I AM PUERTO RICAN It’s 5 o’clock in the morning... the familiar smell of home-grown coffee, slowly simmering atop the gas stove, rouses me from sleep. I hear a muffled clinking of metal coming from the kitchen, as my mother struggles in vain to quietly wash the pots and pans. I know by the familiar smells and sounds that it’s time to get up and get ready to catch the school bus. The routine is comforting. I climb out of bed and slowly drag myself down the hall, towards the kitchen. I rub my eyes, still half shut from sleepiness. The dim light of morning seeps through the partially opened kitchen window and reflects against the wall. Except for the small rays of light, the room is dark. I peek around the kitchen and see my mother’s silhouette. She sits in her usual spot crouched against the wall, while quietly sipping her coffee. I watch for a moment taking in these fleeting seconds... All is quiet. Except for the occasional crow of a rooster out in the distance, everything is still. Puerto Rico seems to have stopped in time. The image embedded clearly in my mind. Images that are part of my culture and who I am... I am Puerto Rican. |