Génesis RC

Tag: Puerto Rico to Chicago

  • Warm Chicago.

    Warm Chicago.

    You survived the winter. Here’s your reward.

    Hay cosas que no puedes explicarle a alguien que nunca ha vivido en Chicago durante invierno. No el invierno de “ay, hace frío.” El invierno de seis meses de cielo gris. De ponerte capas o el parka para bajar a sacar la basura. De olvidar qué color tiene el cielo cuando no está cubierto de nubes que se sienten personales. De preguntarte — y esto es serio — si el sol existe todavía o si eso era un rumor.

    Y entonces llega. Sin avisar, casi. Un martes. Un sábado. Cualquier día que Chicago decide que ya, ya fue suficiente.

    78°F 🌞 Not a cloud en sight.

    Chicago cálida no es simplemente buen clima. Es un acto de justicia. Es el universo diciendo: okay, you made it through. Here, take this.

    Salgo a la calle y la gente — toda la gente — está diferente. Like genuinely altered. Los vecinos que en febrero no te miran están sonriendo. Hay alguien con speaker en el parque. Hay perros corriendo que claramente tampoco pueden creer que esto esté pasando. Los niños en las escaleras. Las abuelas con las sillas afuera. El señor del primer piso afuera con una Tecate y los ojos cerrados hacia el sol como si estuviera rezando. Y lo está. Todos lo estamos. Agradeciendo los rayitos de sol que duran hasta my bed time.

    Aquí en Chicago, el calor es colectivo. Es una experiencia compartida que nadie tiene que coordinar porque todo el mundo sabe. Todos sobrevivimos lo mismo. El frío fue igual de brutal para mi madre que vive en Pilsen y para el man que vive en los suburbios… Y ahora el sol es de todos por igual.

    ☀ ☀ ☀

    Yo soy de Puerto Rico, o sea que técnicamente debería ser inmune a emocionarme con el clima. El sol donde crecí es una constante, no un evento. Pero almost 11 years living here and honestly — Warm Chicago me mueve más que cualquier verano boricua. Porque este sol me lo gané. Lo esperé. Sobreviví los meses en que el mundo se sentía INFELIZ.

    70° grados y empiezo a hacer planes que no voy a cumplir — ir al lago, explorar un barrio nuevo, leer afuera como si fuera una persona que lee afuera. Pero 78°— ahí está el número. 78°es la temperatura a la que Chicago se convierte en la ciudad que te convenció de quedarte. La ciudad que te prometió algo y finalmente lo entregó. 78° es la temperatura en la que pienso: okay. Okay, valió la pena.

    El invierno de Chicago no te mata — te convierte, te hace madurar. La primavera te devuelve, pero distinta. Con más paciencia. Con más gratitud por cosas que antes dabas por sentado. Como el sol. Como caminar sin sentir que tu cara va a quebrarse.

    Hoy caminé sin destino. Hice mis 10K steps antes de las 11am. Huge accomplishment if I may say. Eso es todo. No tenía errands, no tenía reuniones, no tenía nada. Solo caminé porque se podía. Porque después de meses de entrar y salir de lugares lo más rápido posible — porque el frío, porque el viento, porque el viento de Chicago que es un viento con carácter y opinión propia — hoy observe. Miré las casas. Miré los jardines que están empezando a despertar. Miré el cielo que era, te lo juro, ese azul que se siente pintado a mano.

    Y pensé: casi once años aquí. Inviernos, primaveras como esta. Y cada una se siente like the first time.

    Eso es lo que hace Chicago. No te deja acostumbrarte. No te deja ser indiferente. El invierno se asegura de eso — de que cuando llegue el calor, lo recibas con todo el cuerpo, con toda el alma, como si fuera un milagro.

    Porque lo es.

    🌞🌞☀

    Si eres de Chicago y estás leyendo esto: sal. Ahora. Para lo que estás haciendo. El email puede esperar. El laundry puede esperar. Sal y párate en el sol aunque sean cinco minutos. Cierra los ojos y respira profundo. Llegó el calor aunque hoy abril 6, este en 44 grados.

    Tú también te lo ganaste

    Graciasss por leerme 💘

    Génesis 🍒

  • Are You Patriotic?

    Are You Patriotic?

    I was a happy Puerto Rican — until I moved to Chicago. There, I became a proud, patriotic Puerto Rican.

    There’s a difference. A big one. And it took me leaving to understand it.

    Summer 2014. My second time visiting Chicago. I’m with my mom, tía, and tío; in Pilsen, a Mexican neighborhood on the southwest side. And there they are.

    Puerto Rican flags. Everywhere.

    My first thought, I swear, was just: “Que cool, banderas de PR, con el azul que es.”

    That was it. That was the whole reaction. Happy. Innocent. Not yet anything deeper than that. I just thought it was cool that someone put up our flag in this Mexican neighborhood. I noticed the blue — the specific blue, azul clarito, the original — and I smiled and kept walking.

    I had no idea what I was looking at.

    Growing up in Puerto Rico, I was lucky. My high school history teacher was J. Costa — and because of her, I knew more than most. She’s the reason I learned to be curious about history, to travel, to read critically, to question what’s not in the textbook. She taught me that Puerto Ricans were once prohibited from displaying their own flag. That it was illegal. That people went to prison for it.

    I knew it. I just didn’t feel it yet.

    That’s the thing about learning history in the place where it happened — it can still feel abstract. Distant. Like something that was, not something that is. Puerto Rico surrounded me so completely that I never had to think about what it meant to be Puerto Rican. It was just oxygen. You don’t think about oxygen until you’re somewhere that doesn’t have enough of it.

    After I moved to Chicago, I started doing what Janina taught me — asking questions, digging deeper. And I really learned. Not the clean version. La historia de Puerto Rico que no está en los libros de historia.

    The Gag Law. Law 53 of 1948. You could go to prison for owning a Puerto Rican flag. For singing a patriotic song. For speaking about independence in public. In your own country. Your own home.

    And suddenly those flags in Pilsen — in a Mexican neighborhood, thousands of miles from the island — made complete sense. That community wasn’t decorating. They were remembering. They were refusing. They were saying you tried to erase this and here it is, azul clarito, on every corner, and we’re not asking permission.

    I didn’t move to Chicago and find my identity. I moved to Chicago and finally understood what it cost.

    That’s when happy became proud. And proud is heavier. Proud has history in it. Proud means you know what you’re carrying.

    “La Patria es valor y sacrificio.” — Pedro Albizu Campos

    Don Pedro didn’t say the homeland is the place you were born. He didn’t say it’s the food or the music or the flag on your wall. He said it’s courage. It’s sacrifice. It’s something you choose, actively, even when — especially when — it costs you something.

    I understood that for the first time not in Puerto Rico. But on a street in a Mexican neighborhood in Chicago, on a summer afternoon, looking at a flag I’d seen my whole life and finally, truly seeing it.

    Now I live between two places and I don’t know where I belong — or if belonging is even the right word anymore. Chicago gave me my pride. Puerto Rico gave me my roots. And every few months I’m on a plane asking myself the same question I still don’t have an answer to:

    Where do I go?

    I don’t know. What I do know is that wherever I land, I’m Puerto Rican out loud. Not because it’s easy or automatic or ambient the way it used to be — but because I know now what it means. What it cost. What it’s worth.

    Azul clarito. Siempre. 🩵  

    Gracias por leerme 😽

    Génesis🍒

  • Why Did I Come Back to the Cold?

    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

    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. Graciass por leerme.

    Besitos 😘

    G

  • Home / Home

    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 ❣️❤️‍🔥

  • Crossroads, Resistance, and the Path Forward

    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     ❤️‍🔥

  • Finding My Way Back:La Tercera La Vencida in Chicago?

    Finding My Way Back:

    La Tercera La Vencida in Chicago?

    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 ❤️‍🔥🔥