Personally, the story of people who have been adopted by the island is familiar. Forty years ago, my grandmother and father arrived on a new strip of land they would now call home. The salt air smelled like Havana, the cobblestones laid by the same colonizers, but the Spanish had a different lilt. Puerto Rico — not Cuba — is their home now. As I watch those questioning Camacho-Quinn’s identity, I think about how the definition of “Puerto Ricanness” in my own family is so fluid and representative of how so many others feel toward the island.