Puerto Rico: A Short Story

1724 Words4 Pages

As I stepped off the plane, the warm tropical hues encased my body and sent a jolt of energy through my heart like I had just taken over 20 espresso shots. The first feeling I remember as I took my first steps onto the ground was comfort. I was home, the motherland, Puerto Rico. Excitement stirred in my mind and a feeling of peculiar longing for a place I did not grow up in and did not remember was oddly satisfied. My parents smiled like they were seeing a lover coming back from war, and that feeling was as contagious as the black plague. The island fever had entered my system and I was infected, the treatment was simply to take everything in and don’t hold back. I remember being nervous, waiting to meet these strange people who were …show more content…

They acted like lazy soldiers who followed their leader into battle against a beer on the beach or a nap on the couch. I knew this lazy look at life could not be a constant repetition day after I day. I was right. Life was being lived to the fullest all around me. People were biking and surfing and running and dancing and being active. The same cousins who were taking naps on the beach were riding horses and playing basketball and driving ATV’s and jumping off waterfalls. They did not back down from anything. They had no fear. When I was around them I felt the same way. When I was back home, the rules my parents place were cemented in my mind but when I was in my island mode, those rules quickly faded into the sky like thin dainty cirrus clouds. I felt free. The aura of the land hypnotized me and changed my …show more content…

An average night in New Jersey was most likely spent vegging out on the couch watching a movie or show on the television. An average night in Puerto Rico was filled with wonder and excitement. Couples shuffled across the dance floor brushing shoulders but not colliding with perfect grace. Their hips swayed back and forth like a rocking chair and their feet moved quicker than the speed of light. The music never stopped, the recurrent salsa or merengue rhythm flowed through every house and was heard all over the island. For the quieter moments, bachata eased the tension and cooled the fire for a short time. The air was salty and humid from all the sweat and passion, but what better to fill the air with than the smell of an authentic Puerto Rican dinner. The smoky, rich smell of pernil in the smoker or the delectable honeyed aroma of maduros frying in the pan. The food was so good it almost consumed your very soul and controlled you every time you ate it. The food spoke to you, it persuaded you to keep eating. To keep enjoying. To keep indulging. The food can not be simply, described, it must be experienced, it must be appreciated. The food must be loved. Every night was a feast, the joyous cackles of drunk men and flirtatious laughs of tipsy women filled the night air with life. The spirit of the island never slept. The coals of the passionate fire of Puerto Rico never died down completely and

Open Document