Since the last time I wrote on this site, many enduring events have passed. The dichotomy of life has manifested itself in an inescapable image of love and fear. My father almost passed away, I had another daughter, earned my Masters, traveled much more, invested money, made new friends, lost some family members, was diagnosed with catastrophic thinking anxiety disorder, back surgery, and still love my wife to death. 
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My anxiety came out of nowhere. I've always thought of my mind to be sound of life's distractions. Yet I am almost sure it came as I realized that my oldest daughter is coming to an age where undesirable events happened to me. I realized how fragile children are towards our ambitions. 

Since the last time, I have realized that life is a journey with a known end. At some point my mind wept at the thought of it. I used to think that those who live in a bubble were disingenuous and ignored the problems of the world in an indirectly selfish way. The truth is, there are things we cannot control. As I see injustice, I cannot help but think how humankind will self-destruct. 

But I am a teacher, and I see much more beauty than many will have the privilege to see. I am blessed to see the beautiful and pure love that children have. I still remember wise words from my former teachers. Therefore, educators have the chance to plant seeds of justice everyday, to bear fruit that we may never see. And that is okay, because Solomon Northup lived through unbearable times that allowed us to reflect on, with his prose. Through his misfortune, we are allowed to see how privileged we are, yet how monstrous we can become. 

I cannot change the world. I can however, change the way people see me. I want them to se joy, happiness, purity and love. This expression will hopefully be contagious and trickle through the roots of education.  

I am Jose Manuel Berrios Santos and Blackness runs through my veins. I am blessed to be born of the world's decent. I am the inheritor of those who gave life to the human species. With the Spanish inquisition, Puerto Rico was brushed with the Black brush of love, heat, and passion. When I dance my hips speak of the tribes that give me "sabor." My conscious is at ease with the Maestro, Bob. The oppression my veins have endured, have fomented strength of endurance. My Black blood has a strong soul which disseminates honesty and love of humanity. My strong hair protects my me from the elements and hate. My intellectualism is reflected on my coarse hands. Africa speaks to me. It says never to forget my roots. I am but a branch which spreads its Black seeds and proud.

We have a saying in Puerto Rico. "Y tu abuela donde esta?" Which roughly translates to "yea, and where is your grandma at?" If there ever is an instance of real hate towards our Blackness as Puerto Ricans, we are quick to reiterate where we come from. But the truth is that we all come from the world's Heart, Africa.

So to you who does not affirm your roots. Where yo grandma at?