From a Puerto Rican Girl’s Heart: To Those Who Missed the Message in the Super Bowl Halftime Show

My hometown “plaza” or town square.

I’ve been loving my algorithm since yesterday, and I’ve been sitting with why.

A lot of people in the United States are trying to frame this moment as Republicans versus Democrats. But for us Puerto Ricans, that framing completely misses the point.

This wasn’t about party lines. It was about visibility. About recognition. About being witnessed in our full humanity—and in our full reality as U.S. citizens.

Before I go any further, I want to be clear about where I’m writing from. I’m a woman born and raised in Puerto Rico. And I’m not writing this as a superfan or through the lens of celebrity culture. I’m not a Bad Bunny fan, and I don’t regularly listen to his music. This isn’t about riding a viral moment or crushing on a performance.

What mattered was what the world was briefly invited to see.

In just a few minutes, so many elements of Puerto Rican culture were woven together—joy and grief, pride and protest, history and love. It was a reminder that protest doesn’t always shout. Sometimes it sings. Sometimes it dances. Sometimes it remembers.

If you watched the videos of Puerto Ricans and other Latinos reacting in real time, you saw the tears. Those weren’t tears for an artist. They were tears of recognition. Of seeing our stories, our symbols, our rhythms reflected back to us on a global stage—one that too often forgets that Puerto Ricans are Americans. We are not foreigners.

And that forgetting is not accidental.

In the days leading up to the performance, I heard far too many voices questioning whether Puerto Ricans are even U.S. citizens. That alone tells me how many people need a basic civics refresher. Puerto Ricans are U.S. citizens by birth—not conditionally, not provisionally, not “almost.”

And yet our citizenship has always come with an asterisk.

Throughout our history with the United States, our citizenship has never been questioned when it was time to serve, sacrifice, or be used. When it was time to fight wars, no one asked. When it was time to test medications—experiments that sterilized Puerto Rican women—no one hesitated. When it was time to seize land for large corporations, our citizenship was suddenly very convenient.

We are citizens when we are useful, and invisible when we ask to be seen.

That’s why reducing this moment to partisan noise or pedantic debate misses the point entirely. In doing so, people miss not just the art, but the story: a people who move to the continental U.S., rebuild, serve, vote, contribute— and are still asked to explain why we belong.

What was offered was an invitation. To understand that Puerto Rican identity is complex, joyful, political without being partisan, proud without needing permission.

If you missed that, that’s your loss. Because we are pretty amazing people.

For the Love of Tea: Welcome to the ‘Steeped Stories’ Series

There is something quietly radical about slowing down.

Not in a dramatic, overhaul-your-life way—but in the small, intentional choices that invite us to linger a little longer than we’re used to. A pause. A breath. A warm cup held between both hands.

As I step into 2026, my word for the year is slow.

Not to do less for the sake of doing less, and certainly not to add more to my plate—but to live more deliberately. To savor moments as they unfold. To choose rhythms that allow space for reflection, rest, and simple pleasures. And nothing embodies slow living quite like the art and ritual of tea.

That’s what inspired Steeped Stories, a biweekly series devoted to tea in all its forms—not as a trend or a productivity exercise, but as a practice of presence. This series isn’t about mastering tea or collecting knowledge for knowledge’s sake. It’s about noticing. About allowing water to heat gradually, leaves to unfurl at their own pace, and time to stretch just a bit wider than usual.

New posts in Steeped Stories will arrive every other Thursday—starting January 29th— and that day is chosen with intention.

Thursday sits in a quiet in-between space. We’re past the middle of the week, most of the work behind us, yet not quite at the weekend. It’s often when the pace starts to quicken again—hurry through today so we can get to Friday.

This series is an invitation to resist that rush. To slow down on Thursday. To mentally set the work aside. To ease ourselves gently toward the weekend instead of sprinting into it.

Over the coming months, we’ll explore:

  • Different varieties of tea, from the lightest whites to the deepest, earthiest blends

  • The history and culture behind tea across the world

  • Simple, unfussy ways to brew and enjoy tea well

  • Thoughtful accompaniments—small bites meant to complement the moment

Each biweekly post is meant to be lingered over, just like a good cup of tea. Tea teaches us that waiting is not wasted time. That some things cannot—and should not—be hurried. That presence is often found in repetition and ritual.

This series is for anyone craving a gentler pace. For those who want moments of quiet woven into ordinary days. For those who believe slow living isn’t about perfection—it’s about attention.

So put the kettle on. Let the leaves steep. And stay awhile.

Welcome to Steeped Stories. Hope you can join us.