Veronica Vega’s diary

Songs are emerging that express love for Cuba. They speak of divine blessing over an Island frozen in time.

And it occurs to me that human progress is a false dream, a cruel scam. Could it be that we took the wrong path?

We have learned so much from inaction… What could we not do when our creativity and effort can finally spread their wings.

May Cuba be reborn for the new year, because we have crossed the limit—the one between illness and decomposition.

Recently, I’ve been thinking back on those meetings of the Havana Times collaborators that used to be held in Havana every six months.

I love seeing people remodel their houses; replace windows, doors, transform their homes to fit their needs or whims.

This lapidary phrase was uttered by a friend, completely shaken by the recent disruption of blackouts.

In the 1990s, thanks to a painter friend, I discovered Enya, the Irish singer.

They say remembering is living again. On rainy days like today I almost believe that when I open the door of my apartment…

Since I grew up in a family torn apart by exile, from early on I’ve heard that emigrating is the only way to prosper without losing your soul.