Rosa Martinez’s Diary

I want to share a story with my HT friends. I was in the 5th year of my Languages and Literature degree at Oriente University, in Santiago de Cuba.

The global crisis unleashed by COVID-19 has forced me to do something that I can’t stand and have criticized young people in my neighborhood for doing…

The Covid 19 is not a game, why don’t you understand it once and for all, I mutter to myself as I separate as much as I can from the lady in front of me.

Some people, myself included, take social isolation very seriously, as we know that this is the only way to prevent infection.

It was almost 4:30 pm, in Guantanamo when a large group of people piled into the first vehicle that arrived at our dilapidated bus stop.

Diana and I are long-distance friends. We’ve been sharing our dreams, happiness and woes over instant messaging for about two years now.

It’s 4:20 p.m., Monday March 17th. I leave my new job and head towards Guantanamo city center; I need to buy some basic items before I go home.

A friend who lives outside of Cuba, with whom I communicate every day, believes that I am increasingly pessimistic.

It’s born green, collected when red, sold when yellow and enjoyed when it’s black. Do you know what I’m talking about? Well, coffee…

After the crash, my parents quickly came to the scene and were really scared when they saw me on the floor (they thought that I had been hurt)…