Going Home

I lost my ruby red slippers. I can't go back home again. Not the home I knew growing up - the one gift wrapped in my memories. In truth, I don't think that anyone can go home again. What one can do is acknowledge that "home" is where the source is, where everything else stems from.

My "I" lies in Puerto Rico. I was born and raised on the island. The labels used in America - Hispanic, Latina, Minority, were confusing to me. I am Puerto Rican. That is the core I built upon. My journey into adulthood took me to England, the United States, El Salvador, Cuba, Sierra Leone. I am now like a tree whose roots have extended far beyond its base.

I tried to go back about four years ago. I accepted a job in media and decided that I would give back what I had gained in the many years I was away. I soon learned that what I thought was a positive was considered very negative back "home." I was not only perceived as different. To those that had stayed, I had stopped being Puerto Rican. I became somewhat of an anomaly. I soon found out that one can never go home, but must also never look back in anger. Just accept what was, where you started from and confirm where you are. And go from there.