Author: Maria Matienzo

Agnes’s problems with her mother aren’t due only to them living together or their generational differences. Her frustrations have an understandable source of blame. Every day Agnes tries to free herself from the grip of the emotional blackmail with which her mother holds her.

They say that love is what moves the world, and they might even have a point. But I’ve seen many women moved by the pressure of poverty, and with this the world is dragged down.

If people in Havana were aware that a piece of paradise (free and beautiful), suspended six feet above the ground — was right here, close by, before your eyes, along the Malecon seawall itself — the lines would be hellish.

When “Amelia” had her first fit of anger, I was scared. She screamed at me, banged on the wall and stomped out of the house to vent her rage at the first person unfortunate enough to wind up in her path. After a while she came back, but without realizing that she had lost more than an illusion.

When asked, I always say “I don’t like politics” – which causes people to look at me, wondering what the hell I’m doing writing for Havana Times. Usually, I’ll continue my explanation saying, “I don’t like it, but I find it entertaining.”

My mother used to always tell me: “Study Maria. One day things are going to return to normal, and you’ll get back more from knowledge than what you spent.” I should note that my mother’s idea of “normalcy” was linked to the idea of professionals returning to the top of the social and economic pyramid.

With all the taxes we pay, can’t they at least guarantee street lighting? I know this happens in all parts of the world, but since there are no tabloids here, someone has to complain – right? Let me tell you what happened.

Now I’ve taken to listening to La Lupe. When I’m cooking I listen to her bolerones with their touch of reproach or a woman who knows what she wants. I came across her some time back. It’s an obsession of mine, down memory lane, revisiting Cuban music from the first half of the twentieth century.

I spent the night talking to Anaylis and Jazmin. As they recounted their lives, it made me feel like I was watching a telenovela. I was ecstatic, though I usually don’t like soap operas. I listened speechless, though their story isn’t unique.