I live where you vacation, but you vacation where I struggle. Let’s equate the history of my people to a painting in a museum. I live in an invisible country, real to others only when looking at the pretty flowers and sunsets in a painting. But there is more to this pigment-soaked canvas than meets the eye. No one has ever stood in front of that frame long enough to see the ghosts of the painting that time has come to reveal. A sketch, and then a completed scene, lives under what the artist created as a means of making a likable, simpler, prettier story.

At first glance, it is almost a paint-by-numbers, child-like in its simplicity and apparent happiness. However, if only a museum attendee, just one, stood a minute longer in front of that dimly illuminated wall, a different image would make itself visible to the eyes. This image, complete with ghosts that tell a sad, scary story could only hope to lend itself as a cry for help.

This might still be extremely vague, but let me explain. We are more than an island full of beautiful beaches and quaint cities filled with contagious music. We have been a colony for the past 500 years or so, first under the domain of Spain, currently under U.S. control; as the title implies, we are and have been completely at the mercy of our masters. We are a struggling group of people who can’t find its footing trying to come out of an economic and humanitarian crisis, and whenever we get close to standing upright, the rug gets pulled out from under our feet. Even when we are experiencing harsh times, we seem invisible to the world, the ground beneath our feet and water surrounding us more important for entertainment than our political, economic, and social reality. But where most see an adventure filled vacation and beautiful landscapes, I also see centuries of poverty, abuse and unfair treatment by those who held power over us.

There is this idea that small Caribbean islands are paradise, plain and simple; but have you ever stopped to wonder about those whose land was invaded to make space for resorts, restaurants and hotels for your comfort? Have you ever wondered if your beachfront hotel has had effects on its surroundings?

We are not a simple people who wake up every day and live an ‘island life’. We are a complex culture that feeds off of equal amounts of effort and pain. We have lived a very specific history, full of complicated twists and turns, not a narrative to be smudged and piled along those of other small vacation destinations.

Don’t just think of us as a beach, think of us as a living, breathing organism that goes through hardships and desperately needs your attention and outrage. We need your acknowledgement, and your support. Do not just scratch the surface of what we are, do not speculate. Be in the know. Know that we have an economic crisis with a debt of over $70,000 million; know that we have a giant mass of people leaving the island towards the US looking for a better life that might not be there to greet them when the airplane lands. Know that we are being assigned a Fiscal Control Board that is marketed as a rescue package for Puerto Rico, but is really a breach of our democracy and puts the un-payable debt over the heads of the citizens of our country.

Know that this does not mean you cannot enjoy whatever adventure awaits you on our island; what it does mean is that you have the power to be an ally. That with this small piece of information you can help amplify our mostly muted voices to an international audience. It seems with your help, our cause can become a viral topic; the only possibility I see for a worldwide pouring of not only sympathy, but also outrage and a will to make political and social changes for the better. Let this be only the gateway to what will be deeper research; be the museum attendee that stood a minute longer in front of the painting of my country’s history, and saw it for what it was.

A beautiful, struggling, sad, joyous piece of art that hopefully holds a little more paint to mend the damage.