Veronica Vega's diary Archives

Correos de Cuba

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…

Cuba is becoming more like a big airport. Maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe it’s a special land to teach us that everything is fleeting.

When people ask me why I don’t write articles anymore, I can only answer: because writing about Cuba is a devastating exercise.

I feel like, lately, I’ve only been writing about our country’s constant demise. And we’ve experienced a very violent process of destruction.

I toyed with the idea of what Cuba would be like if it ended up empty all the young people, children, pregnant and fertile women left?