Who doesn’t remember the emotions we had when we faced life at the peak of our youth? The discovery of requited love and the strength to dream which we find along with it, the power to go headfirst into the future…
Veronica Vega’s diary
My neighbor tells me that her son, who began studying at a pedagogical institute affiliated to the University of Havana, was taken aback when in English class (the subject he hopes to graduate in) the teacher asked them who didn’t have a smartphone.
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.
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.”