Earlier this month, Bad Bunny released his deeply personal and culturally rooted album, ”Debí Tirar Más Fotos” (I Should Have Taken More Photos). Enriched in Puerto Rican culture, the album represents the artist’s touching return to his motherland after spending years in the United States. The album’s name acts as a powerful reminder to cherish the moments and people around us, a theme that seems to resonate with listeners worldwide. Especially for those in Gaza, enduring the aftermath of a 15-month conflict, the album has a great significance for the mourning and memories.
Social media platforms such as Tik Tok, have been flooded with tributes inspired by the album. In Gaza, people are sharing photos of what their homeland looked like before the destruction, lively markets, vibrant neighborhoods, and moments of joy. Alongside these are heart-wrenching posts remembering loved ones lost to the violence. Bad Bunny’s reflective lyrics and themes of remembrance have become a soundtrack for those battling with grief, nostalgia, and the irreparable loss of home.
The ceasefire announced on January 15 has brought mixed emotions of relief and anxiety. Many in Gaza are asking themselves questions. Will the ceasefire hold this time? Will they be able to return to their homes, or what’s left of them? Can they finally reunite with family members who were lost in the chaos, and begin the process of mourning and rebuilding? For the 2.3 million residents of Gaza, the widespread devastation has reshaped not just the physical landscape, but also the fabric of their lives.
As I reflect on the powerful stories coming out of Gaza, I can’t help but connect them to my own Sri Lankan heritage. My family’s past is buried in memories of civil war, displacement, and the struggle to preserve a sense of identity amidst crisis. Listening to Debí Tirar Más Fotos transported me back to the tales my mother told me of Sri Lanka before the war, the lush landscapes, spirited festivals, and community gatherings that once defined her life before fleeing to the United Kingdom. Like the people in Puerto Rico and Gaza, my family also found themselves clinging to fragments of a life they could never fully reclaim.
The lyrics to the song “Lo Que Le Pasó a Hawaii” are of extreme relatability. They translate to, “They want to take my river and my beach too,They want my neighborhood and grandma to leave, No, don’t let go of the flag nor forget the lelolai, ‘Cause I don’t want them to do to you what happened to Hawaii”.These words echo the pain of displacement and the struggle of preserving one’s cultural and familial identity.
Bad Bunny’s emphasis on the importance of holding onto memories resonates deeply with me. For those of us with roots in places touched by conflict, photos and stories become sacred. They are often all we have to connect us to the past. The album feels like a personal call to honour our histories and heritage, no matter how painful or fractured they may be.
