Saturday, March 27, 2010

Con pocas palabras

Un amigo me reprocha suavemente que por qué no escribo más a menudo en este blog.

Y la razón es que cuando mi espíritu no encuentra la fuerza, la inspiración -o no hay algo interesante que decir- me doy cuenta que últimamente prefiero callarme y replegarme en mi misma. No grito. No lloro. No me rebelo. No le cuento a todos lo que me pasa. No...eso era cosa de otros momentos. Ahora, sencillamente, me 'guardo' dentro de mi misma. Y escojo mi 'solitude'. Y fíjense que no digo 'soledad', sino 'solitude'. Es todo voluntario.

Tampoco quiero ser una 'cry baby', ni una caprichosa, o una majadera desagradecida a la vida...Y tampoco quiero escribir cuando estoy preocupada o triste. Y últimamente veo tantas cosas raras que me llenan de angustia y de ansiedad, que prefiero no escribirlas. No es nada ´terrible´ --ni está ocurriendo algo catastrófico en mi vida...No, gracias a Dios --pero sin duda estoy desanimada. ¿Por qué? Quizás porque encuentro a veces la vida demasiado injusta-- ¡excesivamente injusta para tantas personas que quiero! Y como quiero tanto a los que quiero, pues sufro por ellos y quisiera ser ´todopoderosa´ y ayudarlos mucho, y darles de todo, darles dinero, darles ánimos, darles sonrisas, darles cariño, darles mucho éxito --- y también poderles dar las armas para que sean plenamente felices.
Y como no puedo hacerlo, pues eso me quita ánimos.

Pero seguiré escribiendo. Pronto seguramente. Aunque no quiero sentir este blog como una 'obligación' --sino como un momento de placer que puedo compartir con mis 'lectores'. Como decirles que un día como hoy nació mi adorada hija . Y también poder comentarles pronto sobre Cuba, y las valientes Damas de Blanco, el arma más decente y efectiva que tenemos en esta lucha contra la dictadura cubana ---y de todo eso -¡hay mucho que hablar!

Thursday, March 11, 2010

A New York (Almost/Spring) Day

It was such a New York day!

Crisp morning walk to MOMA with my friend Mariano Ros. Checking out Picasso's masterpieces. And the Kandinskys, the Pollocks, the Magrittes, the Van Goghs, the Matisses...All so close to us --and so easy to enjoy. The Women of Avignon is always striking but Picasso's Woman in the Mirror is my favorite This time we also saw Monet's Waterlillies, now all together in a big room. They are so beautiful! And the gorgeous Frida Kahlo with a mirror next to it. I could go on and on...

And then, we sat for a while outside -the weather was so mild today! --in the Sculptures Patio, close to Picasso's ugly goat and real skinny Giacometti. And I must also add the thrill of finding new paintings that have been recently added to the museum!

I also enjoyed seeing how a very polite museum employee kicked out 2 adult young women (tourists from whereeee?) who had sat down in the middle of the museum's marble lobby floor --and had proceeded to open bags and eat a huge Subway sandwich with cans of Coke --like they could have a picnic right then and there! (People who could not believe their eyes were taking pictures of them!) can a sane human being do something that crazy and absurd?

What a day!...It is so wonderful to have all these things around us. Advantages of living in a big city. This is why I walk to MOMA often, since is so close to my house, and just 'pop in' to see, again and again, so many by now familiar masterpieces...An exercise that expands my spirit.

Only in New York!

Friday, March 5, 2010

Fires Re-Ignited and My Old Self Back

Ever since I was 15 years old my life has been directed by Fidel Castro.

Before and right after the beginning of the Cuban Revolution, one man -and his ideas-changed 180 degrees all the plans I had for my life. Turned upside down all my dreams. Destroyed my family unity. Imposed his will. And became The Dictator (hence the word, because he certainly 'dictated' unquestionable edicts and laws and regulations) of my life and the lives of at the time 6 million Cubans.

It was that simple. And that devastating.

And ever since, the story of Life During the Revolution and Life in Exile became what would have been my well planned Life. Two separate chapters. Two well filled new books, that many years later encompass millions of experiences, anecdotes, painful moments, the passing of so many of my friends and relatives, the death of my parents --and so many tears of both pain and happiness. Two new lives that faced many new combats -- added baggage I did not need to carry when I was barely a young adolescent and it would have been great to have a happy youth.

Combats I call them, because I've had to fight so many new fears and there has been so much -yes, so much!--anxiety in my life. All this created by fear. Fear of prison and persecution in revolutionary Cuba. Fear of the unknown when shooting squads became the daily reality. And fears of the unknown when our mother took my brother and I into exile with $5 in her pocket and millions of questions ahead. Anxiety 101 for sure! And a terrible burden -to this day- in my life.

Thus, now -right at the moment when the passing of time was 'softening' my memories and I had become more benevolent regarding seeing a Cuban (from the island) Painting exhibit, or the Cuban Ballet, or talking wuth a more civil understanding to Cubans who still live in the island, etc- the murder of dissident Orlando Zapata, and moreover, seeing Raul Castro's nauseating statements regarding his death in a Cancun summit- have stopped me in my tracks. And once again I fully feel and understand why we all became exiles years ago --and how deep my disgust runs regarding the living hell that Cuba has become.

Raul Castro's dismissive and sarcastic comments regarding "one who died in a hunger strike" -and the attitude of tropical arrogance he displayed, including an accent speaking Spanish that I have always recognized as cruel and 'chusma'- struck me with such force that all my goodwill and my intentions to understand and even forgive, are gone.
Suddenly everything was back to Black or White and shades of Gray were gone!

The Cuban issue is that simple. There is a 51 year old cruel dictatorship in the island of the Castro brothers where Human Rights are ignored and no decent human being in the planet can deny this. And until people inside the island decide that life is not worth living in these circumstances -and the international community of nations stops excusing murder and persecution- nothing will change.

In the meantime, I have become a fighter again --my old self once again---shaking away the tiresome "ennui ", erasing the mantra of "I dont have strength anymore to fight Fidel Castro" that the passing of time had created in my spirit.

Somehow Orlando Zapata Tamayo's death has awaken in many of us the reasons why we became exiles and has re/ignited our old fires.