draft a will and shit becomes clear real quick
draft a will and shit becomes clear real quick
from paperwork to paradise: how a legal formality sparked my puerto rican daydream
tl;dr: drafting a will at 37 unexpectedly clarified my life's priorities, revealing a deep longing for puerto rico and prompting a reevaluation of what truly matters.
hey - you want to figure out what you want your life to look like? i mean, real quick?
prepare a will.
shit's gonna become real clear, real quick.
there i was, a 37-year-old queer puerto rican in san diego, staring at a blinking cursor on my laptop screen.
instead of planning my next vacation or obsessing over which filter makes my cafΓ© look mΓ‘s aesthetic, i'm deciding who gets my collection of half-empty journals and my prized "coquΓ" shot glass from that one vacation in dorado.
surprise! your job wants you to think about dying
how did i end up here? well, turns out adulting sometimes comes with perks. my job offered this legal aid plan, and i figured, "why not?". after witnessing too many friends struggle with the bureaucratic nightmare of dealing with a loved one's passing, it seemed smart to get my shit together. plus, it's free. who says no to free?
let's be realβi don't have a lot of assets. my bank account looks more like a sad emoji than a fortune 500 company's quarterly report. but i've lost too many people recently, seeing firsthand how their lack of preparation turned grief into a kafka-esque hellscape for their families. did you know cellphone companies are the worst when it comes to canceling a deceased loved one's plan? it's like they're holding your unlimited data hostage in the afterlife.
so here i am, adulting so hard i might pull a muscle, trying to spare my loved ones from that particular circle of hell. but as i dive into this morbid paperwork party, something unexpected happens. this whole process of planning for my eventual dirt nap is forcing me to confront what i really want out of life.
and you know what keeps bubbling up to the surface, like the foam on a perfectly made cafΓ© con leche? puerto rico. mi tierra. my heart whispers it, my soul screams it: i don't want to die in gringolandia.
from legal papers to island dreams
suddenly, my retirement dream crystallizes with startling clarity. i see myself in a modest casita nestled in the mountains of puerto rico, perched on a couple acres of lush, green land.
there's a cat curled up at my feet and a loyal dog keeping watch. i'm on my porch, cafecito in hand, gazing out at the misty valley below.
i'm rapunzel, but fuck letting down my hairβi'm letting down my guard, embracing the peace i've always craved.
in this vision, i'm the neighborhood's limber dealer extraordinaire. "oye.... LIMBERRRRRR?1" they call, and i oblige with a joy that radiates from my very core. my recipes? bomb as fuck, if i do say so myself. (stick around to the end for a limber recipe.)
and when hurricanes roll throughβbecause climate change is a bitchβmy neighbors know i've got their backs, and they've got mine. it's real community, it's home, it's everything i never knew i needed until this moment.
digital immortality and limber empires: plotting my afterlife
the lawyer across from meβlet's call her ms. "you're-too-young-for-this-but-i'll-take-your-money-anyway"βclears her throat. she yanks me back to reality. "mr. portela, have you considered your digital assets?"
digital assets? jesus christ on a bicycle, i can barely remember to update my phone most of the time. now i gotta worry about who inherits my embarrassing spotify playlists and my instagram account full of thirst traps and half-assed poetry? oh my god, my twitter alt. holy shit.
"uh, can i just have everything deleted?" i ask, only half-joking.
meanwhile, sheβs looking at me like i just suggested we burn down the office and dance naked in the ashes. "mr. portela, your digital footprint is part of your legacy. it's important to considerβ"
if only there was a way to get my apple watch to delete everything when it registers that i am dead. βgod, thatβd be amazingβ, i think. and thenβ¦ legacy. there's that word again.
it's been haunting me lately, like a ghost with a vendetta and a killer sense of timing. what legacy am i leaving? a collection of unfinished projects, a spotify account with an alarming amount of jessie ware and kimbra, and a substack full of hot takes on puerto rico, politics, music, and queer shit?
as ms. lawyer drones on about executors and beneficiaries, my mind wanders back to that casita in the mountains. i can almost smell the rich earth after a rainstorm, feel the warmth of the sun on my face as i sip my morning coffee. it's more than a retirement dream β it's a promise to myself, a beacon guiding me home.
"mr. portela? mr. portela, are you listening?"
i snap back to reality, where the only mountains are the piles of paperwork on the lawyer's desk. "sorry, i was just... thinking."
she sighs, probably regretting her career choices. "we were discussing your final arrangements. do you have any specific wishes?"
and just like that, we're back to the surreal reality of planning my own funeral. at 37. what kind of millennial nonsense is this?
haunting congress and other totally normal funeral plans
"well," i start, surprising myself with the steadiness in my voice, "i want to be cremated. and i want my ashes scattered in el yunque national forest. preferably near a waterfall. and i have a list of people that are banned from coming.β
ms. lawyer blinks, her pen hovering over the legal pad. "that's... quite specific."
"oh, and can we add a clause that if i die before puerto rico is decolonized, my ghost reserves the right to haunt congress? you know, for motivation."
she doesn't laugh. well⦠fuck. tough crowd, huh?
as we continue through the process, listing assets (meager), debts (less meager), and beneficiaries (surprisingly complicated when your chosen family is as diverse as a block party), i find myself reflecting on the life i've lived so far and the one i hope to live.
plot twist: this will made me want to live more
it's a strange thing, planning for your death while you're still very much alive. it forces you to confront the finite nature of existence, to really consider what matters. and let me tell you, nothing makes you reevaluate your life choices quite like deciding who gets your collection of sarcastically inspirational coffee mugs.
but as surreal and occasionally morbid as this process is, there's something oddly liberating about it. it's like i'm taking control of my narrative, ensuring that even when i'm gone, a piece of me β the real me, not just my digital shadow β will live on.
and maybe, just maybe, this whole experience is pushing me to live more fully now. to chase that dream of a mountain casita, to make more limbers and less excuses, to love fiercely and unapologetically.
because if there's one thing drafting a will at 37 has taught me, it's this: life is too short to wait for someday. so maybe it's time to start building that porch where i'll sip my cafecito and watch the mist roll over the valleys of puerto rico. after all, the best way to ensure a legacy is to start living it now.
signing off on death, signing up for life
as i sign the last page of my will, a weight lifts off my shoulders. not because i'm prepared for the end, but because i'm more inspired than ever to embrace the beginning β of each day, each adventure, each chance to make this wild, beautiful life count.
so here's to living like there's no tomorrow, but planning like there's a thousand tomorrows. here's to drafting wills and dreaming big. here's to puerto rico, to chosen family, to limbers on hot days and cafecito on cool mornings.
and here's to you, dear reader. may you find your mountain, your mission, your reason to keep going. because at the end of the day β or the end of a life β that's what really matters.
now, if you'll excuse me, i have some limber recipes to perfect and a plane ticket to san juan to book. after all, the best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago. the second best time is now.
and who knows? maybe by the time i need this will, i'll be sipping that cafecito on my mountain porch, looking out over a free and thriving puerto rico. i can dream, right?
but until then, i'll be here, living, loving, and occasionally updating my will. because life's too short not to have a playlist ready for your own funeral. celia cruz, take it away!
p.s. if you're thinking about drafting your own will (and you should, no matter your age), remember: it's not just about who gets your stuff. it's about reflecting on what truly matters to you. and who knows? you might just discover your own mountain casita dream in the process.
π₯₯ a taste of home: abuela's limber de coco
the scent of coconut wafts through the air, mingling with the laughter echoing from the kitchen. i'm ten again, standing on a rickety stool next to my abuela, her weathered hands guiding mine as we pour creamy white mixture into clear solo cups.
we're making limbers, puerto rico's answer to popsicles. cheaper than ice cream and perfect for our tropical heat, limber quickly became a staple everywhere. this isn't just any recipe β it's a portal to sun-soaked afternoons in puerto rico, to the pride of my first dollar earned, to the joy on neighbors' faces as they bite into our frosty treats.
i didnβt know it then, but every limber we sold for a buck wasn't just a snack. it was a piece of our heritage. now, as i share this recipe with you, i'm not just giving you instructions. i'm handing you a piece of my childhood, a taste of my island. so grab your ingredients, and let's make some magic β one coconutty, creamy limber at a time.
ingredients:
1 can of coconut milk (none of that "lite" bullshit, we're going full fat here)
1 can of evaporated coconut milk
1 cup of cream of coconut (my favorite is coco lopez)
1 cup of milk (vegan: vanilla soymilk)
3 tablespoons organic cane sugar
1 teaspoon of cinnamon
1/4? teaspoon of salt (just a pinch, like the amount of fucks i give about my exes)
2 tablespoons of vanilla extract (the real stuff, not that fake vanilla nonsense)
instructions:
dump everything into a pot. whisk it. kinda like you're mixing drama at a family reunion.
heat that mixture up over medium heat. keep stirring until the sugar dissolves. don't let it boil or you'll be making coconut candy instead (which, let's be real, wouldn't be the worst mistake).
once it's all mixed and warm, take it off the heat and let it cool down. patience, mi amor. good things come to those who wait (or so my therapist keeps telling me).
taste the mix before you pour it. if itβs not too sweet, add more sugar. the sweetness can dissipate a bit while it freezes,so make sure itβs sweet to your taste (and maybe a little more), just in case.
pour the mixture into whatever molds you've got. solo plastic cups, popsicle molds, those dicks you bought on etsy at 2am β they all should work.
freeze those bad boys for at least 4-5 hours, or overnight if you can resist the temptation. (latter is strongly recommended.)
when you're ready to serve, you may need to run the molds under warm water for a few seconds to loosen them up.
or you can do it the way i used to as a kidβ¦ iβd let it sit in the sun for a bit. then, pop 'em out and enjoy!
pro tip: for an adult version, add a splash of rum to the mixture before freezing. i won't tell if you don't. π
there you have it, folks. a taste of puerto rico, straight from your freezer. now go forth and spread the limber love!
limber is a popular puerto rican frozen dessert, similar to a popsicle but often creamier and served in a plastic cup. the name is believed to be derived from charles lindbergh, whose 1928 visit to puerto rico coincided with the treat's creation, though some debate exists around this origin story.