Diaries Archives - Page 2 of 633

Blackouts in Cuba, a True Curse

My aunt tells me, laughing—though what she’s talking about is no laughing matter—that she ran into a friend and they wanted to chat.

Dying on a Sunday might not be so bad—there’s more silence, a tranquility that makes us reflective. Sundays tend to be long, sometimes too long.

Rodolfo Rensoli has died, the person who made real the dream of a Hip Hop festival in East Havana—for at least six editions.

We immigrants are united by a kind of common bond, born of our awareness of the other’s griefs: “I suffer, I miss, I have to limit myself…”

For the first time in decades, the average Cuban found in internet access a crack in the wall, a breath of freedom and a voice of their own.

For many years now, I’ve noticed a great hatred for trees and the land here in Cuba, and I don’t understand why.

Like a prisoner might write on the walls of her cell. Because my house is my home, but for several reasons it has also become my prison.

I wasn’t the only one who went underground among many artisans who had jumped aboard the train of economic freedom through self-employment.

Guillermo Cabrera Infante’s book Cine o sardinas (Movies or Sardines) wasn’t a clever wordplay to hook readers or a whimsical poetic phrase.

After a year and a half without taking a vacation, the butcher department manager where I work has taken a month off.