The Lost: On Memory, Silence, and Impermanence
May 10, 2025
And how I have lost them—
those photos, those memories, endless videos that told a story,
my story, their story, our story.
Fried.
Fried in the memory that that old computer had.
Me lo dijeron mientras estaba en mi trabajo, en mi hora de almuerzo.
“The computer’s fried,” dijeron.
Y sentí que algo en mí también se quemó.
Ruinas del Faro
Samsung Galaxy Note 7After Hurricane María, I went around the island taking photos. These were taken in Aguadilla. They’re some of the unedited photos that survived—the ones that weren’t lost with my old computer.
The ruins spoke to me. They perfectly represented the state of the island… and the state I found myself in. Just remnants of something that once was great.
But even in ruins, there is beauty. Like in the last photo—a detail that brings a sense of hope. A reminder that we’re still here. We’re still moving forward.
Today, as I reflect on the loss of my photo collection, these images feel even more meaningful. They’re fragments of a larger story that once was, and a reminder of the quiet strength that remains.
(10/14/2017)
Los videos de surf.
Mis buceos en aquel azul inmenso.
Las fotos después de María—
los árboles sin hojas, el cielo sin ruido, las caras que decían “seguimos.”
Todo eso... se fue.
Lost...
Moments, memories, thoughts, past...
And I let go.
El Camino Hacia Rincón
Samsung Galaxy Note 7This is the only video I was able to recover from those days.
Maybe it’s not the best quality—but it tells a quiet truth.
The road is clear—a month after María, Puerto Ricans had already cleaned the way.
But on the sides… the broken trees, the bare branches, the silence of what once was.
And still, there was music playing.
Even in loss, we carried rhythm.
We kept moving—through memory, through sorrow, with music always present.
All the other videos were lost.
But this one remains.
And maybe that’s enough.
(10/15/2017)
Y respiro, y me tranquilizo, y recuerdo.
Recuerdo esos momentos que ahora solo quedan en mi mente,
photos que nadie verá,
recuerdos que nunca volverán.
Y como el perder algo tan preciado lo hace más importante,
como perder un recuerdo lo hace más real.
Así como perder te hace recordar...
¿Y si ya no están?
¿Siguen existiendo?
¿O su forma los hacía reales?
¿Y al perderla... se desvanecen?
¿O es ahí cuando realmente toman forma?
Cuando los vuelves a vivir no por imagen, sino por presencia.
Cuando te visitan en sueños, en olores, en sensaciones sin nombre.
Cuando ya no puedes compartirlos, pero sí puedes sentirlos.
Cuando nadie los ve, pero tú los guardas.
Y entonces—
¿acaso no viven aún?
¿acaso no brillan más?
En lo invisible, en lo incompartible, en lo sagrado.
Secrete
Samsung Galaxy Note 7Another photo I recovered after María.
Taken on a hidden beach called Secret—somewhere along the island, known only to a few.
Memories half-buried in time—
traces left behind, visible only to those who still carry them.
(11/28/2017)
¿Y eso perdido, eso que ya no tiene forma, que ya no se ve, que pasó y ningún rastro dejó?
¿Dónde quedó?
Si no tiene forma, no tiene espacio, ¿realmente sucedió?
Como miles y millones de historias,
las cuales fueron contadas y olvidadas,
como miles de personas que nacieron, vivieron, y así mismo se fueron...
¿Es esa desaparición, ese olvido, señal de que nunca fueron?
No.
En mi corazón quedan esos recuerdos,
en mi corazón quedan esas memorias,
en mi corazón quedan esas personas—
las que vivieron, las que murieron,
las que dejaron una parte de ellos en mí, y se llevaron una mía.
Los que nadie recuerda—
esos, esos influenciaron a otros,
esos cambiaron el mundo poco a poco,
en memorias, en sentimientos, en pensamientos que aún viven sin forma.
Pasado. Futuro.
Samsung Galaxy Note 7My journey took me to El Túnel de Guajataca, a place rich with history—once part of the national railway system that connected the island during the early 20th century.
There, I found this mural. It stopped me in my tracks.
The words "Pasado. Futuro." felt like an echo of everything I was processing.
What remains of those who shaped the world quietly—
forgotten, but never absent.
(10/14/2017)
¿Y qué significa vivir y existir?
To live for seconds… compared to the thousands of years that life on Earth has held.
To be born, live, and die in a blink of an eye.
To be fried from the memory of this hard drive we call Earth—
this existence, this moment, this… life.
And those moments—
moments that I wanted to document, to write about, to show.
Moments in family.
Moments through María.
That we were together, showering in the rain.
Moments when we drove through those curves with endless possibilities.
Looking at my island—
the covered roads with red dirt and trees.
Moments when we—my dad, cousin, and brothers—went out in search of gas, of water, of sustenance.
Those hours in line just to get gas… and never obtaining it.
Those moments—
moments when I saw my tití sitting quietly in the chair, contemplating life,
as she battled cancer,
as María had destroyed her house, her life.
Moments when family was together for the last time.
I mean really together—
all there.
That’s what is lost.
Those are the photos that won’t come back.
And in my soul, they will forever remain.
Lago Dos Bocas
Samsung Galaxy Note 7Taken before María. A memory that survived—quiet, still, and whole.
Even when all else was lost, this remains, reflected in silence.
(4/10/2017)
For Tití Yeyi,
who sat in the marquesina as the world fell quiet.
Your silence spoke louder than the storm.
I carry you in every memory I lost,
and every one I kept.
“Las montañas parecían sangrar. Como si su piel de vegetación hubiera sido desgarrada por un gigante. Y aun así, vi a las familias unirse. Vi empatía nacer.”
