Veronica Vega’s diary

The present in Cuba, unclassifiable by any euphemism, is without a doubt the harshest times we’ve gone through on this island.

It’s curious how, on that day, even the most skeptical throughout the old year feel that December 31st represents the threshold of change.

“Do you want to eat, or do you want to buy the jeans?” I overheard a woman ask her teenage son. What a difficult choice!

There was a knock at the door, I opened it, and was surprised to see a young man with a yellow postal package.

A friend was telling me she felt like she was in an involuntary obstacle race: “Every day, the bar I have to jump gets higher!”

When I see houses in danger of collapse, I remember Juan Carlos, a friend who is no longer in Cuba.

I often find myself remembering my bicycle, and how it shrunk the distances in Alamar, the community east of Havana where I still live.

In Cuba of the 1970s, there were no videocassette recorders, computers, or recording devices… Each moment was irreversible, like in life.

I don’t know why I remember that trip to Varadero in 2016 so much. It wasn’t really for pleasure; we were just going to pick up a tablet…