Just like the Mariana Bracetti Festival, finding your own little community can only happen little by little.
It’s crazy to think I’m here, sitting down playing dominoes on a table out on the street. This is the second year I’ve attended the Mariana Bracetti Festival with friends. I didn’t plan to become close friends with Leilah and Gabriel, yet it’s been a whole year since we worked together in an excruciatingly difficult journalism class. Now, I’m sitting across from both of them, losing at dominoes, and I can’t help but smile. We are our own little community. Even though I can’t seem to win at this traditional and tedious game, I’m having an amazing time. I mean, what more could you want out of your college years but community, dominoes, and una fría?
The festival, named after a revolutionary woman who was part of the historic Grito de Lares, took over two streets across Río Piedras, close to La IUPI. Mariana Bracetti was a socio-political leader and a significant figure in the Puerto Rican independence movement. The festival was created by the Blondet community in order to celebrate the strength of human solidarity and the importance of cultural resistance. After having to cancel the festival because of Hurricane María in 2017 and the COVID-19 pandemic, the event was held once again during September 2022. I attended for the first time during September 2025.
This year’s celebration was bigger than ever, with musical presentations, local food, artisans, merchants, and cultural initiatives. The festival was also able to get sponsorships from locally owned restaurants and stores, community organizations, and even entertainment corporations. It was even covered by media outlets and journalists. The festival also provided transport options for people to get there. To top it all off, they added more educational activities for those who attended earlier during the event. Although the scale of the festival has expanded, their purpose was still the same: to support riopiedrenses and celebrate what people can build through collective efforts. Which is why when the festival was announced, we decided to go out and celebrate Gaby’s birthday.
Somehow, the academic stars aligned so we could all go out that night. We got there at around 6 p.m. , after Leilah picked me up and we got ready together at my apartment. Finding parking was an odyssey, but nothing Leilah couldn’t handle. Eventually, Gabriel joined us since he lives near the event. As we walked towards the noise, we signed up at the entrance and scouted the area. While I read the event rundown, I couldn’t help but think of how so much had changed in a year. It’s an indisputable fact that night life at Río Piedras is not what it used to be. My parents remind me every time I tell them about parties or hangouts around campus — and it’s true. Río Piedras has seen infrastructure decline, gentrification, and not a lot of students live around campus anymore. Still, with events like this, Río Piedras is still alive; it’s the people that keep it alive.
We stood in the midst of the festival. There was a soft yellow hue that shone through Balseiro Street, which was lined with tarps and merchants while the rumbling of footsteps, humidity, and tobacco smoke filled the air. From El Refugio, a long line of people waiting at the bar alternated between laughter and conversation. We didn’t care how hot it was, we still stood in line twice just to get una fría. Once the drinks were acquired, we fought through the wave of people so that we could catch Grupo Candela, a group of children that play bomba y plena that we had interviewed the previous year. Their songs echoed in my head through the rest of the night, “Ahora si que yo te traigo la plena, ahora si que yo vengo a cantar, ahora si que mi güiro y su cadencia, ahora si mi quinto va a cantar…”
From tent to tent, we delved into conversation with merchants and artisans, doing some damage to our wallets here and there. We spoke with other fellow students, scouted every piece of art and literature, took a turn at every food stop — trying to decide if we should get empanadillas, nachos, or sancocho— and I bought the most beautiful gold and silver ring from a lovely lady who owned a jewelry business. Up and down Balseiro and Domingo Cabrera Street, we swayed till the sun went down and the lights all around the festival illuminated the ongoing presentations from local artists.
As the second beer settled, Leilah insisted that we play dominoes, so that’s what we did. In the middle of the street were three domino tables laid out for people to enjoy. After we played two rounds, Gaby eventually got the hang of it and Leilah scared off people who kept asking, “how on earth could we play with only 3 people?” (you need to take out the double zero piece).
Even though we had been here for a couple of long but exciting hours, time stood still and I would’ve given anything to capture these moments on camera. I couldn’t believe for a second that these people weren’t part of my life just two years prior. I couldn’t believe that those arduous semesters of studying communications would lead us here, asking who had “la próxima ronda.” I couldn’t believe that just a year ago coming to this festival was merely part of a group assignment where I was randomly paired up with Leilah and Gaby. Now, I see that initiatives like the Mariana Bracetti Festival aren’t merely representative celebrations of resistance, but organized events that truly incite meaningful fraternization.
Through sheer luck, I met Leilah, and throughout our friendship she’s taught me to stand up for myself, especially in times where I needed to put myself first. I also met Gaby, one of the most care-free and funny people I know and who’s made stressful classes feel easier. This festival was a steppingstone that enabled the transformation of essential friendships during incredibly formative years of my life. During college, it’s easy to get lost and feel like time is running out, but having events just a street away can help you connect with people that share similar experiences.
Since the weight of change can’t be held by just one person, on an island like Puerto Rico, where studying at college already feels like an act of resistance, pouring into other people and learning from one another is the only way to sustain a collective battle. Just like the Mariana Bracetti Festival, finding your own little community can only happen little by little. In my opinion, the best way to do that is by sharing una fría, a good bowl of nachos de res, and sitting across great people while losing at dominoes.