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.
From the time I was twelve until the time I was seventeen—the five formative years of adolescence—all I heard was: “Wear this. Cut your hair like this. Sing this. Learn this dance routine. Talk to this journalist.” I never had the chance to make my own decisions, which is why I had no idea how to make them! During those same five years, I was trained—I was indoctrinated—to personify a concept. I was forced to hide my feelings and my personality at all costs. I couldn’t be Kiki or Ricky. . . . The only thing that mattered was that I was a good Menudo!
While I was in New York I had a lot of time to think, and I realized that over the previous several years I had become an expert at hiding my emotions. I’d say to myself, “No, I don’t want to feel this,” and I would shut down. It was hard for me to say, “I love you,” because the thing I feared most was rejection. I had spent so much time thinking that the only thing that mattered was that you follow a certain set of rules for other people to like you, so I didn’t have a clue what it meant to be genuine and express my own feelings.
For nine months, I lived happily among the people in the great city of New York, and experienced what it was like to live like “a normal person” instead of a celebrity. It wasn’t the life of a monk or an ascetic, but I created a peaceful and relaxed lifestyle for myself, and that’s the way I continued to live my life from then on. I would
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.
From the time I was twelve until the time I was seventeen—the five formative years of adolescence—all I heard was: “Wear this. Cut your hair like this. Sing this. Learn this dance routine. Talk to this journalist.” I never had the chance to make my own decisions, which is why I had no idea how to make them! During those same five years, I was trained—I was indoctrinated—to personify a concept. I was forced to hide my feelings and my personality at all costs. I couldn’t be Kiki or Ricky. . . . The only thing that mattered was that I was a good Menudo!
While I was in New York I had a lot of time to think, and I realized that over the previous several years I had become an expert at hiding my emotions. I’d say to myself, “No, I don’t want to feel this,” and I would shut down. It was hard for me to say, “I love you,” because the thing I feared most was rejection. I had spent so much time thinking that the only thing that mattered was that you follow a certain set of rules for other people to like you, so I didn’t have a clue what it meant to be genuine and express my own feelings.
For nine months, I lived happily among the people in the great city of New York, and experienced what it was like to live like “a normal person” instead of a celebrity. It wasn’t the life of a monk or an ascetic, but I created a peaceful and relaxed lifestyle for myself, and that’s the way I continued to live my life from then on. I would
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