Me (6 page)

The lyrics of Arjona’s song reflect the challenge and wonder of success. Success is a double-edged sword, because for everything that one does, something else is sacrificed; for every road taken, another one is left uncharted. It is the law of life. I chose the stage, being in front of an audience, hearing the applause and feeling the adulation. It is a feeling that fulfills me and brings me great joy. But now, at this age, I know that the love of my fans sometimes is not unconditional. The warmth of their love may be wonderful, but the intensity of fame can sometimes burn.

In my culture, we have a saying:
No hay mal que por bien no venga
(which loosely means “Everything happens for a reason”). We should instead have an expression that says, “Today, I choose the path that has always been mine.” To say that leaving Puerto Rico on that day was a mistake is to forget all the wonderful things that came afterward, all the extraordinary things I would have missed out on had I not left home. I don’t think that leaving Puerto Rico, or having spent time in Menudo, was all good or all bad. It was both. I had to do what I did to be where I am today.

We all grow up at our own pace. While there are people who have the good fortune to grow up with the guidance, counsel, and care of their parents, other people have to adapt to circumstances and become adults very early on in life. For better or worse, this was the case for me. At the ripe old age of twelve, an opportunity came my way that would change my life completely: Menudo. It was one of the most successful bands in history, and becoming a part of it was a dream come true, everything I had always wanted. But like all great things in life, the experience did not come without a great deal of sacrifice. I had to leave behind my family, my school, and my friends—everything that I knew. I sacrificed my youth and my innocence, and even though today I know I will never be able to recover these things, I can wholeheartedly say that I have no regrets. It was very difficult, but that’s what becoming a man is all about: confronting the challenges that life throws our way, and learning to grow with them.

But when I first returned home, I still did not see how my new experiences had changed me, and I did not realize how much more I still needed to grow. On many levels, I was already very much a man—I had lived, traveled, and had my experiences—but back then I did not see the spiritual path I would need to walk in order to connect with who I really am. During the time I was in Menudo I learned a lot and matured at an alarming rate. Not only did I learn to sing, dance, and everything you need to have a career in show business. I also started to experience the world on my own, far from the protective gaze of my parents. That said, I did miss out on some of the essential things in life, and all of the uncertainty, fear, and confusion of adolescence did not take long to hit me hard when I returned home. It wasn’t until I returned home to my family and the island I had left behind that I noticed the feeling of emptiness inside me. Like many, back then I believed happiness was something I could find outside me, and not within.

BACK WHEN I USED TO DRIVE MY FATHER CRAZY ABOUT
how much I wanted to join Menudo, I remember feeling that if I made it into the group I would never have to worry about anything ever again. I would earn money, I would live with the other four guys, who in those days were my idols, and all of my dreams would come true. I thought that if only I could get into the band, my life would be made because
I knew
in the deepest part of myself that I wanted to be an artist. Nothing was going to stop me from achieving my dream. What I didn’t know was that the shortest distance between two points is not always a straight line, and to achieve my goals there was still a lot of work to do.

In Menudo, everything was more or less routine and predictable, and the only thing I had to do was follow a series of rules that were given to me. But after I left the band, my career stopped being a straight line and turned into a series of points that might, at first glance, seem haphazardly dispersed. Instead of focusing on continuing to be a musician, I dabbled in a bit of everything, because these were the opportunities that came my way. That’s how I ended up working in film, theater, and television before I came back to music. If it hadn’t been for the variety of those experiences, I wouldn’t have been able to open up to the destiny that awaited me. Today I ask myself if this was about destiny at all, or if I myself was somehow creating it through the great power of consciousness.

WHEN I RETURNED to Puerto Rico after five years with the band, I felt totally lost; it was almost like I didn’t know who I really was. Part of me wanted to distance myself from the entertainment world, but during the time I spent with Menudo, show business had become such a profound part of my existence that it would have been like removing a major organ.

A lot of my unease probably had to do with the fact that I was seventeen years old, and like most boys my age, I felt I was at a crossroads in my life. I was faced with a series of grown-up decisions, but I was facing them with the mind of a child. Ironically, while the time in Menudo forced me to grow up and learn things at a much faster pace than normal, on many levels I was still a child. From age twelve to seventeen I never had to make a decision for myself (my clothes, hairstyles, music, and itinerary were all decided by someone else), and that is how I functioned: doing what was expected of me, always trying to please everyone else. So when I took control of my own life, I felt completely lost: I did not know where to look or what to do. Emotionally, I was starting to feel I wasn’t grounded, and I was confused. After my first experience with a girl I also shared some experiences with men, and though I did not want to confront it, my sexuality was something I was very much aware of. Inside, I felt that I was battling contradicting emotions, but the terror I felt in the face of discovering—never mind admitting—my homosexuality was such that I didn’t even give myself the time to seriously stop and analyze what I was feeling. Culturally, I had always been taught that love and attraction between two men was a sin, so instead of facing what I felt, I buried it because it scared me.

Another issue when I returned to the island was that I had to face the chaos in my family. Before Menudo, my parents’ divorce had never affected me. Despite the fact that they lived separately, I had a very happy childhood. Their separation was never a source of pain for me, as they always made an effort to maintain a certain balance, which gave me peace and tranquillity. But when I got into Menudo, I felt the pain for the first time. The fact that I separated from my family at such a young age had a profound impact on my family. The divorce that until then had not affected me suddenly began to affect me. While I was enjoying being part of one of the most recognized bands on the planet, traveling around the world with screaming fans everywhere, my parents began fighting more than ever. Their relationship, which had until now been harmonious, became irreconcilable; and I was stuck in the middle of the storm.

On the one hand, my return home meant I would get a break from the pressures of the group, the promotional tours, and the constant stress of work. On the other hand, it was hard for me to face all the anger and resentment that had built up in my absence. And I am not just talking about the anger between my parents; I am also referring to the resentment I had toward them for putting me right in the middle of their battle. Because of their conflict, I was forced to take sides—which is something no child should ever have to do. Every visit to Puerto Rico was a nightmare. It was ridiculous and also very painful. Deep down inside me I began to develop a profound spite toward both of them because they were forcing me to choose between the two people in the world I loved most. When you’re young, the concept of God is taught to you by your parents. But as you try to understand the abstract concept of “superior being,” the ones who play that role in your day-to-day life are your mother and father. When Mom and Dad (or God, as it were) make mistakes that end up hurting you, you have no idea how to forgive them. What seems crazy is that I grew up in a religion where I was the one who had to apologize to God for my mistakes, but here it was God, aka Mom and Dad, hurting me by making me choose between them.

There are many children in the world who go through this type of situation, and it breaks my heart to see that parents don’t realize the damage they are doing to their kids. Even though my parents had their reasons for fighting, all I could think was, “Why do their issues have to affect me?” I worked like crazy and I couldn’t even enjoy my time off like the rest of the guys in the group.

With time, I have come to realize that I killed myself working so hard in Menudo because a part of me wanted to forget about the problems that awaited me back in Puerto Rico. While I was working and traveling the world, I felt safe and distanced from the reality of what was going on in my family. I didn’t know how to handle the situation, so I simply endured it for only a few days at a time—at most—always wanting to get back to work as soon as possible.

But now that I was going to be home for the foreseeable future, there was no escape: I had to face my reality, no matter what. For a long time I couldn’t understand why they fought and were so angry at each other all the time, but what I realize today is that they were doing the best they could under their circumstances, and seeing it this way has helped me forgive them.

It took time, but I finally understood that if they were fighting it was only because they both wanted the best for me. My parents each had their own point of view, and though their stubbornness may have caused me a lot of pain, they were doing it for the most important reason: because they loved me and I was their son. And what can be better than that? There are parents who abandon their children and don’t protect them. My parents were never like that. It was the total opposite: They always worried about me and they adored me to no end. When I finally understood this, I was able to find peace. In my heart, I forgave all of the pain and anger they caused me, and today we have one of the most loving and caring relationships possible. I treasure every moment they spend with my children and me, and I try to see them as often as possible.

ONE OF THE things that I did love about my return to Puerto Rico was that all I had to do was focus on being a teenager, and it was a huge relief. I finished high school, and with my small allowance I was even able to buy a car, which I would use to go from party to party and stay out until the crack of dawn.

But for as busy as I appeared to the outside world at the time—between spending time with my family and friends, going to parties, studying, and so on—inside I felt completely lost. I was exhausted and confused and didn’t know where I stood. Although I think it’s normal to feel that way at that age, I am sure the experience with Menudo had only intensified my doubts. I had enjoyed my years in the group immensely, but when it was all over I didn’t know if I wanted to continue in the music business. The stage that once drew me in now caused me mixed emotions, and I simply had no idea which path to take. I needed time to think.

I finished my studies, and on December 24, 1989, I celebrated my eighteenth birthday; with the arrival of that day, aside from becoming an adult, I gained financial independence: I could finally access the bank accounts that had been frozen for years, and do whatever I chose with the money I had earned. And to celebrate, I decided I was going to live it up! Thirteen days after my birthday, on January 6, 1990, I moved to New York City.

The original plan was to go for only one week—or at least that’s what I told everyone. I took my pillow and my backpack and just a few clothes, so no one would be suspicious or guess my intentions. But the moment I landed at JFK, I called my mother and said: “Mami, I’m staying in New York.”

“What? Oh, no!” she replied. “How can you stay in New York? Why don’t you go to Miami instead?”

I think it made her nervous for me to live in such a large city, because she was afraid I’d get mugged, or who knows what else. “Come on, Mami,” I said to her, “you’ve watched too many movies. Don’t worry. I’ve made up my mind and I decided that I want to live here for a while.”

Like I said, I needed time to think, but I also think I needed to take it down a notch when it came to partying. During those six months I spent in Puerto Rico, there was a lot of craziness and many adventures. I had a blast, but inside I knew I was avoiding the great question that followed me: What was I going to do next? And so when I arrived in New York, the last thing I wanted to do was party. To the contrary: I wanted to find peace and tranquillity. I had a couple of good friends who were newlyweds and had also just moved to New York, and they put me up in their house for a little while. During my stay with them, I got to know the city and had some time to settle into my new home.

I found a small but comfortable place in Long Island City, in a Greek neighborhood, just down the street from my friends. After Menudo, where I had had access to such unbelievable luxuries—our own private jet, five-star hotels, incredible dinners—all I wanted was a simple life. Of course, I could have found an apartment in Manhattan close to all the best restaurants and in the most happening neighborhood, but that’s not what I was looking for at the time. In my apartment in Queens I lived a simple life, with the basic necessities. For the first time in my life I could live exactly as
I
pleased, without the pressure of my parents, my manager, my producer, or anyone else telling me what to do. I did what I wanted, when I wanted, and how I wanted. And if I did not feel like doing anything, I did absolutely
nothing at all
.

On the weekends I would go into Manhattan to a record store, where I would do paid “meet and greets” and they would have me sign records, buttons, and all types of Menudo paraphernalia. This was perfect for me because it was just a few hours of work per week and provided me with an income. On the weekends, friends who were studying in Boston usually came to visit. Almost every day I would go to bed at dawn, but not because I was out at some party. In fact, when you are eighteen there is not much you can do in New York, because you cannot get into bars or clubs until you’re twenty-one. My friends—who unlike me came with the desire to party—would invite me to go out with them, but I would always tell them I’d meet up with them later. I would stay at home, relaxing, and I spent hours watching movies, walking, painting. In fact, if I remember correctly, my paintings from that time were a bit melancholic. All this free time was giving me the space I needed to think, reflect, and mature. I wanted to take full advantage of this time, and have time to get to know myself.