It then hit me that they were holding the “March of the Torches,” which didn’t take a lot of convincing to get my friends to participate in. We walked closer to the area and found a sea of people clenching smoky torches and heading down San Lazaro St. toward the Malecon seawall.
She displayed no type of hysteria or shouting, simply tears. I thought that she felt bad, but when I asked her, she told me that nothing was wrong, that she was only excited because this was the first time she had ever seen Van Van live.
Inside I found with the lowlifes that I had expected, but there were also students like me, Latin Americans and people from all parts of the world, and even older people, and young kids – lots of kids. There were even people in suits and ties.
We experienced the incomparable pain of losing a mother, the infinite happiness of the birth of a brother, the uncertainty of the first sexual relationship, fear before the immensity of discovering homosexuality, and the exquisite certainty of unconditional support.
Fortunately the woman was mistaken. A large group of mostly young people packed the place which resounded with the strings of the Concerto Grosso by Handel, the musician to whom this year’s festival was dedicated.
Alexander’s story of coming to the Capital from another city to prostitute himself is not an isolated account. Neither is it atypical that Alexander does not consider himself a homosexual, despite his wide menu of bedroom offerings.
Two hours were enough to erode the absurd innocence in which I had been living for so long and the blindness that prevented me from seeing the numerous errors we commit every day and the idiotic way we spend our energy avoiding or hiding.
There are days when a long walk near the sea is the best medicine against anything, above all against things that have a bearing on the soul. A little salt residue penetrating the pores, the nearly hypnotic sound of the waves and even the sun opening lines in the skin is an ideal remedy.
I was suddenly aware that the sun was burning the skin on my face, which I hadn’t noticed earlier due to the constant salty sea breeze blowing off the Caribbean Sea. But I wasn’t ready to leave yet.
The Cuban personality assumes some of the most varied and unlikely forms of expression possible. It would be a mistake not to see all of its many manifestations as valid, since from the very beginning the formation of the Cuban nationality has been marked by an eclecticism converging from all parts of the world.