Skip to main content


Showing posts from March, 2013

When I was Puerto Rican

"El fanguito," or the little mud pile is, or was an 'arrabal' a place like the favelas in Brazil. An unstructured extremely poor housing. This one, the mud pile apparently stank quite a lot. I was very young when it was razed down and it's inhabitants moved to public housing. But still if the wind hits you just right you can smell the mangrove smell of decay.

Today, I smell that smell so strongly. I'd been saying how one of the advantages of a crisis like the one Puerto Rico is facing is that you can't deny it. You can't hide from the reality of it. Yet apparently you can. At least on my family denial is alive and well. Suddenly, having to defend one's position that staying in "el fanguito" is maybe not such a good idea, you can't stop smelling the scent of decay.

Like a wizard, one creates the future out of the imagination, whole cloth. Then draws the present there. Otherwise one plods along the available roads and if they all suck …