When I was twenty-two years old, I had the opportunity to go to Cuba for the very first time. Both sides of my family left the island in the sixties, at the dawn of the Revolution, and never returned. They were allowed to leave only with what they could carry. It had been more than 50 years since someone in my direct bloodline had stepped foot back on that island. And I would be the first one. Continue reading “My Family Fled, Too”
Those who know me well, and even many who don’t, usually know one thing to be true about me: I am not the person for soundbites. When I tell a story, I want to tell the whole story – details and all. This is especially true for experiences I hold close to my heart, as I do for this recent trip to Cuba.
However, with the recent popularity of Cuba in the news, I hesitated posting this at all. I don’t like to chime in on trending topics of conversation for the sake of social relevance. It’s all mostly white noise, anyway. But this is different.
My story with this island began long before I was born. I can trace my way through the pieces found in my parents, and their parents, and their parents before that. In some ways, I thought that was true before, but now I know it is. And the stories I have to tell as a result, no matter what is buzzing on the news, have little to do with policy and everything to do with people and the places in between. Continue reading “Glimpses from the Island: A Photo Essay”