Jorge Milanes’s Diary

Iron is good for the human brain, at least that’s what my mother has always told me, which is why my uncle used to wonder: “If that’s so, then I don’t know why there are so many absent-minded folks here in Caibarien.”

Although today one can see a few Chinese Yutong buses running up and down its main streets, the fact is that mass public transportation in Caibarien has virtually disappeared.

My neighbor Esperanza is a Cuban descendent of Spaniards. Her parents came to Cuba in the first half of the previous century to make their fortune. Though they never became rich, they worked hard to become the owners of a bodega (a small store), located in the Vibora neighborhood.

“Run, Esperancita!” yelled the man who lives two houses down from where I live, after the thunderous crash in his kitchen.

I had an enormous craving for a beer. It was Friday, so instead of going directly home when leaving work, I found my way to a more affordable restaurant that generally charges in domestic currency. They make some awesome drinks there.

This woman went to the store to exchange the washing machine she bought there two months ago. She took out the receipt and pointed out to the salesperson the amount of time covered by the guarantee for them to exchange the appliance.

On Sunday my mother picked up a copy of the La Tribuna newspaper, and after reading it for barely a couple minutes, she closed the paper slowly. At the same instant her face reflected concern.

In the case of Cuba, the use of signs was carried out in an original way, demonstrating the way of life of its citizens, both from the formal point of view as well as in its content.

Friday was the last time I saw my friend. She had called early in the morning saying that she had a suitcase full of books that she didn’t want any more and that to keep from having to throw them out, she had thought about me.