13 Minutes That Reminded Us Who We Are

While the Super Bowl lit up millions of screens, something deeper was lighting up inside me. Because that wasn’t just a show. It was a mirror. A hug. A love letter to everyone born in this vast América, the one that starts in Patagonia, passes through Guayaquil, and stretches all the way to Utqiagvik.

There I was, sitting in front of the TV with my heart swelling, watching Bad Bunny celebrate who we are.

Because last night, we didn’t just watch an artist perform.

We saw a whole continent dance.

It all began with a sugarcane field.

And even though it was a nod to Puerto Rico, I couldn’t help but think of my Ecuador, where sugarcane also grows, where it represents work, sweetness, and heritage. That was the first image of the show… and I already had tears in my eyes. Because that cane doesn’t just grow from the ground, it grows from the soul. It’s pride, tradition, and resilience in one image.

Then came the streets. A bodega on stage. But to me, it was the tienda de barrio on the corner where we bought soda and fresh bread with cheese. That same little shop exists in Mexico, Colombia, the Dominican Republic, and Peru with different names, but the same soul. In that moment, I realized every detail of the show was speaking to us. All of us. All our corners, all our families.

But the moment that made me jump with joy?

The wedding.

The dress, the music, and love are being celebrated in the middle of the street. And in the back, almost hidden, a little boy asleep on a chair, because the party goes on. That boy… was me. Was my son. Was all of us.

Because every Latino has been that child who falls asleep while the joy continues.

Because in our cultures, la fiesta is not just fun. It’s family. It’s a community. It’s life.

And in the middle of weddings and dancing, in between bomba, plena, dembow, and salsa, came the moment that hit hardest:

Bad Bunny said, “God bless America,” and then named every country from south to north.

As it should be.

As it always should’ve been.

Because América is all of us.

Not just one flag.

Not just one language.

Not just one country.

América is plural.

It’s the sung Portuguese of Brazil, with its samba and feijoada.

It’s the scent of curry and pepper in the Guayanas, where Dutch, English, French, Creole, and more blend in one street.

It’s the blues, soul, and hip hop born in the U.S., fused with the Spanglish of millions of immigrant kids.

It’s the Bronx bodega and the corner store in Guayaquil.

It’s the arepa and the pupusa. The ceviche and the piraña stew. The jollof rice of Suriname and the barbecue of Texas.

América is tamales and empanadas.

It’s reggaetón and pasillo.

It’s salsa choke and mariachi.

It’s country music and samba.

It’s Spanish with Cuban rhythm, Colombian melody, Caribbean swing, and Andean mountains.

It’s English in all its accented glory. Haitian French. And that wild portuñol dancing through Carnaval.

América is the grandmother who prays out loud, and the cousin who learned English from watching movies.

It’s the girl dancing cumbia at her quinceañera and the little boy asleep in a plastic chair while the music plays on.

América is us.

Last night, it didn’t matter if you were watching from Brooklyn or from Guayaquil, we were all on that Super Bowl stage.

Bad Bunny didn’t just sing.

He brought us into the spotlight, with color, rhythm, symbols, and soul.

He did it without shouting, without speeches.

He did it with joy, the most powerful message of all.

And in between Ricky Martin singing “Lo que le pasó a Hawái” and Lady Gaga dancing salsa with a glowing smile, it felt like we weren’t watching a performance…

We were watching a statement.

A declaration of love for our culture.

One that whispered (and screamed): We’re still here.

At the end, Bad Bunny launched the football with purpose.

Stamped on it were the words:

“Together, we are America.”

And yes…

Together, we ARE América.

With our differences, our stories, our dishes, and rhythms.

We are a continent that has survived, evolved, and continues to rise.

Thank you for reminding us who we are.

Thank you for proving, once again, that the only thing stronger than hate… is love.

From my couch, heart in my throat, memories tingling on my skin, I wrote these lines so I never forget:

Last night, in the middle of the Super Bowl, we stood tall,  without leaving our seats.

Because América danced with us.