Irina Echarry’s Diary

In front of my building are two benches where several youth from the block sit to talk. In these cool January days, when I’ve taken the dog downstairs for a walk, I’ve sat near them and have been able to hear their discussions.

Traveling is a constant in the thoughts of Cubans. I wonder if this is because of the prohibitions on traveling abroad (Cubans who wish to travel must obtain a letter of invitation from someone in the destination country; they cannot just apply for a visa and then go directly to the airport to buy a ticket).

If the official media doesn’t reflect the magnitude of the problem, how can little Julio who’s now 15 and for his whole life has watched his father yell and mistreat his mother, think of doing anything different? Who is there to tell him that this isn’t right? Who will explain to him that the law protects women?

When anyone talks about violence against women in Cuba, it’s important to note that those who live outside of the capital are in the worse situation. There, machismo is stronger (among both sexes), customs change less than in the city, there are fewer job opportunities, and there exist a series of socio-economic and cultural conditions that enable aggressive behavior toward females.

I haven’t decided though. I think I might get bored with the design, and then I’d be sorry for having it done. That’s what happened to Carlos Miguel, who wears a portrait of Che on his left shoulder. He liked the figure; he saw Che as a savior, a fighter for noble causes.

The white, red and blue cigarette package is up front. The poster ad shows a group of cheerful young people holding each other arm in arm. In the middle are words that clearly show the advertiser’s approach to selling: “Cigarettes mean company.”

The night of Oct. 2, after being reminded of Mr. Gandhi’s birth by a group of young Cubans, I witnessed an event far from being nonviolent.

We Cubans have renounced our freedom – that ample concept as broad and deep as the sea – in order to submerge ourselves in an artificial lake of small liberties. We delight in its name, and very few of us notice the injustice that we commit.

In elementary school we had to draw a lot every day. The first thing I learned how to sketch was the sun – big, round and yellow. One day I didn’t have that color on hand to fill in the circle that I’d made in the far left-hand corner of my paper. I had no alternative but to begin crying.

Luz has the gift of being a first-rate cook. Going to her house is like visiting Havana’s renowned Bodeguita del Medio restaurant. She serves you what she has without thinking twice, even if there’s nothing left for her later on – or the money to buy it.