Diasporican Interview in Which 100m Stretches Across the Sea in 12.37s
“What means to you your Puerto Rican roots?”*
When you grow up in Seattle, Puerto Rico isn’t something you can comprehend. When Dad plays Héctor and Cheo, you can’t place the music on his southern shores of Ponce. The only time you’ve heard his hometown’s name out of a mouth other than his is in Cadet Kelly, and even then you could only imagine mud-caked clothes—no white sand beaches or Parque de Bombas. You won’t see his island until you’re an adult, and you won’t go anywhere near el área sur. Instead, you’ll apologize every time you’re asked ¿Hablas español? and respond Sólo un poquito? Throughout Condado and Viejo San Juan, sit silent as folks complain about Nuyoricans who’ve assimilated. You know you’re included. The archipelago is not your home. Nuyorican is just a synonym for vergüenza or desgraciado. You will never be seen as Puerto Rican. And then you watch a Black woman from South Carolina drape herself in the flag on an Olympic stage. Watch as people give her the same questions you grew up hearing your whole life: Are you really Puerto Rican? Do you even speak Spanish? Watch as she wins 100 meters at a time, imagine the track underneath her feet transformed into the bluest saltwater—each hurdle she clears a crashing wave, her body a stone skipping across the sea from mainland to island and you know her mom is the same as your Dad, who’d let everyone know there’s Puerto Rican blood; these are my Puerto Rican babies and in 12.37 seconds a whole diaspora cheers and this time the archipelago is our echo and all the noise blends together until it doesn’t matter which is which.