Letters from a first generation Cuban-American

Letter from Havana. By: susanna kohly

Havana, I wasn’t here in your glory days but I can envision what you looked like.

Your colors tell me. Fades as they are, they tell a story. Your layers give way to what was.

Although you are pale yellow now, I see the ripe green that you were. Green like the plantanos that grow in your fields.

I’ve only heard stories of you and visited you in my dreams. Your colors have only existed in my imagination and now that I am here, I feel as if I am living a tangible dream.

This is the purest thing I know.

No longer do I have to go to Little Havana to eat Cuban food, or hear the tale of an exile. I am here.

And the people here, they live on this island. And the Malecon is in their backyard.

The stained glass windows really do exist.And there are the royal palms from the paintings I’ve seen. I am familiar with the plush green mountains that I’ve never seen before.

Cuba, you are beautiful.

The salseros sang us “Chan Chan” today sitting on your streets eating lunch. It was surreally perfect.

But I can’t enjoy you all the way.

You are bleeding too much. Don’t try to hide it. I know better than the signs and slogans that are written all over your streets.

“Vamos Bien!”

I know the truth of why your paint is chipping.

And I am here to help.

Papi, Maria, Jorge, Lisset, Danny, Isabel, Joe.

I have no idea what it means or how it feels to be forced to leave the country that I was born in, but I’ve seen first hand how it can shape you for the rest of your life. I’ve witnessed first-hand how a life of exile can set the axis on which the rest of your life spins.

You were born here just like the man who sold me a copy of the Granma. Yet he has never left this island. And now, with more years than you, he sells a newspapaer that he himself does not endorse.  He has this tints of evaporated joy in his eyes.  Joy that has become like novocain. And he searches yours to see if true joy is possible after all these years. 

You exiles came here to heal and give of yourselves. and verify this joy in your brothers, and aunts and cousins, and sons of cousins. 

And I think your people that have nothing will give you more than you have room in your suitcase for.