Veronica Vega’s diary

I hear voices with a Cuban accent, laughter. I carry on saying “here” when I talk about Cuba. I keep thinking that those friends that I used to meet at “Torre de Letras”, or at the “Poesia sin Fin” festival, will walk through the door at any moment.

The distance that separates the Cuban capital to Florida is a route plagued with ghosts, dreams and nightmares. With idealism and corpses.

The first thing that left an impression on me about Buenos Aires was a park near the hotel we were staying: Plaza de San Martin. I don’t know why the city reminded me of the French animation movie “The Illusionist”. (12 photos)

I arrived back in Havana on March 20th, after a trip to three countries: Mexico, Argentina and Chile. I wanted to write a meticulous diary of my visits… (13 photos)

It’s a well-known fact that serial killers start out by experimenting their barbaric acts on animals, domestic animals a lot of the time. Astonishingly, the danger of this psychological profile hasn’t been argument enough for zoosadism to be criminalized in our country.

I’ve recently had a special guest at home. Her owner named her Princesa, however, she practically lives out on the street. Her beauty and charisma have suffered the hardships of time, abuse from male cats, repetitive pregnancies and births. Her litters are now on the street and are at risk of suffering the abuse of children, parasites, malnourishment…

Every December that draws to an end seems to be another opportunity for us to shake off everything that is dragging us behind. Even if it is just something symbolic and the numbers of months and years that try to organize this mysterious thing we call Time is also symbolic.

A response I gave in an interview has inspired me to write this late reflection, which I couldn’t include at the time. At one point, I said that independent artists protesting against Decree 349 have been repressed and treated like political dissidents. I would have liked to have added that no peaceful political dissident deserves to be treated in the same way a criminal is…

On Thursday November 22nd, I woke up to a phone call from my aunt who lives in Miami. “Today, is Thanksgiving,” she told me. I thought about the group meditation that had been scheduled that afternoon in the park on G and 23rd streets in Vedado. Coincidence? Who knows.