Veronica Vega’s diary

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.

In a dysfunctional environment that cultivates paranoia, anyone can seem like an accomplice of the enemy.

Lately, I think a lot about quantities. A bit of rice falls on the floor and I wonder: if I gather it up, could it fill a bird’s stomach?