Sounds of Love

As I write this I am listening to love songs my parents use to play. Every word,  every sound filing up the house. We have always collected records and we had the classic old school record player still in the 90's. Record after record of beautiful sounds, maracas, drums, saxophones ( my favorite instrument). All paired with beautiful  words, of love, lust and beats moving you.  If you did not feel immediately transported to Puerto Rico, you weren't dancing enough!  My father always picking me up to dance. Showing me every salsa dance move he could. The connections to my roots have always come out through dancing. The vibrations pulsing through me. The sounds calling me, for which I could not control myself. The love vibes were always strong, love was always present. That is 100%. With out it, I would not be here. 

Most of the love stories I knew growing up were fractured in some way. A generation brought here under false promises, leaving all they loved back home for a "better life". Expectations turning to reality as the island mentality slowly has to change, to the city fret. Hopefully the things that always united those loves were traditions.  Those little things that brought light sweet air into the house. Usually surrounded around smells and sounds. I saw warm embraces and kisses throughout those times, love birds once again united. Lots of music and delicious food. 


During my childhood,  All my father and his friends would do is only be  talking about the island life. What it was like and the memories. The island always seemed like a lost lover my father and his friends had to leave behind. He always had to go see. The music always bringing him right back to that place of sweet love. The memories streaming; you could see it on his face. 

The simplicity of being content with what you have. Living on the mountain, picking your fruits from right outside your door, coffee pot always on ready because you will get guests, specially our family because we always had food ready as well. Every single home around you creating the same routine. From vegetables and fruits from their Finca, sharing Pique & Pitorro to each other, exchanging records with one another, loud music always present. Just loving life for what it gives you. Gratefulness. 

Then after a full day falling a sleep to the luscious sounds of the coquis. That honestly is like a lovely melody to fall asleep too. 

As I've grown and loves have come and gone. Every time I felt the closest to my hearts content would be when I was tapping into my ancestral connections. Remembering the record player in the living room, picking a record with my father, starting at the Pillon tasting marinades first before anything. Embracing that feeling of simple pleasures. Sharing that with someone I have loved or been fond of has been my love language since I began that dating life. I translated that into my self love journey. Then I translated that into sharing with others who wanted to tap into healing themselves and the people they are also fond of. 

Sharing a wonderful moment together, to speak of for generations. 





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