A love letter to “Desus & Mero” from a fellow Bronxite


My parents moved to New York City in 1991. First Queens, then the Bronx. In a small apartment in the Bedford Park neighborhood of the Bronx, they built my family’s first home in America, where, a year later, my aunt and I would depart the Dominican Republic and join them. Throughout the 1990s, family members from the island rotated in and out of that two-bedroom apartment. On summer nights, we would open the windows when the cooking steamed up all the rooms. Throughout the apartment, there was always the smell of rice, beans, plantains and other staples of Dominican cuisine wafting through the rooms.

I still remember what the borough felt like during that decade. I remember my first day at pre-kindergarten at Our Lady of Refuge School, the tears that fell down from my eyes because I did not yet speak English and was terrified to leave my mother’s side. I remember racing my sisters and cousins down 198th…



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