Life on Two Islands

If you are like me, you are a New Yorker with Dominican parents.  You grew up on two islands,  one you currently call home, and the other you have dysfunctional relationship with.

You were probably born in The City.   Your parents, sometime in your childhood, moved the family to The Island because someone promised them an opportunity of a lifetime. But upon arrival, somehow, somewhere between unpacking la mudanza and your high school graduation, something happens to someone and the plans to live the Dominican Dream fail to come to fruition.

Nowadays you have a vaivén with The Island.  You get on a plane because The Island has a gravitational force that pulls you any time you have the opportunity to travel.  Yet, no sooner you land at AILA you are ready to head back home.

When on The Island, you frequently stroll around feeling the gape of its people trickling down your back. If you suspect they are judging you, rest assured…they are. The opinions run the gamut from the color of your nail polish, (Ballerina Pink: Good, Gothic Burgundy: Bad) to living with your boyfriend (very bad), or living alone (extremely bad).

I have a true necessity of contributing my thoughts on thirteen years of Island life, plus the annual twenty days I spend thereafter when I decided to relocate to The City for good. It is a conflicting and complex relationship the one I have with The Island. On one hand I love getting away from The City (You must have already noticed that I make the distinction between The Island=there, and The City=here) to visit my friends and family, especially during the winter when I get to soak up the year-round 85ºF weather.  However I find myself having little tolerance for Islanders’ quirks, which is topic of discussion for this blog.

For now, allow me to preface the conversation by saying that all that will be covered may well pertain to few, some, none, or perhaps all Islanders.  But if for some reason, as you read my entries you find yourself nodding in agreement or bristling with discomfort, signs point that you are either like me or like them.

On the other hand, you might be  a happy bystander being entertained by the thoughts of a Dominican chick, shaken with a twist.