HAVANA TIMES – I am sitting by the lake where I live. A family approaches. The little girl must be about four years old; she looks at me and smiles with the innocence typical of her age. Behind her are the parents, all blond, Caucasian, typical Anglo-Saxons.
“Good morning,” they say to me because US people are like that, polite. And they walk away without worry, perhaps happy, or at least that’s how it appears.
In contrast to me, I can hardly enjoy this peaceful Sunday. My mind travels back to Cuba, and I start to ponder why I am here, in a country that is not mine.
Like many Cubans, I cannot find solid ground in these places. We have our feet on the sea. We have no homeland.
A homeland is like that land, environment, society, whatever you want to call it, where one works, dreams, and has hopes for the future while enjoying a present where one feels in the right, natural place.
Cubans on both shores lack this. Unfortunately, a small group of criminals led by a psychopath, thief, manipulator, and murderer stole our homeland and dedicated themselves to destroying it for their own benefit.
Those of us who had the opportunity t
