On Thursday September 15th, the sea that washes up on “Russian beach” in Alamar, spread the ashes of poet Juan Carlos Flores, who couldn’t even wait for his end prescribed by natural decree.
Veronica Vega’s diary
When I notice that weeks have gone by and I haven’t been able to finish off an article for my diary, I examine my conscience and I’m forced to admit that I’ve fallen into the general apathy of the Cuban people.
If we see a place associated with so many happy memories, run down, broken, forgotten, it’s inevitable that we feel like something (or someone) is mocking what our past is worth, the hard work and resources that were needed to build it…
I’ve been witness to a doctor’s disabling prognosis on more than one occasion, which destroys in one phrase the concept of “tomorrow”. However, the worst thing is the sick person’s faith, which accepts this as something inevitable.
I grew up hearing that I was extremely lucky to have been born in a system whose government promised social justice, something that only existed in socialist countries, I was assured.
A person I hold in high regard recently expressed: “Cuba’s main problem is the Wet foot/ Dry foot Policy. Because of it, we Cubans feel like we aren’t responsible for changing for what negatively affects us in our own country. We resolve everything by jumping into the sea.”
My friend recently told me that he feels like he doesn’t understand Cubans anymore, and that he feels out of place. “I don’t know if it’s just me who’s got it wrong”, he said confused “but I see so much craziness everywhere.”
I’d begun a post commenting on Irina Pino’s “The death of my father.” I wanted to write about the brutal indifference in hospitals in Cuba, when processing a deceased person – something that also should be considered a service.
Cuba is returning to normal. What’s normal for Cuba is for people to struggle to survive, as Obama and the American Dream retreat, once again, to a distance of 90 miles.
That a foreign leader should speak of the real needs of Cubans for the first time in more than fifty years is much more than one of the numerous “surrealist” details of our history. It is the implacable victory of time and logic.