Veronica Vega’s diary

Since I grew up in a family torn apart by exile, from early on I’ve heard that emigrating is the only way to prosper without losing your soul.

There’s an exact moment in the day when you feel like going out. The rituals that tie you down have run their course—at least for today…

Today I went out to walk my dogs and, for the second time in a few months, I came back without my sunglasses.

I have a lightbulb that sometimes flickers, and I still can’t bring myself to throw it out. A new one would cost 500 pesos.

Your personality changes in a matter of seconds. You feel joyful, almost euphoric; you want to laugh, to dance (even if you never have before)

Just imagine. We travel through part of the universe hand in hand with a child (not from Earth). It’s a clear and unburdened gaze.

How many times throughout history has a similar force, little known and unexpected, shaken the social foundations of a country?

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

As time passes, I feel a growing anxiety that sometimes prevents me from organizing my thoughts and actions.

Few things transport me to a past moment with such overwhelming clarity as a melody or a scent. They are perfect time machines.