the power of the revolution and can see a different future for the island. Much of the time I feel torn cause I’m not really from there. Pero yo sería borincano aunque naciera en la luna.

Young bori boy No sabía su voz, no tocó un microphone Soy un nene producido con perreo y con sazón Su música siempre me ponía en mi zone Me pidió que le dejara caer to’ el peso, y quiso que me que la pase bien Me bendijo la hora en que encontré la abusadora porque la noche lo pidió y el destino se decidió Me enseñó como hacer el amor por el teléfono y ahora las fanáticas están adicta a mi flow Me permitió sentir el ritmo de la melodía y salió conmigo pa la calle sin rumbo Me dejó gozándome la vida como la callaita Me dejó desenfocaó en una nota rara Me dejó dando vuelta en mi cabeza flow NASCAR Me dejó siempre pidiendo el perrEoOOO Tainy sigue siendo la cabra, el mejor El llenó to’ mis mixtapes cuando era chamaquito Siento igualito escuchándolo ahora que soy mayor Y en esta etapa de mi vida sigue como mi favorito

They say that bullets are nameless Lately I feel like that’s bullshit There’s a bullet out there with my name Coming from the top of a full clip I’ve been cemented in my car outside the movie theater  I’ve been stopped in my tracks at the mall I’ve been frozen in a packed park on a summer day I’ve been stunned when my mom makes a call I can spot all the exits in Walmart and ShopRite I can spot all the exits I’d take at the parade I can spot all the exits at my college campus office I can spot all the exits but a difference may not be made  I wish my life, my daughter’s life, my partner’s life,  Mattered more to you I wish my neighbor’s life, that stranger’s life Mattered more to you Insensitivity builds, it’s left me numb Our safety is unjust delusion Gaslight myself to feel joy Pop, pop, pop as I reach my conclusion

Why don’t we ask white Puerto Ricans how they know if they’re white? Why don’t we ask them to unpack their whiteness and what it means to them Why don’t we question a white Puerto Rican who says “but I’m not white” Why do we question a Black Puerto Rican who says “but I’m Puerto Rican” Why don’t we ask Puerto Ricans about how their racial identity is tied to colonialism  Why don’t we ask Puerto Ricans about their skin color period Why is the only time we question it is when a Black Puerto Rican starts speaking Spanish  Why don’t we keep that same energy for the white Puerto Rican spewing supremacist ideas Why don’t we question how whole neighborhoods in Puerto Rico are Black and poor Why don’t we question the white Puerto Ricans who push for charter schools instead of funding el pueblo  Why don’t we question why the government passes tax incentives for white outsiders and not for the Puerto Ricans who live there Why do you get so caught up in my generalizations and not on the fact that working class Puerto Ricans will soon have no home I know why Cause the Yanquis do things the right way, I mean the white way Cause the Yanquis had to domesticate a whole people, keep the savages docile Cause the Yanquis just extract extract and extract without giving anything back The only thing they give us is self loathing The only thing they give is blame The only thing they give is sickness The only thing this give is pain, and suffering, and cancer, and infertility, and illiteracy, and war  Pennies on the dollar for land that’s ours to begin with if they give us pennies at all And to be honest we don’t want your pennies,  Don’t want your dollars, your immorality, your inhumanity, your ignorance, your systems, your individualism, your lifestyle, you Tio Sam.  We don’t want you.

I've been deeply feeling this Bad Bunny album since it came out almost a year ago. DtMF is a dedication to Boríken, Puerto Rican people, in addition to the culture and history of Puerto Rico as an archipelago and across the diaspora. Whether you're in Nuevayol, Bridgeport, Hartford, Bayamon, Aguadilla, etc. it doesn't matter. You feel it. There's definitely more to say, and I wish I wrote down all my thoughts when this album first came out. When it's impact was still fresh in my bones. When the goosebumps still left my pelitos parao. I'll stop doubting myself and put myself out there. It's what Benito would want.

Can I find something to do and/or study at the intersection of identity and culture? How our history informs where we’re going and how we engage with our culture informs our sense of self?  Who are you? Who am I? Who are we? I wonder the answers to these questions through the lens of our relationships to music, art, literature, fashion, subcultures, and the communities we make. The ones we find ourselves in AND the ones we forge. I can definitely pursue sociology to see how they spaces can serve as incubators for social movements; for change. It would be interesting to consider how these spaces can co-opt movements and serve as perpetuators of the status quo. How they can create the false sense of change. How they can appropriate the very activism they claim to portray.  Of course, there’s a level of politics in this as well. It would also be important to consider history and see how people have learned from the past to either make changes for the future or develop strategies to quell angry voices. I also think about identity development and how we think of ourselves and of others influences how authentically we act in these spaces. How our identities influences the fabric of these spaces. For so long, I only considered identity development for students, since I was on this path of higher education. However, I feel like that may be too limiting for what I want to pursue. The knowledge I want to add to the world. I hope to give voice to these phenomena. I'm still looking for the language myself.