Hasta Pronto, Puerto Rico

In 2009, my life took a turn that I had anticipated yet dreaded—the day I left my beautiful island of Puerto Rico. This story is not just mine but shared by countless Puerto Ricans who have sought better opportunities away from home. If you’ve experienced this, know that you’re not alone, and I hope this blog post helps you feel seen and heard.

The Call to Leave

Growing up in Puerto Rico, it was ingrained in us that if you were smart and ambitious, the best path forward was to leave the island. “Las cosas están malas” (things are bad) was a common phrase used amongst the locals, suggesting that “allá afuera” (out there) held better prospects for a good job and a brighter future. This culturally embedded mindset has contributed to the brain drain Puerto Rico has faced since 1998, which only worsened after the recession.

For years, I prepared myself for the big move. After my wedding day, my husband and I decided it was time to leave. We packed our lives into suitcases, carrying with us not just clothes but hopes, dreams, and the weight of leaving everything and everyone we knew behind.

The Final Goodbye

That morning was a whirlwind of emotions—excitement, dread, and an overwhelming sense of finality. Family members came to see us off at the airport, but the atmosphere gelt heavy with unspoken feelings. Our conversations were wrapped in awkward silences as if speaking too much would make the goodbye too real.

While walking around the terminal, we stumbled upon a group of musicians and dancers performing plena, a traditional Puerto Rican genre. A vejigante—a masked folkloric character popular in Puerto Rico—danced with excitement in the center. The lively music and the aroma of café colao momentarily lifted my spirits. I thought to myself, “This is what I’ll miss the most.”

We chatted about the wedding and how much fun everyone had, but the heaviness in our families’ eyes was unmistakable. Then, the boarding announcement came. I avoided making eye contact, trying to be strong, but tears inevitably welled up. I took a deep breath and said, “I don’t like goodbyes; I prefer hasta pronto (see you soon).”

Until We Meet Again

Hugs were exchanged, and tears flowed freely. Our mothers gave us their blessings, “que Dios los bendiga y tengan buen viaje” (may God bless you and have a good trip). During takeoff, as I held my husband’s hand, we cried together, watching El Morro fade into the distance. I whispered to myself, “Hasta pronto, Puerto Rico.”

The Emotional Journey

Leaving Puerto Rico was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made, and the emotional toll was immense. But in sharing this story, I hope to connect with others who have walked a similar path. It’s important to recognize that these feelings of loneliness, longing, and heartache are valid and shared by many in our community.

A Message to My Fellow Diásporicans

To all the Puerto Ricans and Latinos out there, whether you’ve left your homeland or are contemplating it, remember you’re not alone. The sense of loss is real, but so is the resilience and strength of our communities. We carry Puerto Rico and our homelands with us in our hearts, in our traditions, and in every “hasta pronto” we say.

If you have a story like mine, share it. Let’s create a network of support and understanding, celebrating our heritage while forging new paths. Hasta pronto, Puerto Rico, and hasta pronto to all of you on this incredible, challenging, and rewarding journey.

Reflexiones Desde la Diáspora Series-Episode 1: The Departure