Veronica Vega’s diary

This title isn’t merely a journalistic hook; it’s the conclusion drawn by the parents of two teenagers after fruitless dialogue with the current Director of Education in the Municipality of East Havana. This is because our children, Kabir and Sebastian, have been denied access to their own school day after day for almost a month.

As Einstein once said, every crisis is a challenge that forces us to exploit our potential to the full, and since scammers and rip-off merchants are here to stay, it seems to me, we might as well create the job of “Scam Detector “, especially with the renewed enthusiasm there is today for self-employment.

A recent and alarming cervical crisis led me to become aware of the long hours I spend sitting at my laptop in an unnatural and harmful posture. As well as how I had forgotten that basic freedom that I discovered back in the 80´s in dance.

After watching a documentary about North Korea, when I went out into the street and looked around, I was relieved to have been born in Cuba. But I had forgotten that comparisons can be misleading. Very soon afterwards I had the opportunity to remember that.

A friend and colleague with Havana Times told me that most of us who write for this magazine are “whiners” (himself included). We both noted that this is an attitude that isn’t entirely sincere, since if life in Cuba doesn’t also give people reasons for joy, who could put up with it?

After being delighted by the opening ceremony of the London Olympics, as the traditional competitions began, with these came my frustrations – because in sports, inexorably, someone wins and another one loses.

On three separate occasions it has happened to me. When going into the Coppelia outdoor ice-cream parlor, I have promised myself each time to never come back there again! Nonetheless, the other day when I was passing by there, and saw the line was short I began to either distrust my memory or to have confidence in that eternal relativity of events.

Bradbury came to me through a friend during those times when I still had black tea and the invocation of a book along with the music of Vangelis, which were enough to undertake a long journey.

It was that time of day when the thermometer soared, when electronic equipment demanded air conditioning or else risked burning out, and when everyone who was forced to wait in the open — but having at least a minimum freedom of movement — took refuge in some small island of shade.

Here in Cuba, if any extenuating circumstance provides some measure of relief against the waning of desire, the fatigue caused by the sun or an environment that exudes abandonment, it’s the conversations one hears involuntarily.