My grandma just left for Cuba yesterday so it's been on my mind lately. Today at work these two girls about my age in scrubs looked really lost so I asked them if they needed help finding anything. They had broken English and tried to describe paper cups to me. When I was taking them there I overheard them speaking in Spanish behind me. So in Spanish, I asked them where they were from. When they said Cuba I just felt my heart melt away. One of them was from Santiago de Cuba and another one was from Oriente. A few decades ago Cuba was divided into three large sections, one of them being Oriente. Where I'm from, Cueto, is in Oriente. When I told the girl I was from Cueto it was like this immediate connection... As if we had known each other for years. We gave each other a big hug and then we all talked about how much we missed it and for how long we've been in the states. The one from Oriente had been here 6 years and the other girl 10. I was genuinely so proud of them for coming so far and being so successful because their scrubs said they were in the college of dentistry at UF. Things have been so shitty lately that it was so overwhelming having a little taste of home. I wrote a poem about home about a month ago not really knowing where my home was. But now I've realized I have many homes but they're all in Cuba.
On my cousin Lucia's porch drinking mint shots with all of the cousins telling stories about adventures we've gotten into.
On my grandpa's roof looking up at the stars talking with him about life as the clothes hanging from a line blew in the summer breeze.
In Havana with my favorite cousin, Carlos, drinking rum out of coconuts with fancy little straws laughing with the cute neighbor in the middle of June.
Walking to my Grandma's house and everyone I walk by saying hello to me because some how or another they recognize me.
Going out at night with my cousins to the pueblo and eating cotton candy while reaggeton blasts throughout the town center and everyone's dancing and having a good time.
Exploring around the fancy resort by myself and going to unmapped territory with nothing but my camera and the sun setting above me.
Crossing the railroad tracks with my mom and uncle and cousins to go visit my great grandma, Mama, even though there's a high chance she won't remember us at that instant.
I wish someone could understand the immense craving I have to feel at home all the time. To be there all the time. To be surround by the constant love and affection that I can only feel from being in Cuba. To be so relaxed and happy. It's so different. Here you walk down the street and you look at your phone to avoid eye contact with that stranger walking by you. There, chances are you know that person. I'm grateful that I was able to come to a place where I have so many chances to be anything I want to be. But a life living in debt to the government working a 9-5 cookie cutter job is not the life for me.
