My Right to Live
HAVANA TIMES – The other night I suffered a kind of out-of-body experience, and for a few minutes my role changed from protagonist to spectator. There, sitting on the wall of the reservoir, I saw myself as the 41-year-old woman I am. The waves of brown hair on my shoulders, the wet clothing, and on the uncovered skin, some drops sparkling in the moonlight.
A mixture of peace and melancholy were fused together in my glance. My legs drawn up; arms intertwined. Every so often I would raise the cigarette to my lips, causing the smoke to circle lightly around me forming little whirlpools in the shadows.
In the water, my husband and our friends were laughing, their voices challenging the silence of the night.
“Fabiana! What are you doing? Come on over!”
“I’m smoking. I’ll be right there!”
A smile on automatic pilot, the syllables sounding foreign to me – the same way I’ve felt at other times, hearing my voice on a recording.
In order to go back in the water and join them, I had to recover control of my body. Cease observing myself as a nostalgic presence, a woman reflecting on the past and looking uncertainly towards the future.
Abandon that Fabiana who, at that moment, was recalling a night like this one in the same place, but 20 years ago, when five friends, including myself, decided to escape from the noise of the discotheque in order to submerge ourselves in the peace of nature.
There was no space for worries, only to share jokes and music. The guitar, faithful friend of adventures, promised to be the soundtrack of the night. A bottle of alcohol, cigarettes, and my old Canon camera as silent witnesses to the shared confessions and anecdotes.
Every song, every story, seemed to strengthen our ties. There was no room for the uncertainty of tomorrow, so when the first glints of dawn appeared on the horizon, we climbed the tower. The camera captured smiles, embraces and glances that spoke of an unbreakable friendship.
But time passed, and each one chose their path. Four left for other shores; I remained on this side.
“Wake up, Fabiana!” I told myself, trying to get back in control. A long time ago, I convinced myself that it makes no sense to be mired in the past. You have to embrace the present and advance towards the future.
I got up and – careful not to slip – came up to the water where they were playing. My husband took my hand and hugged me. That was my place: Outside life continued: the city lights would go out or come on in blocks, and the night sky was already changing, giving way to dawn.
We both knew that the routine of another day would soon begin: the fight to survive, the hunt to bring to the table something to eat, the moment of adios for the friends who leave the country, open arms for the new ones who arrive in our lives, and give life on this island a better flavor.
Given all that, I left the nostalgia behind. I laughed, drank, smoked, and danced on that wall, in the tenuous light of the dawn.
No political system or economic situation are going to rob me of the right to live.