The Benito Bowl :)

 

This is something I know not a lot of people are going to read. But as a writer, I need to write things down. 😊 And of course I’m going to share it — I took the time to type it and edit it to the best of my abilities, so why not post it? LOL. Okay, I’m done blabbering.

I grew up in the eighties. I went from child to teen in that decade — it started when I was five and ended in 1989 when I was fifteen. During that time, we had this underground scene, and the most beloved artist was a guy called Vico C. I still remember how you needed a friend who knew a friend who knew a friend in Alhambra who knew someone else somewhere else just to get a mixtape.

Vico C, Lisa M, Rubén DJ, etc. We loved their music because they talked directly to us. They wrote lyrics from their own experiences, and even though some eventually went commercial, those first mixtapes were everything to every teen I knew — and even to older folks.

The only group I really listened to that was absolutely banned in my house was N.W.A. I had to make sure I listened to them on my Sony Walkman or else. LOL.

Then there was George Michael clearly singing “I Want Your Sex,” and Colour Me Badd with “I Wanna Sex You Up.” Salt‑N‑Pepa gave us “Let’s Talk About Sex,” “Shake Your Thang,” “Shoop,” and “Push It.” 2 Live Crew sang “Me So…,” and Janet Jackson wasn’t left behind — she gave us “Any Time, Any Place.” Then my girlies came in with “Ain’t 2 Proud 2 Beg” and “Red Light Special.” So really, I had zero chance of disliking a Stray Kids song called “Red Lights.” #IYKYK. And one of the biggest provocateurs of the 80s was, of course, Madonna with “Like a Virgin,” and again in the 90s with “Like a Prayer,” but people forget she also had a massive hit with “Justify My Love.”

Why am I mentioning all of this? Because I’ve seen a lot of Gen Xers siding with Boomers when it comes to the Benito Bowl. Yup, you read that right. We were called mallrats and slackers by Boomers and the Silent Generation. And now, in our… dare I say it… old age, we’ve become old farts too, forgetting what it felt like to be teens. I know a lot of us are way past that age, but those years — the freedom we had, the friendships we made, the blood oaths — all of that lives rent‑free in my mind.

I’ll admit that in the beginning, I didn’t know who Bad Bunny was. I had younger friends who talked about him, both with admiration and prejudice. One of my oldest friends, whom I consider my brother, Dr. Luis Bonilla, has been a fan for years. He knows, I believe, everything there is to know about Bad Bunny and even has a presentation about him on his YouTube channel.

It was Luisito’s constant posting about Bad Bunny that made me look him up. At first I clutched my imaginary pearls. For a second I was gobsmacked, not going to lie. But then I started doing what I do best — analyzing his songs. And I could draw a lot of parallels. The things he talked about were things that mattered to young people who are usually overlooked by the adults making decisions.

He wasn’t painting a beautiful world or singing about love and forever‑ever. Luisito can correct me if I’m wrong. 😊 He was singing about the things that mattered to young people. He was bolding and underlining their struggles.

And then came that night on Fallon, right after Alexa’s murder in Puerto Rico. This was in 2020, before the pandemic. Not to make this about me, but her murder hit me hard, and when I saw Benito wearing a T‑shirt that said “Todos Somos Alexa” while singing “Ignorantes,” I was bawling my eyes out.

Since then, I’ve followed him with more curiosity than a die‑hard fandom heart. But that all changed in 2025 with DTMF.

You see, I grew up in a deeply pro‑statehood family. A family where mentioning Albizu or any of the island’s struggles caused by the American empire was seen as an affront — practically treason. Why? Because my grandfather’s brother, Juan Álamo, was a prisoner of war. He was, they said, the only nacionalista who signed the papers when the FBI came and never turned his back on the movement. Admiring Albizu, or dare I say it, my great‑uncle for his principles and conviction, was simply out of the question.

And yet, I do — because even if I don’t agree with their methods, I admire people who are willing to put everything on the line for their beliefs. That kind of conviction is something we’re sorely lacking right now, especially as our democracy continues to crumble.

When I got to college, I read everything my mom — and to some extent my grandmother — were against. I read the Communist Manifesto, Fidel Castro’s biographies, Che Guevara’s, not because I was going to suddenly join them, but because I’ve always believed you need knowledge to make up your own mind. I read about Chile and wrote my first long book on the subject. I saw the U.S. for what it is, even though it didn’t change how I felt about statehood or how I chose to identify.

That said, DTMF brought me back to Puerto Rico. It gave me permission to love the island as much as I could, because for years the island meant loss, prejudice, bullying. Through DTMF, Benito inspired me to write The Puerto Rico Chronicles. I’ve poured my heart into these books. I’ve also littered them with real‑life anecdotes disguised as literary prose.

And then the Benito Bowl gave us something we needed. He gave us permission to be loud, to love, to dance, to sing, to be happy. There were so many things on that stage that reminded me of my childhood — of home.

In the end, you can love or hate his lyrics, but it’s undeniable the impact he’s had not only on Puerto Rico’s economy through his residencia, but on our culture. He’s lifted things many Puerto Ricans despise or try to reduce to nothing — like the pava, our jerga. He’s shown us that our culture matters, our history is rich, and if we move together, in love, we can achieve our wildest dreams.

Acho, P.R. es otra cosa — and now the whole world knows it.