Tuesdays of Texture | Week 4 of 2018

Tuesdays of Texture is a super cool weekly feature. You can read about it over here; but the short version is I want to see a bit of your world so link up your post in the comments!

For Hurricane Irma we took in this sand crab to show Little J how we were going to take care of ourselves and each other during the winds. It was a blessed distraction and she got to happily release it the next day.

Have a great week!

Tuesdays of Texture | Week 3 of 2018

Tuesdays of Texture is a super cool weekly feature. You can read about it over here; but the short version is I want to see a bit of your world so link up your post in the comments!

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Beetle dude. #insect #beetle

A post shared by @ naramilee on

Found at my uncle’s. About three inches long.

Share you posts in the comments if you wish and have a great week!

PD although I have power as of yesterday (hurray!) I don’t have internet service yet; will start linking up when I do.

Tuesdays of Texture | Week 2 of 2018

Tuesdays of Texture is a super cool weekly feature. You can read about it over here; but the short version is I want to see a bit of your world so link up your post in the comments!

Have a great week peeps! Share your link in the comments 🙂

Tuesdays of Texture |Week 1 of 2018

Tuesdays of Texture is a super cool weekly feature. You can read about it over here; but the short version is I want to see a bit of your world so link up your post in the comments!

Can’t link up, but please consider the comment section the place to go and check out everyone else’s contribution.

Love you all! Have a happy day 🙂

Tuesdays of Texture, a week of December 2017

Tuesdays of Texture is a really awesome weekly feature. You can read about it over here; but the short version is I want to see a bit of your world so link up your post in the comments!

I saw a ribbon of a rainbow floating on top of the ocean this morning. It looked like a vision among the merengue-fluffy purple clouds, the soft waves playing with the bottom of it.

It felt like a gift.

Then I went into a little chapel in my girls’ school and found they put baby Jesus in his manger in front of the altar and he took my breath away, he looked so precious.

Another gift.

I hope you have a wonderful week pre-Christmas. Don’t forget to send your good vibes to those who need it.

Tuesdays of Texture Week before last of 2017

Tuesdays of Texture is a really awesome weekly feature. You can read about it over here; but the short version is I want to see a bit of your world so link up your post in the comments!

Very short Tuesday’s of Texture post, just to share something.

Thanks to all those that kept sharing Tuesday’s of Texture post during this time. I still don’t have electricity in my house but sometimes I get a little data signal on my mobile, so if you feel like sharing your post, consider the comment section the place to gather and check out each other’s contribution.

Hope you have an excellent week.

New love, old love

I love my island more now.

I love her broken.

I love her with the new love of the newly-wed husband when he sees his wife scrubbing the bathroom for the first time. Hair disheveled, sweaty face, wearing a t-shirt with holes and bleach stains, stinking, and he loves her more because he sees her in reality and that makes her more real, and therefore more his.

I think she looks grand in her destruction.

How all the greens bloomed brighter than before because she took great care to put on her best face for us. She’s wearing her red lipstick, gold sequin dress, her best and highest heels. I can see the sadness in her eyes because I know her so well, but she looks stunning and she takes my breath away. I embrace her with tears in my eyes.

I love you my island. I love you much more.

The Spirit of my island

This was written exactly one month after hurricane Maria.


The Puerto Rico I grew up in is green, all green.
It extends vibrantly until it reaches a decisive blue topped with white frothy waves. It has a blinding, resilient white light that you have to avoid, turning your head from it, if you want to watch the sky.

When it’s sunny, it has a forget-me-not blue sky and everything looks clear and sharp. The sand beneath your feet will be warm and white and in the mountains the birds and the trees will be having a party of joyful sounds that welcome you and make you just-happy. When it rains, everything gets a romantic, almost nostalgic veil and your heart feels like a bolero swaying to a soft melodic tune. It feels like a good glass of fine wine, with a breeze in your face.

I have run all my life, both in my mind and with my feet, through it’s forests. I have laid under a palm tree and thought “this right here, this warmth around me, this ocean in front of me, are of me and I am of them”.


The Puerto Rico I wake up to now is destroyed.

Every single leaf was burned by wind. The plains were so savagely cleaned of vegetation that I can now see from a few blocks off my house, standing in the street without any effort, all the way to the town center, which is ten or fifteen minutes away. The land gave it’s trees away to the hurricane winds as if saying “yes, take them all, I am in need of new ones”. For days after the heavy rains the rivers refused to return to their places. They rebelled a little longer, wild and angry until they finally tamed down like a herd of wild horses that had seen danger and had shown their courage, swinging their manes, jumping, puffing and snorting and then upon seeing that their anger was unfounded, returned to their grazing a little reluctant.
I can finally see the shapes of every mountain around us, and see how so many of them have caves that the taínos used to scout the coasts.

The first time I drove out of my house after hurricane María, three days after it went right through us; through our island and through our hearts, and through our lives, and through our dreams – three days after it went through our futures, for now we will talk of the days before the hurricane and the days after the hurricane and no one will even have to ask ‘which hurricane?’ Because everyone will know – the roads looked like they do on those ‘end of the world’ movies. Every few feet there was a tree or power pole and I had to keep going from one side of the road to the other. There was no zinc piece of ceiling in it’s place and they all lay on the ground looking like someone curled them as you curl a ribbon with scissors under a balloon.

I cried.

It hurt. Every single broken thing hurt. I also felt alive, very consciously alive “I am living right now, in this broken place” I thought and I felt the air in my lungs and I held on to the steering wheel, feeling it under my hands, and I felt my hair on my cheeks. Everything looked surreal but also very true, very on us. I was the broken trees, I was the broken house with no ceiling and no walls, I was the sky over me and the ground under me, and everything was me. I extended outwards further than I had ever before, and every other person around me did too.

We looked at each other and we knew.


The same day the hurricane left us behind, neighbors called each other, in friendly shouts – there were no communication systems for days – and they cleared their streets. People gathered wood pieces from the street and repaired what they could. I saw three houses around my neighborhood with fixed ceilings that same day by nightfall.

I walked around drinking the new surroundings in, trying to make peace with them. “I know you, I accept you, I embrace you and I love you”, I saluted every thing before me. I talked to people I never saw before and one of them, holding a box, called on me and said “do you want an avocado?” And I said “if you give it to me, I’ll take and I’ll thank you” but what we were saying was “would you share this new land with me? Would you be my sister? Would you care for me?” And we said “yes, I will share this land with you. I will be your sister. I will care for you.”

We bathed outside under rain water. We soaked in the sun. We talked to our neighbors.There was no radio, so at any time of the day, I could hear my neighbors singing. We found joy in looking at someone else’s face and bless them because they were alive. Little by little we gained back the spring in our step.

A month after the hurricane went through us, right through us all, something peculiar happened: Puerto Rican flags started to pop up everywhere. In front of stores, in houses, in cars. It looks like we are celebrating Tito Trinidad winning a new belt, or a new Puerto Rican Miss Universe, or Monica Puig winning the gold medal. We were celebrating our lives. It is a wink to our compatriots, it is a hand in the shoulder, a “I know it’s a challenge, but you can do it”, a “don’t give up”, a “you’re doing good”.

The spirit of our people was shaken, but not destroyed. The island gave everything willingly, ready for it’s renovation, but the hearts of Puerto Rican’s it protected.

Every one of us is Puerto Rico, and we are not broken.

Little island status update

Why do we keep asking for help a month after the hurricane?

I saw someone in twitter responding to a plead to help us with a chart of all the “help” we are getting from the US.

It looked real good, the chart. Please don’t be fooled into thinking that is directly impacting the most of us.

There is a VERY small percentage of people in need – in the poorest sectors – that are getting food and supplies. For that I’m thankful.

Most people, like me, have to travel 2 hrs of high traffic (after a line to get gas for 72¢ per liter) to get ONE CASE of potable water and some canned meat. Although we have other foods available in supermarkets.

I ran out of no-lactose milk for Little J and my uncle had to go to the actual manufacturer’s site in San Juan to get some cases because supermarkets are simply empty of it.

Word is there is water and food and supplies in the docks; there is INSIGNIFICANT DISTRIBUTION of it.
And I live in the urban north area, where I can walk to the nearest supermarket; I have family in the mountains were until a couple of weeks ago, only had whatever a HELICOPTER would bring them.

There are families living in roads that were destroyed on both directions who only get supplies through neighbors who HIKE collapsed trails to get to them.

We do have the US Comfort in our docks. Reports say it has tended to less than 300 (actual number was around 150 last week).

Meanwhile Centro Medico, our biggest medical center in San Juan, has every hallway full of patients and there’s a shortage of doctors and supplies to tend to them.

I personally know of 4 hospitals who collapsed because they had no diesel to run their generators. Diesel distribution for hospitals is supposed to be on the hands of the military, in this specific area the National Guard.

I haven’t been able to earn a dollar for myself in a month because I have no constant source of power or internet service. There are thousands (millions?) of people like me.

Meanwhile, a contract for 300,000 million dollars was signed towards a two person company – which last year earned 1 million dollars – who just happens, casually, I’m sure, to be friends with the president and are also linked to SEVERAL corruption cases.
That’s just ONE of the irregularities in all this trying-to-rebuild-our-power-system mess. If I was to write them all now I’d need 4 hours typing into my cell phone.

I have never in my life seen a slower or worst response to a hurricane emergency in this island.

Oh, and packages are being stolen in the USPS – generators exchanged, boxes arriving empty, which you know, makes it really hard for individuals to get things from family and friends.

As I said before, if you feel you could help, contact private groups that have formed to respond to this emergency. I recommend church’s and such.
I saw a report on supplies received through unidosporpr being held up and not reaching people.
The people cooperating with Lin Manuel have reached their targets super fast.
I don’t know about somosunavoz, but I’m super thankful because so many artists united to help us.

So. That’s why we are still asking for help, for people not to forget us.

Have a blessed week.

After the hurricane

Just popping in, from a spot in the street where there is a bit of mobile reception, to say that my family was safe during the hurricane.

The island is unrecognizable, yet I still see it shining bright and green under the ruble. Communications systems are super weak.

Please pray for the spirits of our people, and for our health.

Thanks to every one of you who kept me in their minds, please keep the good vibes up towards this side.