When I left Puerto Rico with a one-way ticket to Orlando, I carried little more than my mother’s rosary, a folder of recipes scribbled by my abuela, and a heart full of dreams. The humid air of my new city reminded me of home, but everything else felt different—colder, despite the Florida sun.
At twenty-one, I barely spoke English. My first job was at a bakery where I spent long nights scrubbing cake pans, the sugar crusted into my hands no matter how much I washed them. On my breaks, I’d watch the bakers pipe delicate flowers onto towering cakes. I knew I couldn’t afford a fancy celebration like the ones they crafted, but I also knew how much joy a good party could bring.
Back in Bayamón, birthdays meant arroz con gandules, pastelillos, and dominos played until midnight. Celebrations weren’t just about the food or the music—they were about people, stories, and love.
One night, while mopping the bakery floor, I had an idea. What if I could bring that sense of celebration, that love, to people here? It wouldn’t be easy. I had no money, no connections. But I had determination, and sometimes, I think that’s enough.
I started small. On weekends, I’d organize baby showers and quinceañeras for the women in my neighborhood. My cousin Yadira sewed tablecloths; my best friend Miguel, a DJ in his spare time, played reggaetón and salsa from a rented speaker. I cooked dishes my abuela taught me, like bacalaitos and pernil, because I knew the taste of home was what people missed most.
Word spread.
Before I knew it, I wasn’t just Layla, the girl from the bakery. I was Layla, the planner who could transform a backyard into a paradise of papel picado, glowing string lights, and tables laden with arroz con dulce and coquito.
The bakery where I used to mop floors became my first partner. They offered me a deal on cakes if I brought them clients. I took English classes at night and learned how to market myself. By my third year in the U.S., I had a small team and a name for my business: Corazón Celebrations.
“Heart,” because that’s what every event needs.
Today, I walk into my office—a real office, not the corner of my living room I started with. The walls are painted in soft gold, adorned with pictures of past events: a wedding where we set up a photo wall of cascading orchids, a retirement party where we recreated a client’s childhood beach with sand and seashells.
My phone buzzes, and it’s a message from a client.
“Layla, thank you for the baby shower. It felt like home. My mother cried when she saw the alcapurrias.”
I smile, my chest warm with pride.
Building this business wasn’t easy. There were nights I went to bed hungry so I could pay for table rentals. There were tears when I messed up an order or got lost in translation with a client. But those struggles were worth it, because now I get to give people something priceless: a moment of joy, a slice of connection, and a celebration that feels like home.
Every time I see someone dancing to the beat of a bomba drum or wiping tears during a toast, I’m reminded why I started.
I don’t just plan parties. I create memories.
And every memory reminds me of how far I’ve come.