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The lights turn on, and I hear the lovely voice of a woman saying, “Welcome to San Juan, Puerto Rico. The local time is 2:32 am.” I look out through the window of the Airbus A320 only to see a dark runway, half blurred by the heavy rain. Not the weather I’m looking for.
I wait patiently on my seat as the front 18 rows of tired and over-packed passengers make their slow way out through the narrow cabin door.
Once out of the plane, I rush my way through the half-lit terminal, carrying only my blue Gregory backpack. The only visible signs of life are those of the airport’s maintenance crew. This is my welcoming party.
I skip baggage claim and arrive at the informal taxi stand –just a couple of taxi drivers chatting while standing next to each other on the drop-off curb outside the terminal. I immediately feel the hot and humid air touching my skin. This I expected; the tropical climate condition Puerto Rico is well known for –365 days a year.
“Pa’ donde va?” Where to, a taxi driver shouts to me, grabbing my attention and steering me away from his competition.
“To Valle Arriba in Carolina. How much is it?”
“$20 pesos”
Twenty dollars seem fine to me so I quickly hop in his white Ford taxi van. I look towards the back seats and see that it easily fits 6 to 8 more passengers. But who else will want to go to Valle Arriba at 3:00 am?
It is just a mid-size open community of well-established people, most of them living there since its development in the ’60s, including my mom. I think the insular mentality commonly found on this island makes it easy for people to settle for life in a single place. But not me.
We get on the Baldorioty Expressway and I start to feel the increasing speed of the van. The taxi driver seems comfortable with the half-empty expressway. I don’t feel comfortable with the rain. But I don’t mind enough to tell him to slowdown.
Instead, I look outside the window and start to see some familiar buildings. Caribbean Cinemas movie theatre –out of business. Tartak Furniture store – out of business. Font’s Tower – Unfinished.
“I expected this building to be finished by now.” I tell the taxi driver.
“Tu sabes, las cosas están malas.” Things are bad he says as he continues, “mas la corrupción.” Add to that corruption.
I knew the economy was bad, but I didn’t expect it to be this rough. I wonder, how different will my neighborhood look?
I look through the fogged windshield, wipers distracting my tired eyes, and see we are on Monserrate Ave. –the main commercial avenue of my neighborhood. Surprisingly, it looks better than what I expected. It looks almost exactly like the last time I saw it; bright, active (even at 3:00 am on weekends), landscaped and well kept.
“Ahora donde?” Where to now? says the disoriented driver, breaking the daydream bubble I immersed myself into as I tried to understand and mentally reconstruct the past three years of this neighborhood. I can’t believe I’ve been an expat for three years.
“Turn left, please. The fourth house to the left.”
I get off the van, pay the driver, and walk up the few tiled steps that lead into the porch. Once there, I remember that I no longer have keys to my own home.
The house where I grew up and still conserves my bedroom almost intact and shelters many memories of my childhood. The place where I played hide and seek with all my neighbors and where I impeded my mom from utilizing the family room because I had used the entire space building a huge Lego city.
I immediately take out my iPhone and dial my mom so she can open the door and welcome me home. Her 3:20 am groggy voice answers the phone but it quickly turns into excitement.
I’m glad my mom is excited that I’m back home, even if it’s just temporary. But I just don’t know if I’ll feel like I’m back home, or just a visitor in my own home.
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