Finding Our Rhythm: The Reset We Didn’t Plan For

A trip that helped everything settle

Kevin Chung

Dec 19, 2025

We’re in an interesting place in our immigration journey.

We’re US citizens but we don’t live in the US.

We’re living in Costa Rica but we aren’t residents.

We’re in this strange limbo again, caught between two worlds.

Before moving to Costa Rica, Florida was always home. For forty years it was the place I returned to after every trip. But once we moved, the center of gravity shifted.

So when we flew to Puerto Rico in late August, I realized something unexpected. I wasn’t going home to Florida afterward. I was returning home to Costa Rica.

That moment made the trip feel like an anchor point in this chapter of our lives. Not because of everything that happened during the visit, but because everything we were navigating made so much more sense once we left and came back.

And luckily our first exit trip was to a place Anita once called home. Her parents’ house in Caguas.

It felt like a gentle middle ground. Not the life we left. Not the life we were still figuring out. Just a pause long enough to breathe before returning to the life we’re building.

And what we thought would be a simple family visit became the perspective shift we desperately needed.

The morning of our flight to Puerto Rico gave us an unexpected first.

Anita likes coming home to a clean house, so we spent most of the night tidying up before our early flight. We planned to get to bed early, but of course that didn’t happen.

I fall asleep easily in almost any situation. Anita usually needs time to wind down. So when I was jolted awake around midnight by her panicked scream, I knew something was wrong.

The room was shaking. Metal beams groaned like they were swaying.

“Whoa, it felt like the whole building just moved,” I said.

“It did. I was still awake… everything was moving,” Anita replied. “Now I’m definitely not going to sleep.”

“Try anyway. We have to leave soon,” I mumbled, and promptly fell right back to sleep.

It was our first earthquake in Costa Rica. Little did I know this physical tremor would mirror the internal shift Puerto Rico would create in us.

As you already know, I’m not a big fan of airports. They usually pull out the worst combination of fluorescent lights, frustrated travelers, and people shouting directions no one listens to. But San Jose’s airport surprised me.

Maybe it was the blessing of an early flight, maybe it was just Costa Rica being Costa Rica, but we walked into security and the line was basically nonexistent. In less than fifteen minutes we were through. No barking TSA agents. No people breathing down your neck. No frantic dumping of laptops and liquids.

It felt almost old-school — like the version of airports we all vaguely remember before security became unbearable.

A little taste of Pura Vida right when I needed it.

The main reason we went to Puerto Rico, aside from visiting Anita’s family, was the Bad Bunny concert during his residency. And because this wasn’t just any concert, we decided we had to show up looking like we belonged in the moment. That meant a trip to Plaza Las Américas.

I’d been wanting to go ever since hearing about it on the La Brega podcast. That in addition to a limited-time Bad Bunny popup store, and it felt like the perfect excuse.

The second we pulled into the parking lot, I was shocked. Every spot was taken. Cars were looping around the lot. It reminded me of Costa Rica’s malls — always full and alive.

Inside, the energy only intensified. Storefronts were draped in Puerto Rican pride. Flags everywhere. People hunting for outfits, accessories, or anything that said “I’m ready for this concert.” It felt less like shopping and more like a shared mission.

“Is it always this busy?” I asked Anita.
“Yeah… but not like this,” she said, taking it all in.

That’s when it clicked. Bad Bunny’s residency wasn’t just a series of shows. It was Puerto Rico proudly declaring their love of Borinquen. Every store in the mall was displaying pride, joy, and belonging.

The only downside? The popup line snaked through an entire section of the mall. By the time we found the check-in area outside, they were already booked for the day.

But honestly, things still worked out. I found a great shirt for the concert, and we ended up having a relaxed buffet lunch before heading out.

It reminded me that when things don’t go how you imagined, it’s okay. You just adjust, breathe a little, and let the experience unfold.

One of the other perks of being in Puerto Rico was getting time to work on our creepy doll shop, GrimlyGala.

If you’re new here, GrimlyGala is a project Anita and I started back in 2023. (You can read the origin story if you want the whole backstory.) What started as a weird little creative experiment somehow turned into a universe of its own.

During our week and a half there, we painted, photographed, and packed 15 new dolls — which means we’ve now made over 100 of these creepy creations. Leaving Florida didn’t mean leaving the project behind. It just means the workflow has a different backdrop now.

And honestly, it lit something up for me. In my new home creativity is thriving. I’m even in the middle of writing a long-form story about one of our dolls. The idea grabbed hold of my brain and hasn’t let go. I can’t wait to share it when it’s ready.

Just one of the many things outside of the arena

The main event of our Puerto Rico trip was the Bad Bunny concert. His residency wasn’t just a celebration of the island. It was an economic boom. Estimates say it brought in over $700 million and pulled in tourists from all over the world who wanted to understand why he loves this place so much.

And the magic started before you even stepped inside the arena. Outside, anyone could join the party.

Food stalls served Puerto Rican classics.
Music so people could dance to their heart’s content.
And even a temporary tattoo station to show off your pride.

But inside… was something else entirely.

When we were figuring out where to go to reset our Costa Rican travel visas, we actually checked other nearby stops on Bad Bunny’s world tour. Tickets anywhere else would’ve been cheaper and way easier to get. But we both knew seeing him in Puerto Rico, in Anita’s home, would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. So we took the chance.

Best decision we could have made.

I avoided spoilers so I could take the whole thing in fresh. And wow. The show wasn’t a concert. It was a love letter.

A mountain and flamboyán tree set the stage for traditional Puerto Rican sounds.
The casita celebrated his trap and reggaeton roots.
Video vignettes with Señor and video calls with Concho.
Cameos from local artists.
Messages on the screens about history and identity.
Even the camera-necklace lights synced with the music.

Every detail was intentional, and every detail was for Puerto Rico.

And then there was the legend himself. Bad Bunny somehow holds the energy of the biggest artist in the world while still carrying himself like someone who’s just trying to make something beautiful. He can have an arena dancing nonstop… and then bring everyone to tears a moment later.

Two moments hit me hardest:
When he asked the entire arena to put their phones away and just be present.
And when he broke down himself because the emotion was too much.

Throughout the night, I felt the pride of the Puerto Rican people. Even as someone who isn’t Puerto Rican, I felt it in my chest. That’s what transcendental artists do — they make you feel belonging.

After the show, Anita turned to me with the question she always asks:
“How do you feel?”

“That was the best concert I’ve ever been to. I’m ecstatic and exhausted,” I told her. “You?”

“I feel at home,” she said quietly. “And sad I’ll eventually have to leave.”

And that’s where we were again — back in the in-between. Building a new life in Costa Rica while still missing the places and versions of ourselves we left behind. The feeling comes and goes. But we remind ourselves why we left in the first place: so we could build a home and a life we intentionally chose.

Our trip was full of little moments that felt just as special as the big ones.

We wandered through Old San Juan with its vintage charm and colorful buildings.

We took the ferry to Vieques, where wild horses roam like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

We had a soup-making party with abuela which was just as cozy as it sounds.

And of course, we made Walmart and Costco runs so we could stuff our suitcase with all the things we can’t get in Costa Rica.

All of it gave us exactly what we needed. Family, connection, and a break from our new routines. It felt like a mini vacation and a family retreat rolled into one, the kind of reset that quietly powers you through the next stretch of life.

All these moments in Puerto Rico gave us a much needed reset that fuels our need for more adventures in Costa Rica.

Our last stop in Puerto Rico was the airport, where we met an unlikely foe.

If San Jose’s airport felt like a breeze, San Juan’s felt more like a boss battle.

We arrived a few hours early, feeling confident, and walked up to the ticket counter.

“We’re here to check in our bags,” Anita says, handing over our passports.

“Do you have proof of exit?” the agent asks.

Anita pulls out the residency submission papers from our lawyer. The agent barely glances at them.

“You still need proof of residency or an exit ticket,” he says, handing everything back.

So we step out of line, walk over to the entrance, open our phones, and start searching for flights.

After a few minutes of scrolling, we find tickets to Medellin in December. Colombia has been on our list since Lorena told us how magical her recent trip was. And the holiday lights in Medellin? A total dream.

We book the flights, take a breath, and get back in line.

Round two.

We hand him the passports again, and show him our shiny new exit tickets.

“Great,” he says. “Let’s weigh your luggage.”

He lifts the bag. It’s under the weight limit.

A sigh of relief… but short-lived.

“Any other bags?” he asks.

“We have personal items — my mom has them so we didn’t have to carry them around,” Anita says.

He gestures toward the bag sizer. “Go ahead and check them.”

We try and fail spectacularly.

“You still have some weight left in your luggage,” he offers, trying to be helpful.

But in that moment, he is absolutely the villain in our story.

So we walk back to the entrance and start the Great Repacking. Everything in that suitcase had been perfectly stacked, aligned, and zipped. Now it looked like a tornado struck.

Twenty minutes later, we’ve swapped, shuffled, compressed, and Tetris’d our way into a new configuration. We return to the counter for round three — thankfully our spot at the front was still saved.

Moment of truth.

My backpack barely fits the personal-item check.

Anita’s fits by the grace of the travel gods.

Then we lift the suitcase onto the scale.

“It’s slightly over,” the agent says.

I mentally scream.

“But not enough to charge you extra.”

He slaps an overweight sticker onto the bag. “You’re good to go.”

Just like that, the boss battle is over.

Maybe he wasn’t a foe at all. Maybe he was just guiding us through a chaotic mini-quest we didn’t know we were on.

We head to security, exhausted but relieved, ready to go home.

Sometimes the tiniest problems feel huge when you’re in them but they are actually guiding you exactly where you need to go — in our case back home.

Just defeat the boss, collect your loot, and move on.

Fun fact: That Medellín flight we booked to get past the airport check? The airline canceled it without a reason.

So now we’re visiting my family in February instead.

Puerto Rico was the reset button we didn’t know we needed. It helped us step outside our rapidly changing lives and remember why we chose this new chapter in the first place.

Somewhere between the family dinners, the concerts, and the chaos of the airport, I realized I was starting to miss Pookie, our new routines, and the weird little adventures that come with living in Costa Rica.

Letting go of our old life gave us space to build a new one.

Puerto Rico reminded us of our roots.

Coming back reminded us of our dreams.

We don’t feel stuck between worlds anymore. That trip didn’t pull us away from our new home — it pointed us back to it. And unlike returning to Florida and its familiar routines, coming back to Costa Rica feels like a creative exhale.

Now comes the part I’m most excited about: shaping the creative life we came here to make… one brave choice, one new routine, and one wild idea at a time.

From a Global Zine Project to a Creativity Summit to the fiction I’m writing — all of it feels possible here.