Bridging the Gap

The rule was simple, unspoken, but clear:
“Mami, did you say hello to your wela?”
My grandma’s question, a thread of respect,
A rule I had to get right.
But for me, it was the true start
Of trying to close a gap that
Separate me and identity.

My great-grandma’s stories are wild, no filter,
Told in Spanglish, so full of drama.
I could follow along, catch the stories easy.
Until English left her mouth, leaving just Spanish.
My brain would freeze, a full stop.
I felt that shame, the annoying little voice:
With your messed up Spanish, can you even claim this?
Am I really Boricua?

I downloaded those apps, you know the ones,
But they had no clue about our words.
The ones I already knew, all wrong
They’d tell me “niña”, no “es una nena”
“bochinche”, no “es chisme”
You can’t learn the feel of Puerto Rican Spanish
It’s in your blood, carried through generations.

Everyone told me, it’ll be easy for you.
So very simple, yet so very complicated.

My mind constantly blocked me.

I didn’t want it to, It just did.
stop always answering in English.
It was so embarrassing, My replies were basic, bland with no sazon
But each messed-up sentence signified effort.

Then my best friend, Super Boricua.
being with her, she’d teach me the slang—
the real talk you use with friends, not just family.
Practicing with her made it feel less heavy.
Everyday, I understood a little more.
A beautiful process.
I started getting the jokes, feeling the rhythm in the room.
The gaps started coming together.

I now answer my great-grandma in Spanish.
Her whole face lites up— like really lites up.
It wasn’t about my grammar being perfect.
It was about her seeing that I wanted to get it, to get her
To get our culture.

That was the whole point.

I’m not trying to be perfect. I’m still learning.
It’s about feeling closer to where I come from.
That gap doesn’t feel so wide anymore.
Step by step, word by word.
The efforts are worth it.