Me

life as well. What has at times felt incomprehensible or excessively difficult, today I understand as something that had to happen. All my experiences have prepared me for what was—and still is—ahead of me. At first it was a difficult concept for me to grasp, but once I was able to internalize it, I got to a point where I could live a more complete and satisfactory life because I am willing to accept that the good, the bad, and the not so great are all part of a whole. This feeling has liberated me in so many ways and given me the strength to confront everything that comes my way. It is extraordinary to think that without knowing it, from very early on, I was already building my identity, my very own story.

GETTING STARTED
    IT ALL BEGAN with a spoon.
    Anybody in my family will tell you that music came into my life at a very young age. My mother’s side of the family has always been musically inclined. On Sunday afternoons we would get together at my grandparents’ house, and sooner or later someone would pull out a guitar and start singing. My grandfather, for example, was a poet, a good one. His rhymed improvisations were romantic and very stylized, in a way I have never heard again. My grandfather was a firm man, very conservative, and completely devoted to his family. Like most men of his generation he was very macho, but if there is one thing he taught all of us men who carry his name, it is the importance of showing respect to a woman, the beauty of admiring her, caring for her, and protecting her. He would always say to us: “A woman must be treated with the subtle delicacy that you would give to a rose petal.” He was obviously a hopeless romantic, a quality that I have, without a doubt, inherited.
    From the time I was six years old, I would grab a wooden kitchen spoon and use it as a microphone to sing. I would spend hours upon hours with the spoon in my hand, interpreting my favorite songs—Menudo songs, or songs from American rock bands, such as REO Speedwagon, Journey, and Led Zeppelin, which is what my older siblings were listening to at the time. I remember many times we were all at my grandparents’ house, and while everyone was sitting on the balcony getting a breath of fresh air and telling stories, I would put some music on, take hold of my “microphone,” and start to sing.
    I have no doubt that back then no one ever imagined I’d end up becoming a professional artist (although I did have an uncle who always said, “When you get famous, call me and I’ll come carry your luggage.” To which I would very seriously reply, “Of course!” Needless to say, he hasn’t come through with his end of the bargain...). I’m sure they enjoyed watching me sing and dance around the house, but I know it never occurred to any of us that one day I would be doing just that before hundreds of thousands of people.
    As surprising as it may seem, the truth is that ever since I was a young boy, I have always known I was meant to be onstage. I can’t say it was a conscious decision or that I woke up one day and said, “I want to be an artist.” But I can say that I gradually started to realize what I really enjoy doing, and simply tried to do it as often as possible. I know it takes some people many years to figure out what they want to do with their lives, to find something that genuinely moves them, and I know it can be a difficult process. But I was lucky. For me, it was very instinctive. Although at first all I did was grab the spoon and perform for my grandparents and aunts and uncles, I enjoyed it very much. In this case, I believe it was more than a passing phase; it was something more powerful, because what started as a game ultimately turned into a passion. Slowly, I started to see that capturing other people’s attention and having all those eyes on me was a rush. I loved feeling that I was entertaining them, that they were listening to me, and when I got big applause, I’d be thrilled to no end. To this very day that feeling of being onstage continues to be a source of energy and inspiration for me. Every time I find myself in front of an audience, be it twenty people or one hundred thousand, once again I feel the energy that consumed me back at the family gatherings of my youth.
    I am not exactly sure where my passion for being onstage comes from, but it somehow feels like I have to be in the spotlight; I want to be seen. . . . At some point during my childhood one of my cousins would