It was the fifth time I’d gone to the dentist’s that month. I’d gone that afternoon because I had an appointment, but the person who’d made this appointment for me hadn’t gone to work that day, so I had to go back another day.
Warhol P’s Diary
I had two chipped teeth. I’d let time pass to see if I could live like that, at least for a few years, but it proved impossible. Soon, eating any kind of food became bothersome. I had to bite the bullet and go to a dentist at the Finlay polyclinic, in my Havana municipality of Marianao.
I have written before about the public square and market in the neighborhood of Marianao where vendors resell food product. I don’t know when I’ll be able to write an article that says something favorable about the place and consumers there.
There’s nothing better for a romantic reconciliation than doing something that breaks with routine. An invitation from some friends who had rented out a beach house (at the extremely low price of 30 CUC for an entire weekend) came to us like a gift from heaven.
Something I still don’t understand is why they insist on linking the issue of homosexuality with politics. During the march, people shouted “socialism yes, homophobia no” in unison countless times. Of course, there was no shortage of the habitual “Long live Fidel and Raul!”
He who is gay is gay: and nothing will make us change our preference, much less trying to vary our tastes to please our family or society. I, at least, have always fought back against those who didn’t accept my condition.
On April 23, I was notified by phone that, after many months’ wait, I was finally going to be paid the royalties for an illustration of mine that had been used as a book cover. I was happy to get the news and the next day, I headed over to the Letras Cubanas publishing house.
Something very personal – a breakup – is what moves me to write this post. Who has not once been in love? Sometimes, we don’t realize what we feel for someone until our relationship unexpectedly comes to an end.
I was thinking about the inevitable passage of time and, after a very simple calculation, concluded I would turn 50 in 10 years. In 20, if I haven’t died of a heart attack (the main cause of death among men in Cuba), I will have turned 60 and become, as they say, a senior citizen.
Today, I sat down to think about all of the people I have met in the course of my life in one way or another, people who are no longer around – not because they’ve left the country (there’s plenty of those), but because they’re now pushing up daisies.