HAVANA TIMES – From the moment I set foot in the United States, I felt like a blind man not knowing where to go or how to organize my immigration status.
I knew that to start, I needed a work permit and a social security number, but I had no idea where to go to get them.
I found myself in a different city, bustling, full of cars speeding down its highways, and me on foot, not knowing how to get around, depending on my sponsor who is hardly ever home and spends most of his month in other states transporting goods.
I was literally alone, slowly finding my way in the dark.
Every evening the gym became a refuge, not only to train my body but also to relieve the stress of a new place and the nostalgia for a Cuba that, despite everything, is my homeland, where I left behind a life, many memories, and loved ones who are always present, especially my daughter.
There at the gym I met Manuel, a man with coppery skin and indi
