My parents got married in 1967. A short time later, they already had two kids and steady jobs. The only thing they didn’t have was a roof over their heads. Living in cheap hotels made for a hectic life. The worst part of it was the anxiety of it all…
Irina Echarry’s Diary
I want to condemn the criminal proceedings that the Cuban government wishes to institute against the artist Tania Bruguera. No one has the right to curtail the full expression and development of art, much less appropriate a public space and transform it into a sacred temple, as has happened in Cuba.
Every so often, Cuba’s “Mesa Redonda” (Round Table) program tries to address a social issue in a segment entitled “Sobre la Mesa” (On the Table). Though the superficiality with which issues are tackled is always rather vexing, the segment is a barometer which tells us how the government conceives a specific topic.
The theater was packed, and many had to stand throughout the 33-minute-long documentary, Ingrid Leon’s Mujeres…la historia dorada (“Women: The Golden Story”). The theater employees scheduled another screening for those who were left out.
My building was constructed in the mid-70s, in the midst of severe material shortages. The families who moved into the building had been without a home for years and therefore didn’t care that it was far from the city center or that the apartments were poorly finished.
Amanda smiles whenever anyone asks her if she likes going to school or not: a sincere, happy smile that reminds me of my own many years ago. Until the last school year, we would hear Amanda crying out on the stairwell every morning – she didn’t want to go to her kindergarten.
The Coronary Care Ward at Havana’s Calixto Garcia Hospital is not exactly a merry place, but it would be far more depressing if it wasn’t for La Niña. La Niña is a cute little dog that squats on the ground floor of the hospital.
For six years, I lived with two elderly women (my grandmother and her sister). It was the saddest time in my life that I can recall. The Special Period crisis had hit us hard and we didn’t have the conditions needed to care for them at home.
I would have liked to have contributed something significant to the world, something small but important. Thinking about this, I came upon the first of August, the day in which Henrietta Lacks was born. She had the worst three defects someone could have in 1950s Virginia.
My mother was sweating buckets. An intense burning sensation in her chest was making her dizzy. She started to go cold and pale, and her lips took on that frightening purple tonality. Then, she passed out. That’s the beginning of the story.