Here is What Bad Bunny Meant to Me: It’s Beautifully Complicated
As a second generation Cuban and Puerto Rican American, watching Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio (Bad Bunny) take the stage was the first time in my life I felt a real, unexpected sense of American pride. A sense of pride that felt honest. Personal. Like a quiet recognition instead of a performance. We moved a lot when I was a kid. I was born in California, where some of my earliest memories are the seal bridge and salty air. I grew up in Miami, in a world of fast Spanish, Cuban cafecito , and loud family parties that went late into the night. Yes, like in the Superbowl half-time show, kids falling asleep on chairs, couches, or right in the middle of the living room was normal. The noise did not disrupt us. The music, the laughter, the shouting that was our lullaby . That was family. That was love. That was safety. Then came Maine, my first experience in rural America. Then Wisconsin, where I wildly ran through (and got lost in) cornfields. Vivid memories of bright green stalks and...