There’s something unforgettable about the music that shapes your upbringing.
Those first notes that pulse through your veins, the lyrics you don’t just sing but feel.
Growing up in Trujillo Alto, Puerto Rico, I found myself somewhere between Britney Spears, Green Day, and the irresistible pull of reggaetón beats echoing through the neighborhood streets and at many of my friend’s house parties.
Even as a kid who leaned toward American pop, rock and punk music, the sounds of Daddy Yankee, Don Omar, and Ednita Nazario were inescapable, woven into the rhythm of everyday life. You could be into any genre you wanted, but once you left the island, that music became a tie that binds. It becomes a pulse; a heartbeat you carry with you no matter where you land.
Music from Puerto Rico does more than entertain, it connects.
I’ve felt this truth every time I’ve heard Calle 13’s unmistakable lyrics and sound while living on the U.S. mainland. And it hits different when the artist grew up a few houses on an adjacent street by your childhood home.
My Trujillo Alto home and neighborhood where I grew up, Urbanización El Conquistador, even was set in one of their music videos. This fact still gives me chills when I see the baseball field, the small shopping plaza at our entrance to the community and the unmistakable streets in the music video, watching from home in South Florida on YouTube with my husband Sebastian, also a fan of Calle 13.
It’s more than nostalgia, it’s a reminder of home and everything that word means and means to others who always hold a place in their heart, especially if they must go and live somewhere else for a better opportunity and become visitors themselves as they return to see family and friends that are still living there.
Salsa, merengue, and simply classics by artists like Gilberto Santa Rosa still bring people together at weddings, backyard parties, and even in grocery store aisles, which is a fact. No matter your background, once you leave Puerto Rico, that music becomes a lifeline, more of a shared identity, a cultural comfort blanket, and an emotional journey back to the places and people you love.
It's the ultimate connector for Puerto Ricans all over the world, who suddenly tear up at the sound of a güiro or the rising beats of a reggaeton song.
And now? Bad Bunny is doing what few have ever done: becoming a global voice for Puerto Rico while being in Puerto Rico, playing shows back-to-back for fans. The first nine shows were reserved only for locals, a beautiful gesture that said, “This is for us first,” as he also found a way to give away tickets to some that could not afford to pay for his show.
And the excitement for the artist being there shows. Seeing my feed full of proud Boricuas attending night after night, it's like a mosaic of joy and connection I didn’t realize I many of us needed.
No matter how you might feel about the artist, and many love as well as not love him as much, his concert residency, No Me Quiero Ir De Aquí (I Don’t Want to Leave Here), is more than a show. It’s a statement. A love letter.
Running through September 14 at the Coliseo de Puerto Rico, it’s already generated more than $186 million in tourism dollars, and it seems like that's just the beginning for an island that thrives on tourism dollars thanks to those who visit.
I first saw Bad Bunny live in 2019 in Miami with my dear friend Meegi, and twice more with my bestie Sharma in Miami. Now, I’ve been gifted tickets to attend one of his shows while visiting family in Puerto Rico by Sharma herself (we love to gift each other experienes for birthdays and the holidays,) and I can’t wait.
His newest album, Debí Tirar Más Fotos, drips with Puerto Rican flavor and feeling. It’s not just an album, it’s a soundtrack to the complicated, beautiful mess that is our island.
He touches on gentrification, politics, identity, and home in ways that feel raw, real, and revolutionary. And while he’s not without his critics, everyone has critics and there is no pressure to like him or to enjoy his songs or attend one of his shows, his power lies in using his platform to highlight Puerto Rico’s issues while celebrating its magic.
Politics on the island are, to put it lightly, complicated. But through it all, the music and creativity remain our refuge. Bad Bunny’s ability to blend tradition and trend, joy and protest, culture and critique, has made him not just a superstar, but a symbol of sorts, of how we love not just his music, but to share it and how it all joins us as one.
It’s a reminder that Puerto Rican pride is not just about waving a flag, it’s about telling our stories, reclaiming and honoring our roots, and holding space for our truths on the world stage as a community.
It’s about understanding that for many of us it’s a blessing to be not only Puerto Rican, but also American citizens that are outspoken, thankful for everything that all the above means, and how powerful it is to share our culture and our music to not only the United States. This is a worldwide kind of situation, and it’s something to admire and be proud of overall.
I promise that you can bump into one of us pretty much everywhere, and it’s so fun to see us when we do. It’s because we quickly get animated, chatty and speak about our backgrounds with love. And we MIGHT just have so much in common and connections from the island that it’s simply uncanny, yet not at all surprising.
As many of us left the island throughout history to accept opportunities in places such as Europe, the Caribbean and Latin America, it’s no secret that we are all over the place. And we are proud of where are from and always will be, no matter where we might end up at.
Home for many of us lives inside our hearts, and for many of us it’s first and foremost Puerto Rico.
Maybe it’s thanks to having a mom or dad that’s from the island or both, a cousin that grew up there and loves to bring you to visit because you never got to see where they grew up and the sights of your family’s roots, or simply because your youth, as mine, was spent growing up there and leaving for a scholarship and life changing opportunity after graduating college, we always have a little special piece of the island inside of us.
Whether you grew up blasting Daddy Yankee on a car ride through Old San Juan or slow dancing to Ednita on a rainy night in Trujillo Alto at some fiesta de marquesina (a party at one’s garage,) one thing is certain: our music is ours. It’s powerful. It’s political. It’s personal. And it will always bring us back to the island, even if just for a few minutes at a time.
Because when the beat drops, we’re home. And in those moments, we all know exactly where we come from.
