The changes in Cuba resulting from the Special Period crisis of the 90s, causing an opening to external influences, a gradual process of privatization of life began, if not at the institutional level (which has indeed begun to some degree) then at least in terms of family life. In this, Cojimar has been at the head.

Fidel Castro’s return to the Cuban television screen generated almost as much interest as the issue he was raising there: the imminence of war in Iran. The matter had to be very serious for him to interrupt his reclusive and prolonged retirement.

Fortunately, my cement-block house was —like the third pig in the fairy tale— able to stand up to the huffing and puffing of our own big bad wolf. My uncle’s wooden place, however, almost fell down on him.

Speaking of grandchildren, her youngest has just gone through an experience worthy of the wildest action movie.

The fact that I loaned my arm to my cousin so that he could begin his career in the art of tattooing could seem like madness, but the true madness was that I found it all amusing.

After my thesis was approved, I began to become concerned with the issue of dress. Few Cubans have a suit or tie. This type of clothing is very not very functional on the island due to the heat here. In addition, it’s quite expensive.

My dream was finally realized. I now have a computer. Yet the funniest thing was how I went about getting it.

Yesterday I convinced myself that I shouldn’t take verse and rhyming too seriously. I say that because of the experience I had at this year’s Havana International Festival of Poetry.

The people who surround me are increasingly serious. Their faces contract increasingly. They spend increasingly more time with unfriendly looks. They remain increasingly silent. Their silence is interrupted only by laconic comments in whispers.

“Equality, I don’t know who the lunatic was who invented that idea!” I heard that statement while on my way to a friend’s house. It managed to shake me completely out of my thoughts. It came from the back of a mechanic’s workshop, whose front I was happening by.