Maracas, Parrandas, y Benito: How I Met Bad Bunny Before My 30th Birthday

From La Cubanita legends to La Penúltima vibes, this is the story of shaking maracas, manifesting a parranda, and vibing with Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio—a.k.a. Bad Bunny.

Before the past decade of wild encounters, my story with music legends kicked off with some unforgettable moments at La Cubanita, the iconic little spot that might as well have been my unofficial office. It’s where I met René Pérez (Residente) and Eduardo Cabra (Visitante) from Calle 13, two of Puerto Rico’s finest. And of course, in 2013, Roberto Roena—el maestro himself—decided I was worthy of the nickname “GinTonic,” which I proudly wore for years (though, fun fact, I don’t even drink gin or tonic anymore—growth, baby). Let’s just say La Cubanita set the tone for a life full of wild stories.

Fast forward to my Chicago chapter, where Ruidofest (RIP) gave me the chance to work with some of the best indie Latinx artists. From Lisa of Bomba Estéreo (diva alert, pero de las buenas), Cultura Profética, Buscabulla, Gepe, and so many others, I found myself living backstage chaos, tweeting setlists, and rubbing elbows with talent that left me speechless. And yet, nothing quite prepared me for what would happen on December 5, 2023.

It’s 11:30 PM. Thirty minutes before my 30th birthday. I walk into La Penúltima, scanning for a table in what felt like a sea of people. Spotting the only available spot—right behind Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio (a.k.a. Bad Bunny) and his mini entourage—I thought, this is it. I sat down, pulled out my trusty maraca (because, why not?), and, without hesitation, started shaking it like a true jíbara, announcing to the universe, “¡Quiero hacer una parranda!”

That’s when Benito turned around. Intrigued, amused, or maybe just straight-up entertained by a woman casually summoning the spirit of Christmas with a maraca in a bar, he started a conversation. People like to say, “Qué suerte tienes, Génesis.” But this wasn’t luck—it was me, my maraca, and my lifelong commitment to chaos and storytelling.

As “Bad Bunny,” he’s untouchable. But as Benito, uf, that’s another story. I joked, “Bad Bunny me la pela,” but Benito? Ese sí que lo quiero de mejor amigo y padrino de mis hijos. His dark humor, sarcasm, and grounded energy had me hooked. He’s the same guy at La Penúltima sipping a drink with his crew as he is performing on international stages. Proud of where he comes from, funny as hell, and just a genuinely cool af person. In that moment, he felt less like a global superstar and more like a panita de Vega Baja who just happens to sell out stadiums.

I met and had the best birthday wishes whispered into my ear by my current favorite artist to kick off my third decade on this earth in December 2023. Then, almost a year later, as I geared up to celebrate my 31st birthday, November 30, 2024, started with a call from my favorite Mexican telenovela star, Carmen Aub.

Tu tranquilo y yo nerviosa, que estos 31 vienen buenos! ARREE.

Gracias Totales,

Génesis

Why Did I Come Back to the Cold?

Or: What happens when you’re Puerto Rican, professional, and realizing you chose the hard mode

I keep asking myself the same question lately: Why the hell did I come back to Chicago?

It’s February. It’s cold. I’m wearing three layers just to go for a morning walk. And every morning I wake up to news that makes me want to throw my phone across the room and go back to sleep until 2028.

Meanwhile, Puerto Rico is 82 degrees and sunny. My people are making coffee on the balcony, talking shit with the neighbors, figuring out how to make community work even when the government won’t.

So yeah. Why did I come back to this?

The Professional Calculus (Or: The Lie We Tell Ourselves)

Here’s what I told myself when I return back dfrom xmas vacations: The opportunities are here. The clients are here. You built something in Chicago, you can’t just walk away from it.

And that’s true. I did build something. Over a decade of consulting work, events that brought people together, programs that actually mattered. I created a career here as a Puerto Rican woman in spaces that weren’t designed for me. That counts for something.

But let’s be honest about what’s happening right now.

I’m watching organizations I worked with—organizations that claimed to care about “diversity” and “inclusion” and all those words they loved putting in their mission statements—suddenly go real quiet. DEI initiatives getting cut. “Budget constraints,” they say. “Shifting priorities.”

Meanwhile, the new administration is making it very clear what they think about people who look like me, sound like me, come from where I come from.

And I’m sitting here with my carefully crafted resume and my polished cover letters, trying to convince people to hire me while wondering if they’re even reading past my name.

Génesis Rivera Candelaria.

Yeah, that’s gonna be a “culture fit,” I’m sure.

The Personal Reality (Or: I’m Scared and I’m Tired of Pretending I’m Not)

I’m afraid.

There. I said it.

I’m afraid of what’s coming. I’m afraid of policies that treat my people like problems to be solved instead of human beings. I’m afraid of rhetoric that emboldens the worst people to say the quiet parts out loud. I’m afraid that everything I worked for—the credibility, the relationships, the reputation—can get erased because someone decided that people like me are suddenly “too political” just by existing.

I’m afraid that I made the wrong choice coming back here.

In Puerto Rico, shit’s hard. The government is a disaster. The infrastructure is falling apart. The debt crisis is real. But you know what we have? Each other.

Porque si hay algo que distingue a los boricuas es que aunque no sabemos votar por políticos que sí quieren lo mejor para el país, nosotros los boricuas sabemos hacer comunidad. Sabemos estar ahí para nuestros vecinos. Sabemos que cuando el gobierno nos falla—y siempre nos falla—nos tenemos el uno al otro.

We know how to show up.

And I’m here in Chicago, in the cold, watching community get dismantled from the top down, and wondering if I should’ve just stayed where people understand that survival is a collective effort, not an individual achievement.

The Cultural Truth (Or: What They Don’t Teach You About Being “Professional”)

Here’s what they don’t tell you about being a Latina professional in the United States: you’re always translating.

Not just language—though yeah, I do that too. I mean translating yourself. Your experience. Your value. Your worth.

You learn to code-switch so seamlessly that sometimes you forget which version of yourself is the “real” one. You learn to make your accomplishments sound impressive without sounding “aggressive.” You learn to be warm but not “too emotional.” You learn to have opinions but not be “difficult.”

You learn to be Puerto Rican enough to be “interesting” but not so Puerto Rican that you make people “uncomfortable.”

And the exhausting part? You do all of this while watching the rules change in real time.

Yesterday’s “we value diverse perspectives” is today’s “we’re refocusing on merit-based hiring” (as if we weren’t qualified). Yesterday’s “bring your whole self to work” is today’s “let’s keep politics out of the workplace” (as if our existence isn’t political to them).

It’s whiplash. And it’s by design.

The Question I Can’t Answer (Or: What Do We Do Now?)

So what do I do with all this?

Do I keep applying to jobs that might not want me? Do I keep pitching to clients who might ghost me? Do I keep building in a country that’s actively hostile to people like me?

Or do I go back to Puerto Rico, accept that the money won’t be the same, the opportunities won’t be the same, but at least I won’t be cold and I won’t be alone?

I don’t have the answer yet.

What I do know is this: I’m tired of pretending that “professionalism” means swallowing my reality. I’m tired of performing gratitude for spaces that were never designed to include me in the first place. I’m tired of watching my community get scapegoated while I’m supposed to smile and network and “add value.”

And I know I’m not the only one feeling this way.

The Thing About Community (Or: Why I’m Writing This)

I’m writing this because I know there are other people out there—other Latinx professionals, other immigrants, other people with names that don’t fit neatly on corporate org charts—who are asking themselves the same questions right now.

Why did I come here?
Why did I stay?
What was it all for?

And I want you to know: I don’t have answers, but you’re not alone in asking.

We’re all trying to figure out how to survive this. How to keep our dignity while keeping our rent paid. How to stay true to who we are while navigating systems that want us to be smaller, quieter, more grateful.

Maybe the answer isn’t in Chicago or Puerto Rico. Maybe it’s in remembering what we already know how to do: make community. Show up for each other. Build the tables we want to sit at instead of waiting for invitations that might never come.

Because if there’s one thing I learned from being Puerto Rican, it’s that we don’t wait for systems to save us. We save each other.

Even when it’s cold.
Even when we’re scared.
Even when we don’t know if we made the right choice.

We show up anyway.

So here I am. Still in Chicago. Still cold. Still afraid. Still showing up.

Let’s see what happens next.

Graciasss por leerme.

Besitos 

Génesis 

Génesis Rivera Candelaria is a freelance logistics and program operations consultant who spends too much time wondering if she should’ve stayed in Puerto Rico and not enough time actually booking a flight back. She’s currently accepting consulting opportunities, existential advice, and recommendations for good coffee that might make the Midwest winter bearable. Reach her at grcandela@gmail.com.

Get to Know Me: The Unfiltered Version

Look, I could give you the polished LinkedIn version of who I am, but that’s boring as fuck. So here’s the real tea about Génesis Michelle Rivera Candelaria– the person behind the events, the hustle, and the carefully curated Instagram grid.

The Professional Fuck-Up That Changed Everything

My biggest professional mistake? Launching the first Sobremesa Chicago event in Puerto Rico – after years of successful events in Chicago – thinking my friends would show up and spread the word. Spoiler alert: they didn’t. The event flopped hard. Nobody came.

What I learned: Your friends and acquaintances aren’t always your first fans. Sometimes strangers become your most fierce supporters before the people closest to you even pay attention. That’s just how it is.

The Cultural Contradictions

What pisses me off: When I say I’m from Puerto Rico and people respond with “ahhh pueLto lico” in that fake accent. We don’t talk like that, fuckers.

What secretly applies to me: Speaking Spanglish constantly. Can’t help it, won’t apologize for it.

What I miss from Chicago when I’m in PR: The weather (that perfect 50-75 degrees WITH sun), the food scene, walking everywhere, and that magnificent public transportation system.

What I miss from PR when I’m in Chicago: The people, the language, the beach, my friends, my family. Todo.

The Random Shit You Didn’t Ask For

I talk to myself. All the time. And whenever I can, when I buy food for myself, I try to get something extra to give to someone on the street who needs it.

My guilty pleasure? El Señor de los Cielos. I’ve watched it so many times I can tell you what season any random episode is from. Aurelio and Rutila Casillas are my people.

Current rotation: Salsa, Gustavo Cerati, and Bad Bunny. That’s the vibe. My one useless talent: Knowing random facts about… everything? I think that’s it.

Hot Takes That’ll Make Me Enemies

On the events industry:

∙ Low salaries for everything we actually do

∙ This myth that you need connections to grow (it helps, but it’s not everything)

∙ The “go go go” culture and the refusal to let people rest

Job posting red flags that make me close the tab immediately:

∙ “We’re like a family” (translation: we’ll guilt you into unpaid overtime)

∙ No salary listed

∙ Any indication they don’t believe in work/life balance

What Actually Matters

Here’s something that doesn’t come up in normal conversations or on LinkedIn: I care so much about people. Like, deeply.

My dream? Having a nonprofit to feed kids and help pass laws ensuring school meals are nutritionally good. A kid shouldn’t spend all day thinking about not having food at home, worrying that their only meal is what they get at school. They should have nutritious breakfast and lunch. It shouldn’t be like this.

The Future I’m Manifesting

Picture this: I’m in Puerto Rico, looking out at the beach with mountains in the background. It’s morning – soft, slow. I’m reading emails with my second coffee of the day, planning out what’s most important versus what’s least urgent.

I’m running a global food business from the island, operating para el mundo. I’m alone in that moment, but backed by a battalion of mentors and entrepreneurs who came before me.

The version of myself I’m most afraid of becoming? Not this one. The opposite of this one.

My Event Philosophy

Keep people happy, respect the budget, and don’t let them see you sweat.

It sounds simple, but it’s everything. The organization, being clear from the beginning, getting the right people for the event’s objectives – that’s what I learned from 7+ years and 50+ events. From intimate dinners to programs with 1,000+ attendees.

Advice to Past Me

To the Génesis from 9 years ago who was just starting with events: Try to absorb everything you can about advertising, logistics, vendors, all of it. Try all the trends. And for fuck’s sake, ask for help.

The Essentials

Comfort food/celebration food/hangover food: Pizza. Tavern style for sure. Never deep dish (sorrry chicago🙃)

Most overrated fancy food: Caviar. Fight me.

If I could only eat at one Chicago restaurant forever: Lula Cafe.

Death row meal: Arroz blanco con picadillo, aguacate, and ají amarillo hot sauce.

Downtime activity that looks productive but isn’t: Writing. It’s how I disconnect.

Last book I read: Re-reading El Libro de los Abrazos by Eduardo Galeano.

The Bottom Line

I’m a bilingual logistics and events consultant who’s done everything from managing national conferences to coordinating crisis response during a pandemic. I’ve built event operations from scratch, scaled underground dinners into cultural movements, and somehow always made it look easy (even when it absolutely wasn’t).

I’m currently freelancing, job searching, and building something bigger than myself. I operate between two worlds – Chicago and Puerto Rico – and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The question people ask me most in networking that I’m tired of? I don’t even know anymore. But whatever it is, I’ll still answer it with a smile because that’s the job.

That’s me. No filter, no bullshit. Just Génesis.

Graciasss por leerme.

Besitos 😘

Génesis 🍒❣️

The Mountain Called “Looking for Work” (And Why I’m Climbing It in Public)

On layoffs, “Exceeded Expectations,” and the beautifully messy art of figuring out what comes next.

So here’s the thing nobody tells you about getting laid off: it’s like being dumped, but the breakup text comes from a Zoom meeting and there’s severance paperwork instead of closure.

In December 2025, my role at Main Street America was eliminated. Not because I sucked at my job—they made that very clear, bless them—but because organizations do what organizations do when budgets get tight. They restructure. They pivot. They eliminate positions. It’s business, never personal, except it always feels personal when you’re the one packing up your digital files and updating your LinkedIn headline at 11pm on a Tuesday.

Oh, and did I mention? I got “Exceeded Expectations” on my annual review like two months before this happened. So yeah, turns out you can exceed all the expectations and still get shown the door. Capitalism is hilarious like that.

And now? Now I’m staring at this massive fucking mountain called “looking for work.”

You know the mountain I’m talking about. It’s the one made of:

Applications that disappear into the void. You spend three hours tailoring your cover letter, researching the company’s mission statement, making sure your CV tells the exact right story. You hit submit. Crickets. Not even an automated rejection email. Just silence. Did it even arrive? Is there a human on the other end? Or are you just screaming your qualifications into the algorithm abyss?

The identity crisis. For years, when someone asked what I do, I had an answer. Program Coordinator. Event logistics expert. The person who makes sure 1,000 people get fed at the right time in the right place. Now? “I’m a freelance consultant” feels true but also like I’m trying to convince myself. “I’m between opportunities” sounds like LinkedIn corporate speak. “I’m unemployed but make it fashion” is closer to the truth.

The financial math that doesn’t math. Freelancing keeps the lights on, but let me tell you, “hustling” hits different when it’s not a side gig but your entire income strategy. You’re juggling client work, applications, networking calls, and somehow also trying to launch other projects because why not add another impossible thing to the pile?

The emotional whiplash. Monday: “I’m so qualified, someone’s gonna snatch me up any day now.” Wednesday: “Maybe I should just become a full-time plant parent.” Friday: “Actually, I’m building something amazing and this transition is a gift.” Sunday: “LOL what if I never work again?” Repeat weekly.

The performance of professionalism. You’re supposed to be “networking” but not desperate. Available but not too available. Confident but humble. Bilingual, adaptable, 7+ years of experience coordinating everything from intimate dinners to massive international events, but also somehow entry-level enough to not intimidate hiring managers. It’s exhausting.

Here’s what I’m learning though, somewhere between application #47 and existential crisis #12:

This mountain isn’t actually a punishment. It’s a clarifying force.

When you’re employed, it’s easy to stay comfortable. To not ask if this role actually aligns with where you want to go. To tolerate bullshit because hey, steady paycheck. But when the decision gets made for you? When you’re suddenly forced to articulate your value to strangers over and over? You get real clear, real fast about what you actually want.

And what I want is this: I want to work with people who value logistics as an art form, who understand that feeding people well is about dignity and culture, not just calories. I want to coordinate programs that matter, events that bring people together, systems that actually work. I want to use my bilingual brain, my hospitality heart, and my operational precision to build something that didn’t exist before I showed up.

I want to stop performing and start building.

So yeah, I’m climbing this mountain. Some days I’m sprinting. Some days I’m crawling. Some days I’m sitting down and eating a sandwich halfway up and wondering what the fuck I’m doing. But I’m climbing it in public because I’m done pretending that transitions are supposed to be graceful and linear and Instagram-ready.

They’re messy. They’re humbling. They’re also kind of hilarious if you squint.

And here’s the part where I get bold and blunt with you:

If you’re reading this and you need someone who can manage the impossible, coordinate the chaotic, and do it in two languages with dark humor and zero drama—call me.

If your organization needs someone who’s produced 50+ cultural events, improved operational efficiency by 30%, and knows how to make magic happen on tight budgets and tighter timelines—seriously, call me.

If you’re tired of hiring people who talk a big game but can’t actually execute—I’m right here. Let’s talk.

I’m not just climbing this mountain to get to the other side. I’m climbing it to find the people crazy enough to build something beautiful at the top.

So. Who’s hiring?

Graciasss por leerme,

Besitos 😘

Génesis 🍒❣️

The Life Advice That Made Me Chaos-Proof

My therapist asked me: “What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever received?” I laughed. Easy. I have three.

1. Gabriel García Márquez, king of dramatic love stories:

“Tell him yes. Even if you’re dying of fear, even if you regret it later. Because if you say no, you will regret it all your life.”

Basically, the Latino version of YOLO.

I said yes when I should’ve said “girl, run.”

I said no when I should’ve said yes.

Guess what? The nos hurt more.

Regret doesn’t show up cute—it shows up at 3am with a bottle of pitorro or mi pipa bien paquea, replaying what I didn’t do.

2. Then there’s the street proverb from abuela’s wisdom:

“El que se va sin ser echado, vuelve sin ser llamado.”

If they leave without you kicking them out, they will come back.

Every. Single. Time.

Like boomerangs. Or cockroaches.

3. And then, the surprise one—from Ray Kroc (yeah, the McDonald’s dude):

“Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent.”

Talent? Nope. Genius? Nah.

Persistence is basically my first name. Determination is my last name.

That’s it. That’s the combo. That’s why I keep pushing, even when life feels like a broken ice cream machine at McDonald’s.

Together, these three advices are my holy trinity of chaos:

Say yes. Let them come back. And keep going, no matter what.

So the best advice?

Say yes, even if you shake.

Say no, even if you cry.

If they leave? Sit pretty, they’ll be back.

And whatever happens—persist. Because that’s the only thing that keeps the story moving.

Graciass por leerme, y di que sí!

Génesis ❤️‍🔥❣️

🇵🇪 PeruTina 🇦🇷

Machu Picchu no nos vio, pero las llamas sí

Prólogo: yo no estaba invitada 🎬

La idea original no era mía.

Andrea y Johncito —su amigo ecuatoriano de AIESEC, que ahora vive en Alemania— planearon un viaje épico por Sudamérica para celebrar su cumpleaños. Yo… bueno, me auto-invité. Porque FOMO es real y, honestamente, qué es la vida sin un poco de caos extra.

Cusco: entre llamas, colores y pulmones en huelga 🇵🇪

Primera parada: Cusco.

Hermosa, mística, con una energía ancestral que te atrapa desde que llegas. Yo, mientras tanto, pensando que me iba a morir.

La Montaña de los 7 Colores es de esas experiencias que te venden como “inolvidables” y lo fue… pero por las razones equivocadas. Hermosa, sí. Espectacular, también. Pero yo casi dejo los dos pulmones ahí. Tuve que subir en caballo porque mi cuerpo dijo: “hasta aquí llegamos”. Vergüenza nivel leyenda, pero sobreviví. Si no hubiese dejado la nicotina a tiempo, este blog sería póstumo.

Y las llamas 🦙 … Por favor 🙏🏽

Divinas. Elegantes. Icónicas.

Te miran con cara de “yo sé cosas que tú no”. Dato inolvidable: una chica comparó a Andrea con una llama. Yo llorando de la risa. Andrea, no tanto.

En el Valle Sagrado pedí mis tres deseos. No, no te los voy a contar. Los buenos deseos se guardan.

Lima: pisco, tiraditos y contrastes 🇵🇪

Después llegó Lima, y ahí me reconcilié con la vida. Los tiraditos en ají amarillo de La Cura todavía viven en mi cabeza rent free. El pisco… mi nueva religión. Debate cerrado: el pisco es peruano.

Lima es un choque de realidades: por un lado, la gastronomía más increíble de mi vida; por otro, el contraste brutal de pobreza y desigualdad que te recuerda que no todo es bonito para Instagram.

Días largos, noches eternas, comida épica.

Lima fue un abrazo y una cachetada a la vez.

Un viaje, cinco países y una Amex que nos salvó 🌍✈️

Cusco vino primero, luego Machu Picchu que nunca nos vio, después Lima, más tarde Buenos Aires, un cameo express en Uruguay y, para rematar, una odisea de layovers en Chile, Colombia y Miami.

Suena romántico, pero no lo fue: fue caos hermoso.

Cinco países, dos primas, y una Amex Platinum que básicamente nos salvó la vida. Perú, Machu Picchu, Argentina, Uruguay… y de bonus: Chile, Colombia y Miami en modo “episodio de aeropuerto”.

Sobrevivimos de lounge en lounge como si fuera deporte extremo.

Gracias, Amex Platinum, por convertir mi ansiedad en vino y WiFi.

Johncito: el plot twist ecuatoriano

Johncito se sumó al viaje desde Alemania, pero es 100% ecuatoriano, y llegó como personaje de serie:

Siempre feliz, siempre chill, siempre diciendo “tranqui, no pasa nada” mientras Andrea y yo debatíamos si matarnos o abrazarnos.

El tipo parecía tener un botón secreto para cambiar el mood: un chiste, un pisco, un brindis, y la tensión desaparecía. Gracias a él, muchas peleas terminaron en risas…O en pisco. O en ambas.

Buenos Aires: rock, alfajores y la hermana perdida 🇦🇷

La ciudad, TODO. La comida… meh. Lo siento, Argentina, alguien tenía que decirlo. Excepto por los alfajores, el gelato de pistacho y los desayunos eternos: joyas, patrimonio emocional. Buenos Aires vibra distinto: calles que respiran música, bares que parecen escenarios, paredes que gritan rock. Ahora entiendo por qué han salido tantas y tantas bandas de rock. Fuimos al party más lindo de todos: Bresh. Y aunque no lo crean fui la primera en irse a dormir!!!

Y ahí llegó otro plot twist: conocimos a Geo, nuestra lost sister. Literalmente parecía que la hubiéramos conocido de toda la vida. Se integró al viaje como si siempre hubiera estado ahí. Cero filtros. Amor instantáneo.

La gente… puro East Coast vibes: arrogantes, sí. Opinados, obvio. Pero cuando te adoptan, te aman fuerte. Te insultan, te invitan un Fernet y te abrazan después.

Perfecto.

Uruguay: cameo express 🇺🇾

Un solo día en Colonia del Sacramento y ya. Calles tranquilas, vibe slow, tiempo detenido. Yo, mientras tanto, sobreviviendo un dolor que, con mis seis años de la universidad Grey’s Anatomy, diagnostiqué como vesícula colapsando. Si me iba a morir, que fuera con esa vista.

Layovers y lounges: Amex Platinum supremacy 🛫

Chile. Colombia. Miami.

Aeropuertos que podrían demandarme por stalking. Sobrevivimos de lounge en lounge, alimentadas por vinito, WiFi, café gratis y las bendiciones de la Amex Platinum. Reina, te debo la vida.

Andrea, mi prima, mi hermana 👯‍♀️🧩

Andrea y yo nos criamos juntas, pero este viaje…

Uff.

Aprendí lo que realmente significa ser hermanas: Pelear hasta que el silencio duela. Reconciliarnos porque nadie más entiende el chiste interno. Y amarla más fuerte que nunca. La vi en su elemento, brava, libre, rodeada de amigos, siendo la más valiente de todas. Y sí, también me regaló la frase más icónica del viaje: “Y ese culo tuyo… woah.”

Clásico Andrea.

Machu Picchu no nos vio🦙

No llegamos.

Pero las risas no faltaron.

Las llamas sí nos vieron.

Y, honestamente, eso vale más.

Gracias por leerme ❣️

Génesis

Home / Home

Entre islas y lagos, aprendí que puedo pertenecer a dos mundos sin pedir permiso.

Me fui una adolescente de Puerto Rico,

con las rodillas llenas de arena

y el corazón lleno de “algún día”.

Pero Chicago…

Chicago me hizo mujer.

Aquí aprendí a caerme en el frío,

a romperme y a armarme,

a inventarme desde cero

mientras el viento me cortaba la cara

y el tren me enseñaba a no perderme.

Puerto Rico es casa —

el olor a café,

la brisa que me reconoce por nombre.

Pero Chicago… Chicago is home.

Aquí descubrí mi voz,

mi fuego,

mi hambre por más.

Y aunque mis pies bailan entre islas y lagos,

I know this —

mi casa siempre tendrá dos direcciones,

dos acentos,

dos cielos donde mi alma cabe completa.

Gracias por leerme,

Génesis ❣️❤️‍🔥

Entre Vecinos y Silencio

Un amor no dicho. Un casi que nunca fue.

Éramos vecinos,

pero la distancia siempre vivió entre nosotros.

Amigos desde que la vida apenas empezaba,

y aún así, nunca dijimos

lo que nos quemaba la lengua.

Miedo.

Vergüenza.

O tal vez cobardía.

Todo eso nos comió las palabras.

Hoy, el silencio pesa más que tu voz.

No me hablas,

y yo muero cada noche

esperando que tu nombre

encienda mi pantalla.

Te pienso en el eco

de todo lo que no dijimos.

Te extraño en un idioma

que nadie traduce.

Y aunque me jure que lo superé,

mi dedo sigue temblando

sobre tu chat vacío.

No es que te ame…

es que me duele

no haberte amado.

Gracias x leerme 💖🔥

Génesis

Amor Colonial

Screenshot

Puerto Rico, te juro que te quiero, pero a veces me lo pones bien feo.

Apagones, no hay agua, sube el peaje, y el gobierno brillando… pero en montaje.

El mar me canta, el coquí me arrulla, pero el día a día me hace la zancadilla.

Entre sueldos flacos y herencia colonial, y un conformismo que nos duerme las piernas.

Quisiera quedarme, sembrar mi futuro, pero aquí lo simple se vuelve duro.

Te amo sin duda, lo digo sin miedo… pero vivir en ti es un deporte extremo.

Y a mí no me gustan los deportes extremos.

Génesis ❣️

Red, Prosperity & Carmen Sandiego: Try to Keep Up

Journal Prompt: Who the Hell Are You?

If your personality had to be summed up in one color, one word, and one fictional character, what would they be? No fluff, no overthinking—just drop your choices. Then, explain yourself. Do they match your energy? Your soul? Or are they what people assume about you?

Now, here’s mine.

Thrill, success, and a little bit of mystery—wrapped up in one loud, unpredictable, and slightly chaotic package.

If my personality had to be boiled down into a color, a word, and a fictional character, this is what it would look like. No overthinking. Just straight facts.

Color: Red

Not just any red—thrill, excitement, the kind that makes your pulse quicken. Red that commands attention without asking for it. It’s the rush of a last-minute flight, the heat of a packed room, the confidence of knowing exactly who the hell you are. But red isn’t just loud. It’s controlled, intentional. And yeah, maybe a little dangerous.

Word: Prosperity

This is my 2025 word. Not because it sounds cute, but because it’s a whole mindset shift. I’m not here to take scraps—I’m here to claim what’s mine. No hesitation, no apologizing. Prosperity isn’t just about money; it’s about thriving in every damn way possible. Health, career, energy, creativity—if it’s in my orbit, it’s leveling up with me.

Fictional Character: Carmen Sandiego

The icon. The mastermind. The woman who disappears and reappears like a legend. In theory, Carmen and I are cut from the same cloth—always moving, always thinking ahead, always leaving people wondering.

But let’s be real. Drop Carmen into my life, and she’d cry like Mary Magdalene, wipe her face, and book the first plane ticket out. My world isn’t some glamorous heist—it’s fast, unpredictable, full of plans that change at the last second. Carmen thrives in mystery, but could she handle a full inbox, back-to-back meetings, and a social life that’s both everything and exhausting? Doubt it.

The Contradictions (Because I Contain Multitudes)

• I love people. I love being surrounded by them, talking, laughing, getting deep into wild conversations. But I also need a hella amount of solo time. Like, don’t look at me, don’t breathe near me, I need to recharge kind of alone time.

• I crave adventure, but I’m also terrified of it. A last-minute trip? Love it. The adrenaline of something new? Addicted to it. But right before it happens? Panic, existential dread, bargaining with the universe. And yet, I always go.

If You Question My Choices? Simple: Fuck off.

This isn’t just about a color, a word, or a character—it’s about knowing exactly who I am, contradictions and all.

Red. Prosperity. Carmen Sandiego.Thrill, success, and a little bit of mystery. Try to keep up.

Besitoss

Génesis 🍒

Puerto Rico: American, But Only When It’s Convenient

Puerto Ricans Aren’t Immigrants, But We’re Still Second-Class Citizens

Puerto Ricans aren’t immigrants—but the U.S. sure acts like we are. No presidential votes, no representation, yet we still get taxed, drafted, and expected to send billions back home. We’re American enough to serve but never enough to matter.

I moved to the mainland, and suddenly, I wasn’t just Puerto Rican—I was an “other.” A tropical outsider. A bilingual overachiever with a permanent side hustle. I had the passport, but not the privilege.

Second-Class Citizens Since Day One

Puerto Ricans have been and will always be second-class citizens in the eyes of the U.S. We’re only useful for three things:

  1. Dying in their wars – The U.S. won’t let us vote for president, but we’re always first in line for the draft. Thanks, I guess?
  2. Tourism – As Bad Bunny said, “PR, archipiélago perfecto.” Our beaches are pristine, our piña coladas are cold, and as long as we’re just serving drinks and entertaining tourists, we’re tolerated. Just don’t ask for statehood, independence, or basic respect.
  3. Puerto Rico sending billions to the U.S. is the real perreo intenso—we do all the work, and they collect the check. We make the music, they take the Grammys. We build the economy, they reap the profits. Bad Bunny sells out stadiums, and the IRS still gets paid first. Ain’t that a remix?

Welcome to the United States (Kinda, But Not Really)

Being from Puerto Rico in the U.S. is like being part of an exclusive club with zero benefits. No voting rights in presidential elections, no representation in Congress, but don’t worry—we can still get taxed and ignored when natural disasters hit.

We’re born into a paradox: we’re “Americans” when it’s convenient (hello, military recruitment and corporate tax loopholes), but “foreign” when it comes to resources, respect, and, let’s be honest, how people react to our names. Génesis? Too complicated. Just call me “Jennifer” and move on, I guess.

The Job Market: Overqualified and Underestimated

The moment you tell someone you’re from Puerto Rico, you can see their brain buffering. Do I need a visa to talk to you? Did you swim here? No, Chad, I took a Spirit Airlines flight with a 7-hour delay.

Workplaces love a good “diverse hire” until it means hiring someone who actually knows two languages and how to make arroz con gandules without burning the kitchen down. But sure, let’s hire the guy who spent a semester in Barcelona and now claims he’s “basically fluent” in Spanish.

The Inevitable Assimilation (Or, At Least, Pretending To)

Sooner or later, you start code-switching like a pro. Your Spanish gets quieter in certain rooms, your accent fades just enough, and you learn to laugh when someone butchers coquito like it’s a Harry Potter spell.

You start craving things you never thought you’d miss—gas station empanadillas, reggaetón blasting at 3 AM, and the complete and total lack of personal space at a Puerto Rican family gathering.

But here’s the thing: no matter how much we adjust, adapt, or play along, we’ll always carry Puerto Rico with us—whether it’s in our Spanglish, our Spotify playlists, or our refusal to accept any coffee that isn’t café con leche bien hecho.

So, am I an immigrant? Not on paper. But in every TSA line, job interview, and awkward “But where are you really from?” conversation—yeah, it sure feels like it.

Now excuse me while I go correct someone on how to pronounce bacalaítos.

Graciass por leerme,

Génesis

Nunca Soltamos la Bandera: Reflexiones Desde “Debí Tomar Más Fotos”

2024 fue mi año para volver a las letras; 2025 será para capturar todo, una foto a la vez.


Gracias a Bad Bunny por recordármelo con su nuevo álbum, Debí Tomar Más Fotos. Este disco no es solo música, es una oda a Puerto Rico. Y, tengo que decirlo, es mi disco preferido de Benito hasta ahora. By far. Benito ha logrado encapsular nuestra historia, nuestro dolor y nuestro orgullo en 17 canciones que podrían ser la banda sonora de nuestra identidad colectiva.

La primera canción, “Nuevayol”, me rompió el corazón. Es el soundtrack para todo aquel que ha dejado Puerto Rico buscando algo mejor, pero que siempre lleva el peso de su bandera a donde va. Es una carta llena de amor, pero también de dolor, porque a veces la distancia duele más que los sacrificios. Benito nos recuerda que la diáspora puede ser fría, pero nunca deja de ser boricua.

Y luego está “Lo Que Le Pasó a Hawaii”, una de las canciones más potentes del álbum. Aquí, Bad Bunny se adentra en la gentrificación y el desplazamiento en Puerto Rico, comparando nuestra realidad con la historia de Hawai’i. Cuando canta: “No sueltes la bandera ni olvides el lelolai, que no quiero que hagan contigo lo que le pasó a Hawai”, es imposible no sentir el peso de esas palabras. Es un grito de resistencia, un recordatorio de que somos más que playas y postales bonitas: somos cultura, historia, y lucha.

Este álbum, en su esencia, es un trabajo de equipo, y no puedo dejar de pensar que los músicos que trabajaron junto a Bad Bunny en este proyecto son la Fania de nuestra generación. La forma en que mezclan géneros, experimentan con ritmos y le dan vida a cada nota me hace creer que estamos viviendo un renacimiento musical. Esto no es solo reguetón; es plena, salsa, jazz y hasta rock puertorriqueño en su máxima expresión.

Después vino “Pitorro de Coco.” Es pura Navidad boricua, pero con esa melancolía que viene cuando la fiesta acaba y te quedas mirando las luces navideñas pensando en todo lo que se ha perdido.

Por último, llegamos a “Debí Tomar Más Fotos.” Si no lloraste escuchándola, no tienes corazón. La canción no solo habla de las fotos que no tomaste, sino de las memorias que dejamos pasar por alto. Me hizo prometerme algo: voy a tomar más fotos, no por el feed de Insta, sino por mí. Porque no quiero mirar atrás y sentir que dejé pasar momentos que eran más importantes de lo que parecían en su momento.

Debí Tomar Más Fotos no es solo un álbum; es un recordatorio de lo que somos, lo que hemos perdido y lo que podemos salvar. Benito y su equipo han capturado la esencia de Puerto Rico y nos han dejado con la tarea de nunca olvidar quiénes somos.

Y sí, repito: es mi disco favorito de Benito. By far. Así que, ¿ya lo escuchaste? Porque este no es solo un álbum; es historia en tiempo real.

Graciass por leerme,

Génesis

2024: The Year I Got Thrown in the Blender and Somehow Came Out Shining

This year taught me a new word: lifequake. You know, one of those big, seismic shifts that makes you question every decision, belief, and coping mechanism you’ve ever trusted. It sounds poetic, doesn’t it? But living through one? It feels less like a beautiful metaphor and more like being thrown into a blender—spinning, crashing, and colliding with all your fears, failures, and unresolved traumas. And yet, somehow, when the chaos stops, what comes out is smoother, brighter, and… alive.

2024 did exactly that to me. It stripped me bare, tore down all the masks I had spent years building, and left me standing in front of a version of myself I didn’t even know existed. Growth doesn’t look like they sell it in self-help books. It’s not graceful or linear. It’s messy. It’s uncomfortable. Sometimes, it’s me whispering, “¿Y ahora qué hago?” because I didn’t have a clue what to do next.

But when life hits you this hard—when you lose more than you gain, when the goodbyes outnumber the hellos, and when people leave without so much as a hug—you realize something: There’s no script. We’re all improvising. We don’t understand this life, not really. We just know we’re here, for now, trying to make sense of the chaos.

So why not play with it? Challenge your reality. Believe in what feels good, what feels expansive—whether that’s God, the universe, angels, or your own gut telling you, “Sí, esto es.” Jump out of the box. Dance even if they look at you funny. Laugh too loud. Cry when you need to. This life is insane, yes, but it’s yours. Don’t waste it trying to fit a mold someone else made.

Because 2024 didn’t just break me; it remade me. It taught me that losing parts of yourself isn’t always a tragedy. Sometimes, it’s the exact miracle you didn’t know you needed. It taught me that being “in between” isn’t failure—it’s where the magic happens.

As we close this year, I don’t have answers. But I have myself, and for the first time, that feels like enough. I’ll leave you with this: surrender. Let go of the need to control or fix everything. Life is already happening, whether you fight it or flow with it. Believe in it. Believe in everything.

2024 was the year life threw me in the blender. And somehow, I came out shining.

Gracias totales x leerme este año!

Besitos y un abrazote,

Génesis 😽❣️❤️‍🔥

Navidad: Where Puerto Rican Christmas TKO’s American Holidays

Puerto Rican Christmas isn’t just a celebration—it’s a cultural smackdown.

Listen, it’s not just Christmas. In Puerto Rico, it’s Navidad. A season so long it makes American Christmas look like it left the party early. If you’re picturing a Hallmark-movie Christmas—snowflakes, eggnog, and polite carolers—let me stop you right there. Puerto Rican Navidad is more like an asopao-fueled boxing match where we shout, “¡Dame mi aguinaldo o te tumbo la puerta!”

The picture above? That’s exactly the vibe. Navidad Puertorriqueña is Rocky Balboa. Navidad Americana? Ivan Drago—big, loud, but ultimately meh compared to our flavor.

Here’s why our holiday punches land harder:

1. Season-Length Flex

In the U.S., Christmas ends when the last gift is unwrapped. In Puerto Rico, la Navidad starts the second your abuela says, “Vamos a hacer pasteles,” and ends well into January with Las Fiestas de la Calle San Sebastián. That’s nearly TWO MONTHS of food, rum, and borderline chaos. “Navidad Americana” just isn’t built for that stamina.

2. Midnight Madness: Parrandas Aren’t for the Weak

Caroling is cute. A parranda? That’s guerrilla warfare with instruments. Picture this: a horde of your loudest cousins showing up uninvited at midnight, armed with maracas, güiros, and la plena. You’re obligao to wake up, dance, and feed them lechón. You think Mariah Carey has stamina? Let me see her handle a parranda marathon until dawn.

3. Food Smackdown

American Christmas dinner might have ham and mashed potatoes, but Puerto Rico brings lechón asado, arroz con gandules, pasteles, tembleque, and pitorro to the table. We’re not just eating; we’re feasting like our ancestors demand it. Every bite of a pastel is a tiny victory over bland casseroles everywhere.

4. PR Jingles: Beats That’ll Make Mariah Retire

Sure, “Jingle Bells” is catchy, but have you ever screamed “BOMBAZO NAVIDEÑO 2” or ”¡Traigo esta trulla para que te levantes!” with a full band backing you up? Or danced “Feliz Navidad” by José Feliciano until your feet begged for mercy? American jingles don’t stand a chance against the fire of Puerto Rican plenas navideñas.

5. Pitorro & Coquito > Eggnog

Eggnog? That’s milk pretending to be festive. Coquito is a full-on coconut rum celebration in a bottle. And if you’re feeling brave, there’s pitorro—Puerto Rican moonshine so strong it could power a parranda. It’s not just a drink; it’s an experience. You take a sip, and suddenly, your tío is telling you stories you didn’t ask for, and your tía is challenging you to a domino match. Eggnog wishes it had that kind of energy.

6. Burn Baby Burn: Kicking Off the New Year, Boricua Style

While Americans are throwing glittery New Year’s parties, Puerto Ricans are out here BURNING STUFF. We’re talking muñecos (life-sized dolls) stuffed with old clothes, set ablaze to symbolize leaving the bad vibes behind. It’s cathartic, primal, and just chaotic enough to remind everyone why we’re undefeated in holiday spirit. And don’t forget the 12 grapes at midnight—because what’s a new year without choking on luck?

Puerto Rican Navidad doesn’t just celebrate; it transforms. From pitorro-fueled storytelling to watching Año Viejo go up in flames, every moment is unforgettable. It’s not just Christmas—it’s a championship season, and we stay undefeated.

¡Boricua hasta la muerte, aunque naciera en la luna!

Graciasss x leerme 🙏🏽
Génesis 😽❣️

Soy más feliz en el campo rodeada de pitorros

The Men Who’ve Impacted My Life (For Better or For Laughs)

Describe a man who has positively impacted your life.

Lessons, Laughs, and a Few Vanishing Acts: A Story of the Men Who’ve Shaped My World

Spending 12 years in an all-girls Catholic Opus Dei school, I grew up surrounded by whispered prayers and life lessons centered on saints (thanks Saint Anthony, Saint Jude, and Saint Joseph). The real-life men I’d later encounter were less saintly, more complicated, and infinitely more entertaining (sometimes unintentionally).

But before all that, there is my grandfather, George. A man whose wisdom, humor, and unshakable love are a constant in my life. George isn’t just a grandfather—he’s a storyteller, a philosopher, and the family’s unofficial CEO of good advice. Whether he’s sharing tales of his youth, cracking jokes that leave us in stitches, or reminding me to find joy in life’s simplest moments, George makes everything feel a little brighter. His love for family, his endless curiosity, and his ability to see the world with both kindness and clarity are lessons I carry with me every day.

Then, of course, came the colorful cast of men in my life. There was the master illusionist—let’s call him “The Great Vanisher”—who could conjure dreams out of thin air only to quietly slip away before the credits rolled. If disappearing acts were an Olympic sport, he’d be on a cereal box. Then there was the passive-aggressive performer, whose backhanded comments and subtle jabs were always wrapped in a disarming smile. He managed to turn every conversation into a tightrope act where I balanced my patience against his need for control. My empathy was his stage, my patience his audience—a performance I was happy to end early.

But amidst the chaos, life gave me a gift: my brothers from other mothers. These magnificent male friends have shown me what loyalty, kindness, and unwavering support look like. They’ve made me laugh until my stomach hurt, stood by me in my darkest moments, and proven that not all heroes wear capes—some wear sneakers and bring goodies (I mean snacks 😉).

And finally, there are my girlies—my life sisters. These incredible women are the backbone of my world, constantly demonstrating that ovaries are braver than cojones. Their strength, resilience, and unwavering love are proof that sisterhood is the ultimate superpower. Together, we’ve faced life’s toughest challenges, and we’ve come out stronger, funnier, and a little more glitter-covered.

So here’s to my grandfather, the men who’ve been lessons, the friends who’ve been blessings, and the sisters who’ve been lifelines. Life’s a stage, and while some exits are pursued by a bear, others are simply the punchlines to our ongoing comedy. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Graciasss por leerme🙏🏽

Génesis 😽❣️

La gente sabe lo que hay.

Autenticidad sobre aprobación.

My therapist threw me this prompt as homework this week: “What do you hope people say about you?” Y honestamente, me quedé pensando en esto por días. Porque sí, uno siempre quiere que hablen bien de uno, pero ¿qué es lo que realmente quiero que se lleven de mí?

Quiero que cuando alguien hable de mí, digan algo tipo, “Wow, es súper determinada.” Que sepan que si digo que voy a hacer algo, voy con todo, pase lo que pase. Persistent y stubborn, pero de esa stubbornness que te lleva a donde quieres llegar.

Y más allá de eso, quiero que digan, “She’s so thoughtful.” Como que esa amiga que siempre se acuerda de tu cumple, que te manda un mensaje random porque se acordó de algo que te gusta, o que simplemente escucha. Pero escuchar de verdad, ¿sabes? No para responder rápido, sino para entenderte, para sentirte. Porque hay una diferencia brutal entre escuchar pa’ contestar y escuchar pa’ estar ahí contigo.

No sé, siento que a veces lo que más importa son esos small details. Esos que mucha gente se olvida porque el día a día los consume. Yo quiero ser esa persona que, en el caos, no olvida. Que si una vez me dijiste que te encanta el café con canela, ya tú sabes que la próxima vez que te invite a un cafecito, eso es lo que va a haber.

También espero que la gente diga, “She’s kind.” Pero no el kind de ‘ay, qué cute.’ No. El kind que siente, que se preocupa, que hace. Porque kindness sin acción es solo un vibe, y yo quiero ser mucho más que eso. Quiero que mi kindness se sienta en la forma en que te trato, en cómo hago espacio para ti, en cómo te hago sentir genuina.

Al final del día, quiero que lo que digan de mí sea algo que tú recuerdes con una sonrisa en la cara. Algo que no sea flashy ni loud, pero que sea real. Que te haga pensar, “She showed up for me. She was always consistent, She made me feel seen.”

Porque para mí, siempre será autenticidad sobre aprobación.

Lo que ves es lo que hay.

Graciasss por leerme

Génesis ❣️😽

Unapologetically Still Standing

Because This Year Tried Me, and I Said ‘Not Today, Satan.’

Dear Mini Génesis,

It’s that time again—the annual existential crisis disguised as a birthday reflection. I know, I know, you probably thought we’d have it all figured out by now. Pero mira, joke’s on us porque este año? Este año se tiró un season completo of 365 Days of Goodbyes, Bad Hellos, and WTF Moments – I didn’t see that coming.

This year felt like a 365-day challenge to who I was, and honestly, it tested me in ways I never expected. It wasn’t always kind, and it sure as hell wasn’t easy. But even through the rough patches, it kept pushing me forward, teaching me that sometimes life’s hardest lessons are also the ones that carve us into who we’re meant to be. I’m grateful for all the forces that guide my way. Those I can see. And those I cannot.

Let’s be real—2024 wasn’t just un año cabrón; it was un torbellino emocional con aftershocks. Goodbyes came at us faster than a speeding carrito de piragüaaa en verano, and the hellos? Ay, mija, they were más awkward que un abrazo de funeral. But Mini Génesis, you’ve always been the OG fighter—the scrappy one who doesn’t flinch, even when life’s throwing shit after 💩 your way.

Circa 1997? 98? 🤔

And as a proud Sagittarius (y tú lo sabes), let me remind you: we don’t sugarcoat nada. No nos hacemos pequeñas pa’ que otros se sientan cómodos, and we sure as hell don’t live for anyone else’s expectations. We live loud, messy, and unapologetically in our truth. So, if this year did one thing right, it was reminding us to stay true to what our heart calls for—even when life gets un poquito loud and complicated.

Grateful for this year of life just completed. And hopeful for this year to come. May I live up to whatever crosses my path, even if it’s just a speeding chancleta. Sure, we’re a little bruised (pero vv cute), but every scar reminds us we’re tougher than we think. Porque let’s be honest: Sagittarians might bend, pero jamás nos rompemos.

So, as we kick off this next season of chaos (and maybe a little magic), let’s keep it real. Let’s live for the things that set our hearts on fire and leave behind anything that dims us. May we face whatever comes next with courage, sass, and un buen Funky playlist para el camino y pa’l corazoncito.

Here’s to us, Mini Génesis: the dreamer, the fighter, and la cabrona que nunca se rinde. Live loud, live BOLD, live proud, and keep ordering takeout when shit gets heavy—life’s too short to do it any other way.

Feliz 31 inviernos to me ❤️‍🔥

😽

Génesis ❣️

✨The mythic goddess of the feast, embodying abundance and celebration ❤️‍🔥🌝

104 horas en Puerto Rico

Una mirada funky y honesta a cómo el jangueo boricua pasó de ser épico a una misión imposible, con nostalgia, humor y sabor boricua.

Imagina esto: llegas a Puerto Rico con la mentalidad de “¡La calle me llamaaa y la garganta me pica!” porque, claro, el boricua en la diáspora vive con la ilusión de que el jangueo aquí sigue siendo tan épico como lo era antes del 2017. Spoiler alert: no lo es. Pero, si buscas un jangueo decente, un shoutout a Bar 0.2 por mantener viva la esperanza de buena música, buenos tragos y esa vibra que nos recuerda que todavía queda algo del viejo Puerto Rico.

Ahora, si eres trentón y quieres caminar un poquito más, el jangueo empieza en la primera parte de La Cerra y sigue hasta llegar a ALAS 🪽😉 — el que sabe, sabe —

El night life está en coma, y no es por culpa de la inflación ni del reguetón de TikTok. Fue María quien dio el primer puño al hígado y Miguel Romero con su dichoso código municipal quien lo enterró seis pies bajo tierra. Porque claro, ¿qué mejor manera de revivir la economía que matando los negocios nocturnos con multas ridículas y regulaciones absurdas?

¿Y qué hay de la comida late-night? Antes, era normal encontrarte un pincho a cualquier hora, pero ahora, después de las 9:30 p.m., la vida culinaria es un chiste malo. ¿Quieres un buen late night snack? Amigo, NO, tienes que ser madrugador porque, al parecer, comer después de las 10:00 p.m. es un crimen federal en esta isla. Si te da hambre después del jangueo, las opciones confiables son contadas, como el BK de la 18* o un clásico de clásicos: Los Pinos, el lugar donde las conversaciones filosóficas y el arroz con habichuelas a las 2:00 a.m. van de la mano.

Extraño ver el sol salir en Aqua (again, el que sabe, sabe). Ni hablar de los lunes de salsa en La Factoría con Héctor Tempo y Roberto Roena (que en la luz estén descansando).

Estas 104 horas en Puerto Rico me han hecho reflexionar seriamente sobre el jangueo boricua que alguna vez conocí y amé. ¿Dónde quedó esa vibra de chinchorrear hasta que salga el sol? Entre apagones, regulaciones municipales, y la falta de buena comida nocturna, siento que el espíritu del jangueo murió, y ni el ron más barato lo puede resucitar.

Pero, ¿sabes qué? Aunque estemos jangueando con linternas y comiendo tostones fríos en el carro,

ser boricua es eso: hacer magia con lo que hay.

Porque aunque nos quiten la noche, el día siempre llega con sabor a café y revolú. ¿El problema? Nos quitaron el jangueo pero nunca el espíritu indomable.

Graciasss por leer mi rant 🤭

Besiss 😽

Génesis ❣️

Wine, Tears, and Legends: My Dream Jam Session with Gus & La Negra

If you could meet a historical figure, who would it be and why?

Hands down: Gustavo Cerati y Mercedes Sosa.

Let me explain. Imagínate this: I’m in a cozy little cantina, una copita de vino in hand, y de repente bam! ahí están ellos—Gus Adrián y la Negra Sosa. ¿Qué hago? Pues, I’m forcing both of them to teach me the phonetics de Zona de Promesas. Line by line, word by word, porque I need to feel that song in my soul, not just sing it.

Fast forward a couple of copitas más, ya estamos todos a bit tipsy. That’s when I would politely demand—ok, beg—Mercedes to sing Gracias a la Vida de Violeta Parra. No hay forma de que eso no termine con lágrimas (obviamente las mías), porque that song hits hard.

And then, Gus—mi querido Gustavo—would have one job: to lean in close and sing Amo Dejarte Así right in my ear. Porque si no me canta esa canción, entonces ¿para qué lo traigo del pasado, ah?

In this imaginary hangout, I’m pretty sure I’d cry, laugh, and maybe even forget how to speak full sentences. Pero, honestly, spending an evening with these legends would be the most beautiful chaos ever.

What about you? ¿Quién sería tu dream historical duo?

Graciasss Totales 😝

😽

Génesis ❤️‍🔥

I Am From: A Poetic Tribute to My Roots, Resilience, and My Mother’s 50th Birthday

In honor of my mother’s 50th birthday today and the Main Street America staff retreat this past August, I’m sharing a poem I wrote during that time. It’s a reflection of where I come from, the people and places that have shaped me, and the moments that keep me grounded.

I Am From

I am from proud Puerto Rican flags and well-worn sneakers,

From Main Street America reports and Leo Burnett strategy decks,

Bold, blunt, breezy with a hint of nostalgia.

I am from the tropical flowers of San Juan, Puerto Rico,

Bright, resilient, and full of vibrant colors.

I’m from weekend strolls with my mother, Sandra, and the tenacity to fight for what I believe,

From Sandra and the memory of Laura.

I’m from smiling in the face of adversity and high-functioning under pressure,

From “Rejection equals redirection” and “You can start from zero, but never lose yourself.”

From the family stories passed down with love and pride,

I’m from Catholic prayers whispered softly at dawn, crossed with a touch of spiritual curiosity,

I’m from San Juan, Puerto Rico, with roots that stretch to Colombia,

Mallorcas con queso and café con leche on the balcony at sunset.

The neatly stacked photo albums in a closet that smells of old leather and warm memories,

Each page a testament to stories of strength, laughter, and the unbreakable ties that bind us all.

circa 1994? 95?

Feliz vuelta solar madre ❣️

😽

Génesis

Crossroads, Resistance, and the Path Forward

My therapist threw two prompts my way this week, and they hit a little too close to home. You know, the kind that makes you pause mid-session and think, “Oh no, we’re really going there, aren’t we?”

Prompt 1: Your character reaches a tough crossroads and needs to come to a decision.

Okay, not too bad—until I realized my character is basically me, standing at a literal and metaphorical crossroads between two places that mean everything: Puerto Rico and Chicago.

The Crossroads

The decision between Puerto Rico and Chicago has been looming over me for a while now. Both places hold pieces of my heart, my identity, my history. In Puerto Rico, there’s family, lifelong friends, and the warmth of my grandfather’s wisdom. It’s home in every sense of the word, yet there’s this underlying fear—what if I go back and get stuck? Stuck in the ay bendito culture, the kind that sometimes feels like a slow wave of “just be grateful for what you have,” even when I know there’s more I want to chase.

But then there’s Chicago—the city where I have security. Sure, it’s not perfect, but it’s a place where I can breathe, where I’m anonymous enough to build, to grow without the pressure of everyone knowing who I am. The infrastructure works, and I wouldn’t have to worry about power outages or losing touch with the modern world. Yet, it comes with its own kind of loneliness. I’m a social butterfly, and here I’m missing my people—the ones who make me feel grounded, known. My closest friends, the ones who’ve been with me since day one, are still back on the island. I’d have my mom, my uncle, my aunt, and a few family friends who’ve practically become family, but it’s not the same.

So here I am, standing at the crossroads, with my heart being pulled in two directions. Puerto Rico, where comfort lives but maybe stagnation, too? Or Chicago, where I could thrive but risk feeling disconnected from the people who matter most?

Prompt 2: Write about a time you recognized resistance and reflect on the outcome you experienced.

Oof. Now this one digs deep. Resistance? Yeah, I’ve had plenty of that. Especially when it came to the decision between Puerto Rico and Chicago. But instead of making the decision myself, life kinda…made it for me.

Resistance and Outcomes

A few years ago, I was at a different kind of crossroads—deciding whether to stay in Puerto Rico or come back to Chicago full-time. The resistance was real. It wasn’t just about logistics; it was about the pull between comfort and growth, between the familiar and the unknown.

Staying in Puerto Rico would have meant embracing a sense of safety and the continuity of tradition, but it also felt like a risk—of losing myself or becoming too comfortable. Meanwhile, Chicago promised anonymity and a chance to start fresh, but I knew it came with a kind of loneliness, a distance from the people and warmth that have shaped me.

In the end, I didn’t make a bold decision. Life made it for me. Circumstances—the pull of new opportunities, the state of the island—pushed me in one direction. And maybe the hardest part was realizing that sometimes, the biggest decision isn’t a choice we make on our own. Sometimes, life sweeps us into the current.

And the outcome? I’m still figuring it out. Some days, I miss Puerto Rico—the sun, the laughter of my friends, the familiarity of people who’ve known me my whole life. Other days, I feel at ease in Chicago, where things work and where I can move without feeling the weight of expectations. But maybe it’s not about choosing one over the other; it’s about finding peace in the in-between, even when it feels like I’m constantly reaching.

For now, I guess I’ll have to settle for the comfort—and yes, the loneliness—that Chicago brings. The road ahead is still unfolding, and I’m learning to embrace the unknown, the resistance, and whatever outcome comes next.

So, what did these prompts teach me?

Life is full of crossroads and resistance. And while we all want to be the ones in control, making the tough decisions, sometimes we don’t get to be the hero of our own story. But maybe that’s okay. The journey is still unfolding, and whether it’s Puerto Rico or Chicago—or somewhere in between—I’m learning to embrace the unknown, the resistance, and whatever outcome comes next.

Besitos🥰
Génesis ❤️‍🔥

The Cruel Cycle of Broken Promises

The Results Are In—And They Prove We’ve Learned Nothing

Elections 2024. Here we are again. Another round of promises, speeches, and the painful realization that democracy can feel like a cruel joke.

A Familiar Story in the US The results are in, and if you’re feeling a mix of disappointment and frustration, welcome to the club. Deception has taken off its mask, and reality is staring us dead in the face.

Let’s talk about the US first. We’ve just re-elected the man who incited an insurrection—yes, you read that right—and somehow, it’s not even surprising. Let’s not forget that this was the president who faced two impeachments and left office with the nation more divided than ever, yet here we are, repeating history as if it’s an endless loop. This time, Trump returns with Senator J.D. Vance as his vice president, a duo that speaks volumes about the direction many Americans want to go. Vance, known for his controversial stances and opportunistic flip-flopping, complements Trump’s brand of divisive rhetoric perfectly.

Puerto Rico’s Cycle of Promises

And Puerto Rico? Dios mío, we need to remember the momentum that sparked in the summer of 2019—a moment that felt like the people were finally pushing for real change. But now, that energy has twisted into a cycle that feels more like running in circles or, better yet, sprinting straight off a cliff. Jennifer González’s victory and the PNP’s hold are proof of the same game being played with new moves.

Their campaign worked like a charm, spreading the fear that independence would turn Puerto Rico into another Cuba or Venezuela.

And let’s be real—statehood hasn’t exactly been knocking at our door in 126 years of being a U.S. colony. Mitch McConnell—the man who once called Trump “practically and morally responsible” for the January 6th attack—has said that the filibuster remains unbroken, and any dreams of statehood? Forget it.

So many people, stuck in a colonized mindset, fell for that same tired lie again. Take a moment to study the world and you’ll find plenty of successful republics out there. But no—instead, people choose to ignore that we’re already living worse than the places we’re told to fear. Daily blackouts, sky-high living costs, unaffordable housing—and we’re supposed to believe Jennifer will fix it all after 22 years in politics? Sure. What’s going to make the next four years any different?

They pushed for a plebiscite not for genuine progress but as a tactic to mobilize their base to vote. And here we are, with promises wrapped in the same rhetoric.

To every Latino who voted for Trump: No amount of hatred toward other Latinos, Black, or Indigenous people will grant you the whiteness you crave. To white supremacy, you’ll always be the “other,” an infection to be “rid of.” Remember that.

No More Excuses: The Reality of Power

But now, both major parties have the majority in Congress and the Senate. So can we drop the “we couldn’t get things done because of them” excuse? The stage is set, and the same players are still calling the shots. The Trump-Vance administration has a clear path, and in Puerto Rico, Jennifer and the PNP have no more barriers to hide behind. The dance hasn’t changed, but the stakes have. And guess what? We’re still paying the price.

I’m tired. I’m worried. Not just for me but for everyone who sees through the smoke and mirrors and still hopes for something better. We’ve got a long road ahead, and I wish I had more faith in where it leads. But seeing the choices we’ve made, it feels like hope is becoming a luxury we can’t afford.

The last thing I’ll say is this: we’ve learned nothing. Not a damn thing. We keep making the same choices, expecting different results. It’s like we’re stuck in a tragic loop, replaying the past and wondering why it doesn’t feel like progress.

A country that doesn’t know its history is bound to repeat it—and here we are, right on cue.

Graciasss x leerme 🙏🏽

Génesis 🫠

A Tale of Two Elections: The Diaspora’s Double Dose of Stress

Navigating the madness of election season as a Puerto Rican in the diaspora—two ballots, double the stress, and an extra shot of existential dread.

Election season. For most people, it’s a time to choose the lesser of two evils, scroll past political ads, and maybe (if they’re lucky) get a day off work. But for Puerto Ricans in the diaspora? Oh, we get double the anxiety! It’s like life handed us an extra homework assignment with a wink and a “good luck.” Not that we asked for it.

See, while everyone in the U.S. is stressing about who’s going to sit in the Oval Office next, we’re over here juggling TWO elections. Yup, two. One in la isla, where we have to figure out which local politician might actually care about fixing the roads (and maybe keeping the lights on), and one in the U.S., where our vote is supposed to count—but you know, kinda feels like a participation trophy.

My U.S. friends look at me like I’m crazy when I say I’m stressing about two elections. “Wait, you actually care about the Puerto Rican elections too?” they ask, genuinely baffled. Yes, Karen, I do. Because even though I live here, I’m directly affected by what happens back home. News flash: it’s not like my family magically becomes unaffected by power outages or political mess-ups just because I crossed an ocean.

Here’s the kicker though. No matter how much I worry, rally, or complain on Twitter, the Puerto Rican government still won’t have my back in Chicago, and the U.S. government won’t really “get it” when it comes to the island’s struggles. It’s like playing a game where the rules keep changing, and you don’t even know if you’re a player or just an extra.

But hey, at least I get two chances to make a difference, right? Or maybe just two chances to scream into the void. Either way, I’m in it, fully caffeinated and ready for this wild, double-decker ride.

Reflection: How do you handle life when you’re forced to juggle loyalties between two places that define who you are?

Besiss 😘

Génesis 💚💛

Ghosted: How Recruiters and Nobodies Disappear Without Warning

From recruiters to romantic flops, why is ghosting the new normal? And why does Día de los Muertos feel a little too relevant this year?

It’s wild how life keeps you guessing. I’ve learned that just when you think things are going somewhere—boom, you’re left on read. Whether it’s that recruiter promising, “You’re the perfect fit!” or the nobody-wannabe, 0 a la izquierda acquaintance you finally considered giving a shot (and for what?). One day you’re dreaming about the perfect project or maybe a spontaneous road trip adventure, and the next, all you’re left with is silence. Like, excuse me? Did I miss something, or did you just vanish into thin air?

I should have known better, right? At this point, ghosting should come with a certificate of completion. You know how it goes: you send in that portfolio, spend hours on a project (that you definitely won’t get paid for), and then… nada. No email. No “thanks but no thanks.” Just crickets. Shout out to Leo Burnett’s recruiter for at least giving me a shot. But the rest? It’s like they pulled a disappearing act straight out of Houdini’s playbook.

And now, we’ve got Mr. Nobody doing the same. When I finally thought, “Okay, this guy it’s actually pretty cool,” he decides to play Casper. No explanation, no heads-up. Just vanished. It’s honestly impressive. The dedication to being a nobody is strong here. But let’s be real—who’s got time to sit around waiting for a ghost to reappear? Not me.

Every ghost👻 story just adds to the adventure, and honestly, the next one could be a lot more fun anyway.

💀 Happy Halloween & Día de los Muertos🎃!

Besiss

Génesis ️‍🔥 💀

The Good, The Bad, and The Spicy Secrets of Running Food Pop-Ups in Chicago

How Creativity, Hustle, and a Little Heat Shape Chicago’s Food Pop-Up Scene

Running a food pop-up is exciting—it’s a mix of chaos, creativity, and yes, a little heat! In a city like Chicago, where people expect bold flavors and unforgettable experiences, every pop-up feels like a performance. My journey started in 2016 with Sobremesa Chicago, where we always brought BBQ, sazón, and our secret sauce: Ají Sobremesa. While the sauce got people talking, it was consistency that kept them coming back. But here’s the spicy truth: running a pop-up isn’t just about great food. It’s about sweating it out—carrying all the equipment, finding the right venue, and making it work, even when there’s no kitchen. That’s where the real magic (and madness) happens.

The Good: Creativity Unleashed

Pop-ups are great for creativity. Chefs get to break free from the usual restaurant setting, where menus and costs control everything. With pop-ups, you can try new dishes, mix bold flavors, and give people something they’ve never tasted before. At Sobremesa Chicago, we packed every plate with tropical, happy vibes and spicy Latin flavors. From the kick of our Ají Sobremesa to the sazón from chefs like Gabriel Moya, José Zayas, and sous chef Efrén Candelaria (best rice cooker😉) we wanted each bite to bring the heat.

Pop-ups let you surprise people. In Chicago, diners crave not just food but the experience. Pop-ups let them in on the secret, the spicy adventure. Whether you’re serving from a back alley in Pilsen or a patio at SleepingVillage, every dish tells a story.

The Bad: The Hustle is Real

Now for the hard (and sweaty) part: the grind. Running a pop-up will make you sweat—literally. It’s not just about cooking. You have to find a venue, figure out where to cook (and hope there’s a kitchen), and carry everything—tables, grills, propane—across the city. Sometimes you’re lucky and have a good setup, but most of the time, you make it work with whatever you have. That’s the hustle diners don’t see, but it’s what makes pop-ups special. The grind is spicy and real.

Finding new customers is tough too. But word of mouth? That’s gold. Consistency and people talking about you—that’s the key. For Sobremesa, it wasn’t just about serving good food once. It was about showing up every time and bringing the heat. Pop-ups grow when people say, “You have to try this.”

The Ugly: Burnout and Unpredictability

Running a pop-up is exhausting—and can be a total burn-out if you’re not careful. The unpredictability can make you sweat even more. Sometimes the perfect venue falls apart last minute, or you run out of food too early because the crowd was way bigger than expected. And when there’s no kitchen—ay ay ay! It’s hot, messy, and pure chaos.

But here’s the spicy truth: even with all that heat, the most beautiful moments happen when it works. The regulars who show up, the friends who help, the strangers who come for the food but stay for the experience—these are the connections that keep you going. I’ll never forget when I’d visit other restaurants and hear, “Are you part of the yellow sauce crew? What’s in that sauce?” That’s when you know your food has left a lasting mark.

The Chicago Factor: A City That Loves Its Food

Chicago is the perfect city for pop-ups. People here love good food, but they also want something different—something with a bit of spice. Pop-ups work because they break the norms. Every neighborhood—from Logan Square to Pilsen—gives a unique backdrop for creative food experiences. It’s not just about the food; it’s about building a community.

For Sobremesa Chicago, it wasn’t just about serving Latin-inspired dishes. It was about the vibe. Our pop-ups were tropical, warm, and full of shared meals with a spicy kick. Every dish had a story, and that’s what people loved—not just the food, but the feeling of being part of something bigger.

The Memorable Moments: The Heart of Pop-Ups

Anyone who’s worked in pop-ups will tell you: the little moments make it all worth it. Anytime tío Efren took the mic, the energy in the room lit up. And every 4th of July party? Pure magic 🪄✨ (viva PR 🇵🇷 libre thou’). These events weren’t just about food—they were gatherings where strangers became friends, and friends became family. We found hidden gems in Chicago’s food scene, learned from farm-to-table experiences, and built connections that last (special s/o Farm Butcher Tables 🐖)

These moments—where everything makes sense—are why pop-ups, with all their spice and chaos, leave such a lasting impact.

Conclusion: Embrace the Madness (and the Spice)

Running a pop-up is not easy. It’s chaotic, spicy, and unpredictable. But it’s also exciting. For anyone thinking of starting a pop-up, my advice is simple: enjoy the process. It goes by fast, and in a world where eating out can be expensive, creating a community through food is priceless.

The pop-up world is wild, messy, and full of heat—but that’s exactly what makes it beautiful.

Besiss🥰
Génesis ❤️‍🔥🔥

Arroz Chaufa —
is a fried rice dish from Peru
José Zayas Del Río
Sleeping Village.
October 2019

Five Years in Therapy 🥲

When Overthinking, Anxiety, and Burnout Walk into a Bar:
The Reality of High-Functioning in a Hustle Culture

If you’ve spent any time in advertising, you know that personal life goes in the back pocket. Show up for the client, show up for the job, show up for…everyone except yourself. You’ll run briefs, hit deadlines, and solve brand crises while carrying a personal crisis so well no one notices the difference. That’s what five years in therapy has drilled into me—the art of showing up, even when your internal world feels like it’s on fire.

But here’s the kicker: therapy hasn’t been about not showing up—it’s been about figuring out how to keep showing up while also throwing a lifeline to that personal life shoved into my back pocket.

And let me tell you, it’s not just advertising. The food industry is its own beast. I haven’t worked in it directly, but I’ve seen the toll it takes on people close to me. The hustle, the constant motion, and the never-ending demand for perfection—chefs, line cooks, food vendors—they are the ultimate high-functioning machines, but behind those restaurant doors, the burnout is real.

The High-Functioning Depressed Overachiever

I’m a highly functional depressed person, which is a fancy way of saying I get stuff done. Deadlines? Met. Projects? Nailed. Emotions? Who has time for those? This is the real hustle culture no one talks about—where you can be drowning in your head but still manage to create PowerPoints like it’s an Olympic event.

It reminds me a lot of the food industry folks I know—who push through long shifts, constantly on their feet, taking care of orders and customers, while barely taking care of themselves. The grind doesn’t stop, and neither do they. There’s an unspoken rule in both advertising and the food world: you show up, no matter how hard it gets.

The Price of Prioritizing Everything but Yourself

If therapy and advertising both taught me one thing, it’s that putting yourself last is an art form. You convince yourself it’s fine because the client needs you, the deadline is crucial, or the work won’t get done unless you do it. But here’s the thing: there’s no award for being the most functional while falling apart. Trust me, I checked.

In the food industry, it’s even worse. There’s an unrelenting pressure to deliver—to keep the kitchens running, to serve the customers, to work through the rush. And for what? A lot of people I know can barely sleep, barely eat, barely exist outside of their jobs. The hustle culture in food service and advertising is brutal in its own way—there’s no glamour in being stretched too thin, but we do it anyway.

The real plot twist is when you realize that if you keep putting yourself last, you won’t have anything left to show up with. It’s not burnout; it’s the slow erosion of everything that keeps you grounded. At some point, you have to dig yourself out of that back pocket and let your personal life take center stage. And guess what? The world won’t implode if you do.

The Therapy Diaries: How I Stopped Drowning in My Own Head

In five years of weekly therapy, I’ve learned that being functional doesn’t mean being okay. You can keep checking boxes, running marathons in your head, but at the end of the day, if you’re not present in your own life, you’re missing the point. The truth is, you’re not supposed to have it all together all the time. That’s just capitalism lying to you.

But I’m learning to let myself off the hook. Depression doesn’t go away because you schedule it between meetings, and anxiety doesn’t pause when you close your laptop. What’s changed is how I deal with it—like calling out the lies my brain tells me at 3 a.m., when it tries to convince me I’m failing at life.

That’s when I remember this: “Oh how I am loved. As I step out of my own overthinking, I see how loved I truly am. The intentions of those around me are pure, and the feelings I feel are real. Fear try to make me think otherwise, however, I trust that goodness lives in my current reality. I am truly blessed.”

That’s the quote I hang on to when things feel heavy. Because while depression loves to pull you under, there’s always a hand ready to pull you back up—whether it’s a friend, a therapist, or even the reminder that you’re still here, still showing up.

Unlearning the Hustle Mentality

At the end of the day, therapy isn’t about fixing yourself—it’s about learning to coexist with all the messy parts. It’s about unlearning the belief that you have to do it all or that being functional means being whole. And yeah, sometimes it’s about calling out the lies that hustle culture and advertising (and the food industry) try to sell you.

So here’s to still showing up, still being highly functional, but also making space for the person behind the to-do list. Whether you’re slinging campaigns or working in a kitchen, maybe it’s time to let that personal life out for a bit. You deserve to be on the agenda too.

Thank you for reading🥹🥲
Besito
Gene

Shoutout to Belinda, Cesiah and Michelle for 5 years of incredible support and guidance 🥹

Ode to My Most Expensive Misstep (aka ATX)

How a year in Austin emptied my wallet but filled my soul—one expensive decision at a time.

Here’s to the year I kissed my savings goodbye—
Austin, you glorious trap, you whispered, “Come on in,”

I came with four suitcases, one bag, and a whole lot of nothing else, ready to start from scratch, but

Turns out, self-discovery has a price tag, and it’s not on sale. But oh, I was resilient! Who needs a solid financial plan, when you’ve got city lights, tacos, and a deep conversation with your own reflection?

And let’s not forget my apartment.
My first place, my own little sanctuary—
Decorated exactly how I dreamed it, because hey,
When you’ve been waiting 29 years to make a space your own, why not go big?
(Especially on groceries you’ll never cook.)
I mean, sure, my “taste” could drain a trust fund (that I don’t have). Hello, HEB—Whole Foods may be from Texas, but nothing, and I mean nothing, compares to you.

Oh, and Austin itself? Let’s be real—it’s a suburb playing dress-up,
Trying so hard to be a big city.
But I loved you anyway, with all your wannabe hustle and charm.
Your skyline, though? You can’t fool me.
I know you cry when you see the OG: Chicago.
Let’s be honest—The Independent is cute,
But next to those Chicago giants, you’re just a little bro in the shadow.

You took my money and my sense,
But gave me a strange, deep love for starting over.
For building something out of nothing,
For embracing the ridiculous beauty of it all,
Even if it meant splurging on things I never knew I needed.

I’ll keep the memories, the tacos, and a very cute (and very overpriced) apartment
As a souvenir of that wild ride

So cheers to you, Austin,
And cheers to me, for surviving you.

Thank you for reading,
Besiss🥰,
Génesis ❤️‍🔥🔥

 

Finding My Way Back:

La Tercera La Vencida in Chicago?

First snowman with Jose Antonio Zayas Del Rio after some well deserved mezcalitas*

Chicago, the city of skyscrapers, deep-dish pizza, and where winters freeze your soul (and probably your dreams too). Our relationship? Well, it’s been more on-and-off than I’d like to admit. And yet, here I am, once again, back in the Windy City for round three. This has to be the final lap, right? Or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself. But let’s be real, Chicago and I have some unfinished business.

Let’s rewind to 2015: I was supposed to go back to Puerto Rico for my fall semester after the summer, but UPR, being UPR 🤷🏽‍♀️, canceled three of the five classes I was going to take that semester. The other two? Online — back when remote learning was like the Death Star: an idea that existed but felt light years away. With most of my semester up in smoke, Mayra and a friend, both always full of wild ideas, laughed and said, “This is your sign from the universe. You need to stay in Chicago and do an internship.” The crazy part? I actually listened to them.

The next day, I became the queen of LinkedIn, blasting out resumes like I was trying to fight off an army of Stormtroopers. Most places didn’t even bother to respond (classic), but one company, Paco Collective, got back to me faster than the Millennium Falcon in lightspeed. Before I knew it, I was saying, “I’m staying in Chicago this semester.” What started as a summer visit to my family and some of the OG Sobremesa Chicago crew turned into my first “big girl” internship in a city that was all hustle, deep-dish, and endless possibility.

Fast forward to 2016, and I was ready to make my mark. I made the move full-time to Chicago. No more testing the waters — I dove in headfirst, terrified but buzzing with excitement for what was to come. The thing is, I didn’t need the unpaid overtime grind because I was doing something way more epic: being a full-time babysitter and the PR & Community Manager for Sobremesa Chicago. Double life? Absolutely. But who needs a ramen budget when Sobremesa Chicago pop-up leftovers and Spencer’s endless meal prep had my back? Thanks, Spencer! Not to mention the best quesadillas in Pilsen from “La Trilita.” RIP to my favorite spot — you are missed.

And then, 2021 rolled around. After a pandemic-induced stint back in Puerto Rico — which, let’s be honest, was less tropical bliss and more 24/7 Zoom calls — I came back to Chicago early 2022. But it wasn’t the Chicago I remembered. My favorite restaurant in Pilsen had closed, Danny’s Tavern once the best place to DANCE 💃 🪩, my friends had either moved away or settled into new lives, and everything felt off. The magic of the city had been swapped for the kind of gentrification that makes you say, “Wait, was this always here?” Suddenly, I felt like a stranger in the city that once felt like home.

In Puerto Rico, I had become known as “la alcaldesa,” but ironically, my true network was always in Chicago. Every major opportunity, every meaningful connection I had built, it all came back to this city. It’s funny — people in PR see me as this connected, influential person, but Chicago is where my roots truly run deep. I’ve always felt like I belong here, despite all the detours along the way.

And then, the curveball: Texas🤠. That summer of 2022, I found myself in Austin — a city I never thought I’d fall for. But fall, I did. I started to see it as the fresh start I desperately needed. ATX felt like that new love interest that’s a bit quirky but has all the potential. I spent months overthinking whether I should make the move full-time, but eventually, I did what I always do: I jumped. In September 2023, I packed my bags and left behind the city that had defined so much of my adult life.

Texas was great… for a while. But as much as I loved the BBQ, the sunshine, and the laid-back vibe, there was a pull I couldn’t shake. Chicago had its hooks in me. Even though I had left behind what was technically my dream job in advertising. I wasn’t done with Chicago. Maybe I never will be.

So, now it’s October 2024, and I’m back. Am I crazy? Probably. Am I ready? I hope so. This city, for better or worse, has been the backdrop to some of the biggest moments in my life. It’s where I’ve grown, failed, succeeded, and been shaped into the person I am today. Sure, it’s not perfect, but neither am I.

Chicago is the place that gave me my first shot, even if it came with its share of hard lessons. It’s the city where I learned what I want, and more importantly, what I don’t want. And while Puerto Rico may call me la alcaldesa, Chicago knows me for who I really am

a hustler who’s always looking for the next move, always ready to reinvent herself.

So, why come back? Why not just stay in Texas or even Puerto Rico? The truth is, I’m not done with this city. Chicago is more than just a place on the map; it’s a part of me. I know its flaws, but I also know its beauty. I’ve seen the way it can challenge you, but I’ve also felt the rush of what it means to succeed here. And who knows, maybe this time, the city and I are finally on the same page.

La tercera la vencida? Maybe. Or maybe this is just another chapter in the ongoing saga of me and Chicago.

Whatever happens, one thing’s for sure: I’m back, Chicago. Let’s see what you’ve got this time.

Besiss

Génesis ❤️‍🔥🔥

Babysitting: The Unexpected Career Bootcamp

How Six Years of Caregiving Sharpened My Skills for Hospitality, Advertising, and Nonprofit Work

Let me start by saying, no one told me babysitting would be the ultimate bootcamp for all my future jobs. When I first signed up for the gig, it seemed straightforward: watch the kids, keep them alive, feed them, and maybe sneak in a few life lessons. What I didn’t expect was that over the span of six years, the things I learned from being a full-time babysitter would mold and sharpen skills that would serve me in ways I never imagined—from hospitality in Chicago, to crafting campaigns at Arc Worldwide, to working for communities at Main Street America.

Because let’s be real: you don’t spend six years babysitting without learning some hardcore survival skills.

Step One: Sobremesa and the Art of Hospitality (Or: Why Toddlers Are Basically Tiny Food Critics)

My journey from babysitting to hospitality started with Sobremesa Chicago, a place where I learned that serving food is only half the job. The other half is knowing how to create experiences people will remember. And trust me, nothing teaches you patience like a kid in a full-on grocery store meltdown. AB might not have had a picky eater phase, but oh, the tantrums. I still remember those moments right in the middle of the aisle—usually near the checkout line, because timing is everything, right? The best part? I couldn’t help but laugh internally because these little firestorms of emotion were over something as small as cereal choices.

Working at Sobremesa taught me that people are a little like toddlers (stay with me here). Customers also have their expectations, quirks, and moods. They not throw themselves on the floor screaming over Captain Crunch, but managing emotions, curating experiences, and offering a sense of comfort are universal skills. In hospitality, it’s not just about the food—it’s about making everyone feel at home, even when things don’t go as planned.

And if AB’s “Where’s Moana?” phase taught me anything, it’s that the details matter. If I sit through 300+ showings of Moana without losing my mind, I certainly manage the quirks of restaurant guests. Let’s just say that “You’re Welcome” became my unofficial mantra, whether I was serving a tripleta or managing a crying toddler.

Step Two: Arc Worldwide and the Advertising Hustle (AKA: Turning Chaos into Strategy)

Transitioning into advertising with Arc Worldwide was like going from toddler wrangling to managing full-grown toddlers with bigger budgets and tighter deadlines. In advertising, much like babysitting, adaptability is everything. When things get chaotic—whether it’s dealing with a last-minute change or navigating a brainstorming session that feels like herding cats—you learn to pivot and keep moving forward.

One thing I learned early on? Time management. In babysitting, there’s no such thing as a set schedule. Snack time turns into naptime, and naptime becomes, well, who knows? That same flexibility served me well in advertising. Deadlines change, meetings pop up out of nowhere, and you’ve got to juggle it all with a smile (or a silent scream).

And then, there was the word “indulgence.” I swear, there was one client who used it 33,333 times. It was like playing a game of word bingo—except, I always won. If you can keep your cool through that and still deliver, you’re golden.

Step Three: Main Street America and Nonprofit Work (Or: Why Being a Babysitter Prepares You to Advocate for Change)

Now, here I am, working for Main Street America, a nonprofit that empowers local communities. The stakes are higher, but the lessons from babysitting still apply. Kids have an incredible way of reminding you what matters most: consistency, showing up, and listening even when things are chaotic. With nonprofit work, much like babysitting, you’re navigating complex emotions, advocating for change, and hoping that your efforts make a lasting impact.

Remember how I mentioned AB’s tantrums? Well, replace that with navigating community stakeholders, grant applications, and event planning, and you get the idea. Just like calming a grocery store meltdown, working in nonprofit requires patience, empathy, and a commitment to seeing things through—even when the path is anything but easy.

Nonprofit work, much like babysitting, is also about building trust. Whether it’s with a child who’s having a rough day or a community trying to revitalize their local economy, people need to know you’re there for the long haul. And hey, after six years of showing up for AB and LF, I’m all about the long game.

Babysitting Lessons That Shaped Me

Looking back, I never would have guessed that babysitting would be the foundation of everything else. But the truth is, those years spent wrangling toddlers, negotiating screen time, and figuring out how to feed picky eaters taught me more about life and work than any class or corporate training ever.

  • Patience is priceless. Whether you’re handling a temper tantrum or a difficult client, staying calm is the key to survival.
  • Adaptability is everything. When things don’t go as planned (and they won’t), being able to shift gears is a superpower.
  • Listening is an art. Whether it’s a child or a community, people want to be heard. Sometimes, that’s all it takes to diffuse a situation.
  • Creativity is your best tool. Whether you’re sneaking veggies into a meal or coming up with a campaign, thinking outside the box is crucial.

So here I am—six years later, with experiences that have shaped me in ways I couldn’t have predicted. From food service to advertising to nonprofit work, it turns out that babysitting was the best training I could have ever asked for.

And to my two pillars in this journey, Annabelle and Liam: thank you for teaching me more than I ever taught you.

Happy 14th birthday, Liam ☺️❤️‍🔥

Thank you for reading,

Génesis

West Loop Pink Line, 8.18.2018

From Sobremesa to Transforming Sustainability

Aji Sobremesa + Platanutres


My Journey Back to the Classroom

Imagine a kitchen filled with the rich smells of sofrito simmering on the stove, the warmth of freshly made arepas or croquetas, and the laughter of family members gathering to share stories over a meal. This is where my food journey began. In my Colombian-Puerto Rican household, food was not just a necessity—it was a way of connecting. We didn’t just eat; we savored every bite and prolonged the meal with sobremesa, where conversations lingered long after the plates were cleared.

My curiosity for the story behind food actually began much earlier, thanks to my grandfather, George. Every morning, he’d buy me a Kiwi-Strawberry Snapple, which became my own version of matcha back in 1999. Those Snapples sparked my love for fun facts and made me wonder about the stories behind the food we consume. That curiosity has stuck with me ever since.

Although I didn’t inherit the same motivation to cook as my family, I did inherit that deep curiosity. I always found myself talking with the people who prepared the meals, fascinated by their techniques and traditions. While I may be a terrible sous chef, I excel at listening and learning from those around me.

This curiosity led me to explore food beyond my family’s kitchen. At 18, I took on my first freelance gig, helping a friend launch a restaurant. Every morning, I’d stop by for coffee and work on their social media strategy and daily menus. It was my first taste of how food connects people beyond the dinner table, and it set the foundation for my passion for food culture and sustainability.

Two years later, I visited my family in Chicago for a summer break, and there’s no question that Chicago has a vibrant dining scene. That summer of 2015 was transformative for me. I attended my first Sobremesa Chicago dinner and was blown away by the power of locally sourced ingredients turned into exquisite meals. The experience opened my eyes to the beauty of food sustainability and community-driven dining. By the end of that summer, I knew I had to return to Chicago. Though I went back to Puerto Rico to finish my last semester of college, I came back to Chicago after graduating in 2016.

I’ll never forget my aunt’s words when I first tasted Ají Sobremesa, “Nena el paladar también se educa.” At first, the spice overwhelmed me, but over time, I learned to appreciate the complex flavors, just as I’ve learned that our food systems, too, can evolve and improve.

Now, as I explore sustainable food practices through the Food & Sustainability Certificate, I’m diving into the impact of industrial agriculture on the environment. The first module of the course introduced me to how large-scale farming is transforming ecosystems and biodiversity. I’m learning how sustainable practices, like supporting local farms and reducing waste, can not only promote better health but also protect our planet. It’s a shift in perspective—from seeing food as merely something to eat to understanding its broader role in environmental and social well-being.

From sobremesa chats in my childhood home to my studies today, I see a clear connection between food, sustainability, and community. This journey is just beginning, and I’m excited to continue learning how we can reshape food production to be more mindful of our planet and the people who depend on it.

And yes, I’ll definitely be bringing my croquetas along for the ride.