On Puerto Rico: Introduction
This is the introduction to a 4-chapter narrative that will take place over the next four weeks in a tribute to the place I love most and the new beginnings that have surged for its people following Hurricane Maria's destructive passing through Puerto Rico. In spite of the self-sabotaging thoughts that constantly want me to believe "nobody cares about your story", "everybody's tired of hearing about Puerto Rico", and "you're full of shit, you did nothing", I'm sharing this series to celebrate opportunities in difficult circumstances, inspire change through purposeful action, and definitively put an end to my own grief.
how it all started
Hurricane Maria crossed Puerto Rico as a Category 4 hurricane on September 20th, 2017. It was the second major hurricane to hit the island in a two-week period. Due to its almost perfectly diagonal path from one corner of the island to the other, and an impressive eye, Maria caused massive destruction and chaos in a way no Puerto Rican alive had ever experienced before. In some ways, life will never be what it was.
Remains of what used to be a local bar on Road #110 in Aguadilla, PR.
For Puerto Ricans, the aftermath of Hurricane Maria was experienced in one of two distinct ways. The first and most obvious is from a survivor standpoint: the people who live to tell the storm stories that Puerto Rican children and grandchildren will hear for decades. The second, the one I can attest to and would not wish on my worst enemy, was from a by-stander standpoint, experienced by Puerto Ricans in mainland USA and the rest of the world. For us away from home, watching in horror the few pictures that circled in the internet for the first three days after the storm, Maria went straight through our hearts and tore us to pieces.
The first week after the storm's passing was a monochromatic blur of confusion and sadness. It was a brutally unforgiving waiting game where information was scarce and dreadful. Nobody knew how their loved ones were doing for days that felt eternal, and whoever had gotten news of their friends and family knew the situation was bad. Facebook was a chaotic mess of Diasporicans (myself included) losing their minds trying to connect with anyone in the island.
It was a desperate moment. However, in that desperation came opportunities to be of service. Donation centers for hurricane relief efforts popped up left and right. Funding campaigns started by students, professionals, NGO's, and even high profile celebrities conjunctively raised millions of dollars. Boricuas all over started looking for opportunities to volunteer in the reconstruction efforts. In the midst of the madness and uncertainty, we Puerto Ricans got to work, hoping to make a difference and give back to our home and people.
On September 29th, my dad called me from the roof of my aunt's house two hours away from where my family lives. Through bad cell phone reception, he told me what he'd seen and the circumstances the people of Puerto Rico were living under: no communication, kilometric lines for gas and diesel fuel, no food in grocery stores, no access to cash, people enduring a heat wave without running water or electricity. The conversation, which lasted a whole 13 minutes (an impressive record), quickly turned into a call to action. "All the relief efforts are focusing on the immediate and short term needs, but nobody is taking a moment to think about the needs we'll face once we're out of the state of emergency", he told me. "Nobody has electricity service, and there are places who won't see power restored in many months. Diesel generators become a problem over time, and there are services that need power restored as soon as possible". He was alluding to small hospitals, dialysis centers, and children's homes which serve a population dependent on machines and electronic devices to live. My dad, an electrical engineer with background in power systems and co-founder of the solar power company Pura Energía, asked me to reach out to my employer (Dominion Energy, a power generation and distribution company) and people on social media to raise funds for a new initiative, called the Puerto Rico Energy Security Initiative (PRESI), which he began with sonnen, Inc., a German manufacturing company of residential micro-grid and battery systems. Specifically, the money would go to the solar panels they would use to install these off-grid systems in key locations to benefit marginalized communities all over the island.
At first, I was hesitant to even begin a funding campaign. Looking back on it, I was afraid of failing to meet a goal like that so publicly. I did, though, and after it was done I started spamming my Facebook and Instagram with messages related to PRESI, becoming a restless advocate for the initiative. I drafted a 2-page preliminary project plan with the limited information I had, and without any sort of credibility I asked people to donate to the campaign. Many friends and acquaintances showed interest, but I made very little progress towards the goal.
For the first week and a half, I also got rejected many times by the people I was reaching out to within Dominion. I was politely declined any sort of help from multiple departments, their people trying to make me aware of the company's solicitation policies and bureaucratic operations. My friend Terra, fighting on my side and eager to help in any way she could, also reached out to her own contacts within the company without much success.
In a final desperate attempt to get attention for the project I was championing, I took a bold leap of faith and contacted a powerful executive within the company, as well the site vice-president and plant manager of my home station, thinking that if I was to accept failure, it would only from someone whose vision has seemingly limitless boundaries. These people would be my last resorts.
Less than a week later, I got notification that Dominion would be shipping out over 160 solar panels, about 50 KW of power, to support PRESI, Pura Energía's pro-bono work, and Puerto Rico's recovery. Between that and the monetary donation received from Seattle-based NGO "Puerto Rico We Care" and my own friends and family, we provided all the necessary materials to support a life-changing project that is still moving forward to this day. To everyone who donated, shared, or reached out to me during that time, I will forever be thankful to you.
It took a village, but started with me. We all have the capability to do good, do it well, and do it at a large scale.
Those close to me know how hard the relocation was (and still is sometimes) for me at a deeply personal level. After Maria, however, in an advantageous position to advocate for and help my island, I saw the potential in my move and felt the responsibility of stepping in for the ones that needed me. I went all in. There was nothing more I wanted to do than to find ways to help Puerto Rico, and to my surprise, my management was receptive and supportive of that desire. On top of all the help I received during the solar power initiative, I was granted a short leave of absence to go home and do what I wanted, lend a helping hand and become one again with the community that shaped me into who I am today.
On November 23rd, 2017, I boarded the JetBlue plane that took me home to the mostly dark town of Aguadilla, where the main road's electricity poles were still crooked, on the ground, or snapped in half. The next few weeks were an enriching experience filled with learning, love, self-doubt, compassion, vulnerability, and endless reflection, one I wish to share with you as I get my thoughts in order. Stay tuned for next week's piece on how the people of Puerto Rico showed me the true essence of courage and the power of unison during trying times.