Veronica Vega’s diary

I remember that when I was a little girl, I liked to walk around outside our apartment building and search through the grass for treasures that chance would place in my path: a piece of gold-foil paper, a button in a peculiar shape, a piece of a toy… (8 photos)

A writer read an essay that began with: “I was born in a country that no longer exists.” I ignored the fact that she was born in the former German Democratic Republic since I had no doubt that she was talking about Cuba. But what was most curious was that I wasn’t alone in having that impression.

My son is sad because his best friend Leo, who now lives in Miami, — despite their having shared years and games, secrets and dreams, despite their last embrace, teary eyes and attachments that made them exchange e-mail addresses and promises — he has not sent a message.

As the popular saying goes, “You only value what you’ve lost.” It’s a sad statement – right? But since I’m trying to be fair, I always add that memories too are created and later recalled through the prism of nostalgia, with plenty of those memories becoming adulterated.