Cuba and Our Never-Ending Farewells
People, dreams, eras, go by while I remain stuck in the same place. Every farewell leaves a footprint, a vacuum impossible to fill.
People, dreams, eras, go by while I remain stuck in the same place. Every farewell leaves a footprint, a vacuum impossible to fill.
If she had a crystal ball to see the future, she would’ve stayed home. But magic doesn’t exist—at least not for poor Cubans.
Here I am the skeptic, tired of this routine, of mosquitoes, shortages, & blackouts, searching for things in Cuba that are still beautiful.
An anonymous young man walks down the street carrying a worn-out pair of sneakers with patched soles—survivors of a thousand battles.
Ever since my daughter started attending the Vocational boarding school, my money seems to have magical powers…
I’m living through a time that some find fascinating. The advance of AI is transforming our lives at breakneck speed, and that frightens me.
“Cuba stains,” wrote a well-known poet from Pinar del Río on his Facebook wall a few days ago. Yamila’s story is not an isolated case…
A visual declaration of fragility and hope, created on an island marked by material scarcity, diaspora, and the creativity of its people.
In the heart of my neighborhood is “La Nueva,” a bodega (ration store) whose name contrasts with its appearance.
I step out onto the street with an empty backpack and a list. The sun beats mercilessly on the broken streets, and I dodge the potholes…