If Miami Could Speak: A Love Letter to the Super Bowl Halftime Show

It’s me. Miami.

I watched the halftime show. I enjoyed every minute, every movement, every beat, because it reminded me of me.

Thank you, Bad Bunny, for putting culture on a stage so big no one could scroll past it. No explanations. No softening. No need to translate.

This is how I show up every day.
Three different languages in an elevator when you arrive at work. Music spilling out of cars when you’re stopped at a red light. The smell of cafecito, fried plantains, and pastelitos when you go out to lunch. Murals on walls that tell stories without asking permission. Culture layered, visible, and alive.

I’m a city shaped by immigration. By people arriving with accents, recipes, rhythms, and ambition. I still don’t understand why some successful immigrants…

Never mind.

This was a statement, yes. But more than anything, it was a celebration. Love over hate. Joy over fear. A reminder that this place we call America is made up of many countries, islands, and cultures, all moving to different rhythms. I’ve been living that truth since the beginning, and seeing it danced, sung, and shared with the world felt like home.

Thank you for the bottom of my heart,
Miami