When Bad Bunny takes the stage at the 2026 Super Bowl halftime show, he won’t just be making history as the first performance entirely in Spanish. No, he’ll be doing something much bigger—something that beats in the hearts of all the jíbaritos who grew up in Puerto Rico, watching the world from a distance, wondering if it would ever watch us back.
I was born and raised on the archipelago, where we were told we were American but often treated as an afterthought. I remember sitting in classrooms that felt small—not because of the physical size, but because of the limits we were conditioned to. For many of us, Puerto Rico was a closed loop. A place you loved deeply, a place that nourished you with music, food, family, and fire, but also one that quietly taught you your limits.
As I approach my college applications, I carry more than just grades and essays—I carry the weight of the islands that raised me, the dreams my parents never had the luxury to chase, and the quiet hopes of that younger version of me who once thought the mainland was the only place where ambition was allowed to grow.
I’m not just applying as a student. I’m applying as someone who once believed that being Puerto Rican meant I had to choose between pride and possibility. But Bad Bunny reminds all of us that we don’t have to choose. That our culture isn’t a limitation. That no matter how far we go, that little jíbarito inside of us is always close. So when I apply to some of the most competitive universities in the United States, I do so not in spite of my Puerto Rican identity, but because of it.
It is these reminders that have made Bad Bunny not just an artist who grounds us in our culture, but a symbol of something greater.
Since his breakout in 2016 with “Diles” on SoundCloud, Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio has done everything on his own terms. He has defined music industry rules, rejected pressure to crossover to English music, and elevated reggaetón from the margins to the global stage.
He’s been one of the most-streamed artists on Spotify for multiple years, sold out stadiums across continents, and performed everywhere from Coachella to the Grammys to WrestleMania. And now, he’ll headline the most-watched televised performance in the United States: the Super Bowl halftime show.
Unlike many other Latin artists before him, he never sought to make himself “marketable” to American audiences. He didn’t sing in English. He didn’t reimagine his message to make it more palatable. He wore skirts, painted his nails, kissed make-up dancers on national television, and called out colonialism and the abuse of power in the 2025 ICE raids. And he did these things all while making the world sing, cry, love, and dance.
Historically, the Super Bowl halftime show has showcased what America is comfortable with. That means it’s long been filtered diversity: a conditional space for Latino artists singing in English, performing with white artists, or representing a version of Latinidad that feels safe and non-threatening to American audiences.
But Bad Bunny’s performance is not just entertainment, and will not be watered down. It is a confrontation. It is visibility and credibility without compromise.
For Puerto Ricans, especially those living under the weight of political ambiguity, this moment is personal and lasting. It is proof that we can exist loudly and authentically without shame or conditions, that we do not have to abandon our identities to succeed. Our language, our pride, and our pain do not disqualify us from the global stage; they belong on it and deserve it.
I think back to my younger self, sitting in a classroom in Puerto Rico, unsure if I’d ever leave the island, unsure if I even could. The idea of a future where I could thrive, not just somewhere else, but as my full self, felt distant.
My parents didn’t have college counselors or career paths; they had sacrifice, hard work, and hope. And now, as I apply to colleges and imagine a life they never had the chance to dream for themselves, I realize that my own dreams are rooted in both where I come from and where I’m going.
Bad Bunny reminds me that dreams aren’t a contradiction. I can be Puerto Rican and ambitious. I can be global without letting go of where I’m from. My culture isn’t something I have to trade in to succeed; it’s the greatest thing I have to offer.
When Bad Bunny takes the Super Bowl stage, he won’t just be performing. He’ll be breaking ceilings for every kid who grew up thinking they had to shrink themselves to fit in, for every student filling out applications with a head full of dreams and a heart full of bomba y plena.
This time, we won’t just be watching.
We’ll be seen.
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