I am constantly reminded of my history and how I have come to be the person I am today. The Island of Puerto Rico isn't a place that I can call home, but it is a place that I have grown to love. My earliest memories of the Island are few and far between I can honestly say that I have vague memories of the ocean and its sound, smell and texture. The majority of my memories are of structures; cement slabs placed together to create shapes that inhabit the lives of others. These "others" I remember are people of all walks of life but share a simple yet strong bond. My compassion for this Island grew from this very bond. The lights, the cars and life I observe with every waking moment during my visit were a part of another world. The days were filled with colors and objects I've never seen before, I felt as if the world paused with every blink of the eye. I stood still as everything around me moved with such passion and grace. I felt at ease with the beautiful chaos that unraveled every minute I gave it the opportunity to present itself to me. My visits were always interrupted by the sweet voice of my mother that was riddled with disappointment because of our soon departure. It was a strange feeling getting such bad news from a voice that I adored so much. I could never become a part of this island because I never gave it a chance to love me back.