MY Que Rica Vida - or Orange is the New Black

So, Marta, what were you doing in Miami, anyway?

I was visiting family and meeting blog-friends and working the Babalú booth at Cuba Nostalgia and of course, celebrating my birthday. (If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, you would know exactly what I was up to moment by moment.) But the real reason I was able to go, was because of the generosity of General Mills.

I was invited, as part of a group of 34 Latina mami-bloggers and tons of newspaper and magazine folks (ie. real journalists) to celebrate the re-launch of  their Que Rica Vida site and this was a promotional junket.

It was a press event like no other, (at least none that I've ever attended. Maybe they're all like this and I just don't know it, because this was my first big one, but that's not important right now) and General Mills along with Hispania Public Relations pulled out all the stops for this two-day party.

There was an amazing all-female mariachi band, Damas de Jalisco, which were delightful to listen to. (Female mariachis....who knew?)

They were just so impressive and had that gorgeously rich mariachi sound. 

They wined us and dined us and showered us with some SWEET gifts (Yeah, Flip Video Camera!)

The Que Rica Vida people treated us to a fabulous dinner the first night at the Rusty Pelican on Key Biscayne (along with lots of mojitos).

Two Cuban blogging girls + a dozen Mexican mariachi girls = A Really Good Time. ;-)

The next night was the Que Rica Vida launch party which was crazy and fun with guest appearances from some of Univision’s top personalities like Javier Romero, and of course, the gorgeous Karla Martinez and the impossibly cute Adamari López.

 

The launch was classy and fun and interactive. I loved the cooking demonstration with all the Univision personalities (read "supermodels).

And I loved their logo. Everything was decorated in these gorgeous, glowing oranges and browns (I was tempted to steal this pillow, but that's not important right now, either.)

 

We got to meet and greet some other familiar characters.

 

And Amy Kikita (dressed here as Miami Barbie) got to poke the Pillsbury Dough Boy (if you're her Facebook friend, you know she takes her poking very seriously.)

But the highlight, by far, of all of this crazy and interactive fun was meeting up with the other invited "Blogeras." (<--is that a word?)

We (Carrie and I) were interviewed by Manny Ruiz of Hispanic PR Blog and a Papi Blogger in his own right. We gave him lots of Tiki Tiki, of course. ;-)

I am proud and privileged to be counted as part of this amazing group of Latina Blogeras. (<--Seriously, is that a word? Because if it isn't, it really should be...) I am in the process of collecting their names and sites to add to my blog roll.

 

So a great big Thank You to General Mills for inviting us to be a part of the Que Rica Vida event. 

I'm delighted I got to go. But honestly, I'm glad to be home.

And in the morning, I'm making waffles!

It just so turns out that Bisquick is a GM product.  Who knew?  ;-)

I've got some stuff to give away, too:

1. An extra Que Rica Vida mug
2. A cool tote bag and
3. A Betty Crocker cookbook that YOU WANT.

Let's do a comment drawing!

Tell me about any General Mills products you regularly use. Like, Green Giant, Bisquick, Cheerios, or maybe Haagen Dasz ice cream? (I'm partial to the Dulce de Leche one...) Leave your comment on this post only.

I'll choose a winner on Friday morning, June 4th, 2010 at 10:00 am.

Talk to me! Tell me about YOUR Que Rica Vida.

How to Turn 55 While in Miami

The following post has been brought to you courtesy of Kikita.

Greetings from Miami!

Yesterday was Mami's 55th birthday (it's ok, she told me I could tell you) and the celebrating started early in the morning and went late into the night. (Ok, technically I think she will be stretching her birthday out through the weekend, but that's not important right now.)

This is how I found her this morning:

Sharing a cake with her blog-friend the Modern Mami.

A couple of hours later Mami was enjoying a Dulce de Leche cupcake from InStyle Cupcakes.

After a quick stop to visit Tio Abuelo Fernando (yes, the 99 year old one I went to Cuba with in March)...

Mami had lunch with her cousin Yllien at the Gables Diner (yes, I got to go too).

Next it was time for the main event.

It was time for the big, fat, Cuban birthday party.

And we made it happen!

We had such a great group of people show up! And from all over the United States!

Lea & Vidal made it from New Jersey (and yes, we're going to pretend that the only reason they were in Miami was to say hello to Mami on her birthday).

 

Scott and his daughter Daryn came all the way from Georgia.

Billy trekked in from New Orleans.

Carrie showed up for some Tiki Tiki.

My cousin, Michael, made an appearance along with his lovely wife, Kimberly.

Amanda from Brandon's Puppy brought her whole brood with her and even Abe was there with his daughter Alissa.

It was so wonderful to have such a mixed group come and share such a fabulous evening. To all of you who were there, thank you. Mami was incredibly touched and feels oh-so-loved (which was the whole point).

To those of you who couldn't make it, here's what you missed (beyond delicious Cuban food and fun-tastic conversation):

Since my Dad and the rest of my siblings could not be there with us, they sent a video. Ok, it was all my Dad's idea. He worked hard on his video slide show and couldn't wait for Mami to see it. It was really quite adorable.

When I set up her computer and started playing it, she burst into tears because the song he'd chosen was the song they had danced to at their wedding.

It was a very sweet moment and a very sweet video.

I hope you enjoy it:

A Big, Fat, Cuban Family Birthday Party Invitation

Kikita (la hija de Marta) here and I have a happy announcement:

Mami will be turning...*ahem*... 21 on Friday, May 21st, 2010.

We will be in Miami for this momentous occasion and I've decided there is only one thing we can do. We must have a Big, Fat, Cuban Birthday party and EVERYONE is invited!
Where is the party, you ask?
Habana Vieja Restaurant

Come and enjoy some "Tiki Tiki time" with Marta as we celebrate her coming of age.
(Her actual age is "not important right now.")

Please don't feel obligated to bring gifts, the best gift is your presence.
Also, I can't buy your dinner, but I'll be happy to take a picture of you with Marta, so bring your camera! (And if you don't HAVE a camera, I'll have one and can email you the picture.)

If you have any more questions about this momentous occasion, you can email me, Kikita.
I'd be happy to give you my cell phone number so you can find us once you arrive. Just email me and ask. :-)

 
So, here's the re-cap:

When:        Friday, May 21st, 2010
                     6:30pm

Where:      Habana Vieja Restaurant

                    3622 Coral Way
                    Miami, FL 33145
                    (305) 448-6660

RSVP to:  Kikita

For those of you who won't be able to make it, but are hoping to catch Marta at Cuba Nostalgia, we will be at the Babablú Blog booth for most of Saturday, May 22, 2010.

We can't wait to see you!

Brace yourself, South Florida!

On May 20th, 1902, a small island in the Caribbean known as Cubadeclared her independence from Spain. La Republica de Cuba was officially born on the 20th of May. In fact, for years as I was growing up, I thought the celebrations were all about ME, but that's not important right now. (I know. It explains so much...)

20 de Mayo, is Cuba's Independence Day.

21 de Mayo is my birthday. =D

Cuba Nostalgia is scheduled every year around the 20th of May.

My Master Plan each year (when we can swing it) is to somehow get myself to Miami in May in time to celebrate Cuba's independence and my birthday.

This year I will be doing just that.

It turns out that the generous folks at General Mills happen to be launching a new website called Que Rica Vida and have invited a group of Latina bloggers to be a part of their launch. Yes, that includes me and Amy Kikita and our good friend (and partner in blog-crime), Carrie from TikiTiki Blog.

Here's the information about the event:

Thursday, May 20th. 6pm to 9pm

Hyatt Regency Downtown

400 S.E. 2nd Ave.

Miami, Florida

contact: Bibi@hispaniapublicrelations.com or (305) 439-9489 if you'd like to attend.

 

But, of course, because we're cool this way...we'll be in Miami through that entire weekend. (My Master Plan is unfolding quite nicely, don't you agree? Buahahaha! *rubs hands together*)

I'll be celebrating Cuban independence and my birthday. (Genius, right?) And even though we will be attending Cuba Nostalgia and hope to see some of you there, I was wondering if any of you Miami readers would like to meet us in a more intimate venue for some cafécito and a pastelito de guayaba (and of course, the ritual singing of Japi Bersdai!) somewhere in La Saguesera. Versailles maybe?

Please let us know. We'd love to have some face-to-face chisme time with you. Leave a comment if you're interested.

Muchos besos to you all.

Brace yourself, South Florida or as my mom would say...

"A viaje que viene agua!"

Kikita and La Casa de la Loma

Kikita wrote this post about her recent trip to Cuba; depending on the kind of person you are you may or may not need tissues.

Have you ever had one of those moments where you thought, "Dang it! I should have taken more pictures!"?

I am having one of those moments.

At the time, I was worried about running out of battery power or something. At the time, tears were streaming down my face.

At the time, I didn't know how to capture the intensity of the where I was and what I was feeling.

It happened the way all great moments do, suddenly and without warning. It was not exactly part of the plan.

The Plan was to have a quick lunch at my cousin's house, stay only as long as was necessary to be polite, and then drive to Matanzas while it was still light out.

The Plan was proceeding perfectly. The lunch of chicken, veggies, black beans, white rice, and yuca was delicious. 

 

Time was flying by between all the stories, laughter, and sheer joy of just being together.

 

That's when I asked if they knew where "Casa de la Loma" was. It was the last house my familiy lived in before they left. It was the house Mami always talked about. It was the house I'd tried to picture a thousand times in my head. It was the house whose address I knew by heart.

Still smiling and laughing, we all piled into the little rental car and traveled the few blocks over to Avenida de la Loma and stopped in front of #33.

 

I was rather dumb-struck and so I just took a picture of the outside number and stared wide-eyed.

 

My cousin (well, MAMI's cousin), Regina, rang the doorbell and asked the people living there (a French diplomat and his wife) if we could go inside. They were very sweet and showed us THE. WHOLE. HOUSE. Since Mami's cousins Lupe & Regina were with me, they told me whose room belonged to whom. I could barely speak. I couldn't stop my eyes from leaking. I kept forgetting to take pictures. I suddenly understood how "the house in the back" worked.

 

One of the most striking and intense things for me was being there with the primas who kept saying:

"I remember this courtyard being a lot bigger."

 

"I remember playing in this room with your Mom."

 

"I remember this hallway being a lot longer."

 

As we walked through the house, I pictured my mother as a five-year-old running down the long hallway. Or looking down from the top of the stairs. I kept trying to imagine what it would have looked like through her eyes.

 

As the tears of all that my family lost flowed down my face, there were new things that I began to wonder. I knew my mom's story, but she is the youngest of 6. There are 5 other stories I didn't know. 5 other stories. 5 siblings who lived in that house. 5 other points of view. (And that doesn't include my grandparents, I was just thinking about the kids and how they must have seen things differently because of their ages.)

I think that my impromptu visit to Casa de la Loma in the Nuevo Vedado, near the cemetary of Colón, looking over the river Almandares was one of the biggest moments that effected me on this trip. It changed my perspective of my family's story. It brought home to me just how tragic it all is. It has inspired me to seek out everyone else's story. And as I hear their stories, I don't have to imagine what the house looked like. I can see it. I was there.

 

Kikita and The Most Beautiful Beach in the World

The following post was written by Kikita.

My trip to Cuba was many things and I saw all kinds of things. I guess it was sort of magical. Some of the things I saw were as legendary to me as the Sphinx or Stonehenge or the Eiffel Tower.

I knew the video of my mother being dragged into the water of Varadero by heart. I knew the games they used to play. I call out "Buenos Dias, Familia!" knowing it is what the viandero used to say. I knew that they would get up super early to eat breakfast because my abuela, Luza, would make them wait THREE HOURS before letting them swim. I knew that they would HATE to come out of the water for lunch. I knew that they would swim until it was late. I knew the games they would play in the water. I knew Varadero was "the most beautiful beach in the world."

What I didn't know was the sense of urgency I would feel when I first saw the sign that let me know that I had finally arrived. 

 

I didn't know how desperate I was to dig my toes into the soft powdery sand. I didn't know that I would burst into tears the minute the water came rushing to meet my feet.

 

I did not expect to feel such a sense of loss and longing. I did not expect to wish so hard that things were different. That Mami had continued to grow up there and that I too had been able to grow up spending my summers in that same water. I didn't know HOW beautiful "the most beautiful beach in the world" was.

(it was really bright so I had to squint) 

I couldn't go swimming because it was VERY windy AND there were these beautiful blue blobs all over the beach . . . I think they're called Portuguese Man o' War? ;-)

 

I was in Varadero all day and made it "hasta la puntica" just in time to see the sunset.

I kept thinking over and over, "I'm really here. I made it. I've made it to the very end. The very tip."

 

It was dark by the time we made it to the place where Mami had spent her summers, but I didn't care. The sign was still there. Villa Obdulia. I stood in front of that house and pictured my Abuela with all her kids, my tias y tio y Mami. I wish it had been earlier in the day, I would have knocked on the door. A neighbor told me there was no one home, so I wouldn't have been able to go inside anyway. It didn't matter. The name of the house was still there. I had found my own personal Stonehenge.

 

I didn't care that I couldn't go swimming. I had felt the warm water. Mami's water. I had felt the soft powdery sand. Mami's sand. I scooped up the sand and packed as much as I could into a ziplock baggy for Mami, but then I pulled out another small container just for me. To remember my moment. It wasn't just a beach in Mami's memory anymore. Now it was mine too. It had become a part of me. A part of my memory.

 

NOTE: Added by Marta 3/26/2010:

My sisters and cousins on the porch of our beloved Villa Obdulia. Circa 1960. Read that post here.

The Most Beautiful Beach in the World

Most of the decor in my home is bright and colorful and Cuban-esque.

My "theme"? I was originally going for Cuban Beach Cottage. (Our home is small.) And so, I have collected posters and art and maps and things that are a throwback to the simple days of my Cuban childhood.

These three framed postcards, for example, are of 3 places that I remember vividly: (from top to bottom) Varadero Beach, The Hotel Nacional de Cuba, and the Malecón.

 

I've shared with you before about my fascination with the Hotel Nacional and the amazing gift I received from my friend, Ody.

I've written many times about how many of my earliest memories are of the beach. Specifically Varadero Beach in the Cuban province of Matanzas.

I have been to some beautiful beaches in my lifetime, but I still believe (as do most Cubans that I've met) that there is no beach on earth that compares with Varadero.

I vividly remember digging my toes into the soft powdery sand. I can practically smell the sea air. The water was walk-right-in warm. It's one of those perfect sensory memories that is seared into my brain.

Ah, Varadero! How can anything compare with the memory of your perfection? The most beautiful beach in the world.

Amy Kikita brought back some souvenirs from her Cuba trip. Some were gifts from the cousins and uncles. Some she chose herself at one of the flea markets.

 

There was a baseball hat from Los Industriales, some goat-skin maracas, a baseball bat & ball for Jon with his name carved into it, some jewelry for Lucy, wooden cooking utensils (how apropos!), an unusual wine-bottle holder.

How much fun we were having! We opened gifts and she told us the stories of how she came to acquire each one and who and where they were from. We laughed and celebrated the thoughtfulness of each item.

In the midst of this rowdy exchange she pulled out one last bundle which reduced me to tears...

It was a container made of heavy marble. (I have an extensive collection of small boxes/containers from all over the world, but that's not important right now) This one was from the amazing Hotel Nacional.

 

I thought this was "el colmo." ("the ultimate.")

Until she handed me the ziplock bag full of sand from the most beautiful beach in the world.

I am still speechless. Gracias, Mimi.

I'm the little girl in the white dress, all Shirley Temple curls and big red airplane-size hairbow. Please go back in time with me to the Varadero of my childhood.... (bring tissues...)

Kikita and The Unseen Cuba

The following post was written by Kikita; who has recently returned from a trip to Cuba with her 96 year old grandmother.

Every day that I was in Cuba, I would get home to Tio Timbiriche's after a long day of adventuring and the question "Los Viejos" would ask me was always the same, "What did you see?"

And every day I would start my response with, "The question is: what did I NOT see?!?"

And I would proceed to tell them all the wonderful things I had seen, and I very carefully left out all the things I did NOT see; rather, all the things I was not supposed to see.

Part of my reasons for locking these things away was because they were looking at me with such joy on their faces, the way parents watch a child on his/her first day at Disneyland. They were looking at me and waiting to hear stories of places they have known and loved their whole lives, especially my abuela. I would not disappoint my audience. I would tell them what they wanted to hear and I chose my words carefully. I was even careful about what I wrote in the little journal I was keeping . . . and a good thing I was too, because one night Tio Timbiriche asked to see my journal. My heart just about stopped, but I made sure he didn't see anything but the beautiful things I was supposed to be seeing. The rest I was saving for now.

I did not tell them about the long walk to Yoani Sanchez's house. 

 

I did not tell them about the view from her patio.

 

I did not tell them because I did not "SEE" it. When, in fact, I did more than just SEE it. I FELT it.

Every where I went, I could feel the oppression. But sometimes it was hard to see.

It reminded me of a "What's wrong with this picture?"

 

Some things were glaringly obvious:

 

while others were not:

 

I didn't talk about all the doctors I saw in the streets because they can not afford a car. I didn't talk about the constant presence of olive green uniforms anywhere I went. I didn't talk about the "Punta de Control" checkpoints we had to drive past. I didn't tell them how scary and wrong it felt slowing down to almost a crawl while not making eye contact with military operative who could decide to pull us over for whatever reason. (Luckily, we never got pulled over.) I didn't talk about how I thought it was strange that not only were there militarios everywhere, there were police too.

I didn't talk about how seeing Che Guevara's image every place I turned made me want to vomit. In fact, the day I was coming from Yoani's house, I was so worried about my "cover story" that I shut off my emotions completely in order to get the proper pictures I thought would be requested of me later. No pictures were requested.

 

I did not hear the indoctrination of the Cuban people first hand when someone mentioned Orlando Zapata Tamayo and called him an idiot for dying because "he wanted a bigger tv." (Let me clarify that: the woman did not know the real reason why Orlando Zapata Tamayo had gone on a hunger strike. She thought it was because he had wanted a better tv or a microwave.) I didn't turn on the radio and hear that Cuba was the FIRST country to send aid to Chile and that Cuba also sent the MOST aid.

Yes, of course I saw the Granma. Yes, I saw the newspaper too. 

I didn't see the tin roofs.

 

I didn't see the look of hopelessness in the eyes of some of people.

 

I didn't see the broken benches at a park near where my grandmother used to live.

 

I didn't see any propaganda.

 

I didn't see a buildings that looked to be on the brink of collapse 

across the street from the magnificent Hotel Nacional.

I didn't see graffiti. I didn't see my family members cleaning their plates as if they had no idea when they were going to eat again.

I didn't see the outside of homes.

Only the inside.

 

I DID see the manisero, but I didn't see how old he was or that he had a cane.

 

I didn't hear someone say, "No, park further forward. There's a camera watching this corner."

I didn't see a sign for nominations  for the Committee for the Defense of the Revolution posted above an elevator.

And, finally, I didn't walk up a set of super steep and narrow steps to a room of MAYBE 300 square feet. I didn't see that there was a full-sized bed with thread bare sheets in front of me. I didn't see the grey slab of cement floor. I didn't see the bathroom that looked to have enough room for a sink, a toilet, and a stand-up shower. I didn't turn to see a pin-pan-pun (cot) pushed up against a short wall that would stop only a small person from falling down the steep stairs. And I defintely did not see that on top of those thread bare sheets were two little girls between the ages of 3 and 5 playing and laughing. I did not see the small refridgerator or the small counter or the hot plate serving as a stove. I did not see a pregnant woman arrive at this place she called home. I did not hear one of the little girls wave at me and say, "Adios!" as sweetly and innocently as possible. I didn't wonder what her future held. My heart did not break.

What did I see? What DIDN'T I see, THAT is the question. 

Speaking of Cuban Dissidents . . .

The following post was written by Kikita.

My whole life I've grown up hearing the songs about how beautiful Cuba is. I've seen the paintings. I know Cuba is beautiful. I've always known.

"Pearl of the Antilles"

"La Reina de la Mar Caribe"

"Cuba Linda de mi vida"

Despite constantly hearing it growing up, something happened when I was actually there, standing in front of things I'd seen and heard of my whole life.

I found myself constantly in awe. It really was beautiful. 

Looking out at the ocean . . .

 

or Havana . . .

 

or just pine trees . . .

  

or the Malecón . . .

   

or hills . . .

 

or El Cristo . . .

or even a sunset . . .

 

I wanted to dance. I wanted to sing. I wanted to paint. I wanted to write.

I wanted to drink it in forever.

Every song about Cuba and it's beauty became instantly more meaninful to me once I had seen it with my own eyes.

Now as I listen to these songs that made me smile as I grew up, I want to cry. They are inspiring a fresh sense of loss. A new understanding of how painful this exile is. They are bittersweet. They celebrate the beauty of Cuba while mourning its loss.

And I now feel more fiercely than ever the desire to see freedom for my people.

Here at MBFCF we try to stay focused on family and Cuban-American life. We try not to get too political, but we definitely do not keep our positions and beliefs a secret. If you've been reading for any amount of time, then I'm sure you know where we stand. That being said, it would be impossible to keep politics completely separate from a Cuban-American family, because it was politics that originally ripped our families apart.

Seven years ago, Mami, Adam, and I were planning to take a missions trip to Cuba with our local church. We were getting all of the paperwork ready to go when something happened to change Mami's mind. The (c)astro government was arresting political dissidents in a crackdown that would come to be known as "La Primavera Negra" (The Black Spring). The political unrest on the island worried Mami to the point that she changed her mind about going and we went to Miami instead. (Hey, I'm not going to complain, we had a fabulous time, but that's not important right now.)

During the crackdown, that began on March 18th and lasted two days, there were 75 dissidents (SEVENTY-FIVE!!) arrested. They ranged from journalists to librarians to human rights activists. Some have been paroled. Most remain in prison. Our good friend, Marc Masferrer, at Uncommon Sense has the whole story.

Tomorrow, seven years after we canceled our original trip to Cuba and now immediately following my return from the island, Mami and I will be attending a private screening of a documentary titled "Oscar's Cuba."

 

The music was done by Arturo Sandoval and the word on the street is that Andy Garcia will be doing the narration. =D

A brave film-maker by the name of Jordan Allot was in Cuba working on another project when he heard about Dr. Oscar Elías Biscet González. Jordan then took it upon himself to expose the truth about Dr. Biscet's reality. Dr. Oscar Elías Biscet González is a Cuban dissident who had served a 3 year prison sentence, was released, and was re-arrested about one month later during the Black Spring and then sentenced to 25 years.

His crime? Exposing the horrendous communist government practices of: slaughtering newborns and forcing abortions on women with problematic pregnancies.

To read a review of the film, you can click here.

If you'd like more information about the film itself, you can find it at www.oscarscuba.com.

Here in the U.S. we have the liberty to freely speak our minds. That is completely intolerable to the current Cuban government. And so they round up the free-thinkers. They imprison, beat and torture those who dare to disagree.

But there is movement in Cuba of political dissidents and it's growing each day. Those of us who are free and believe in human rights would do well to support those who are not free and whose basic human rights get routinely trampled on.

If you have an extra $10, please donate it to support this documentary. It's a small price to pay to further the cause of freedom and human rights.

If you do NOT have an extra $10, please, just get involved. Get the word out. Any way that you can.

There is a glimmer of hope. Let us feed the flame.

Kikita and the Cuban Dissident Bloggers

Marta here. Back in February of this year, my friends over at Babalú blog and Uncommon Sense posted a link to a Cuban dissident blogger whose name was Regina Coyula.

I was a little shocked. I have a Cuban cousin with that name, but I knew her family to be hardcore communists. However, when I clicked on the link, I saw her familiar face. It was Regina. Blogging about the harsh realities of life in Cuba today.

This photo was taken in Cuba in 1959. I'm the 2nd cowgirl from the left. Regina is over to the far right.

Unable to contact her, we surreptitiously sent a zip drive with Amy (brilliantly attached to a make up bag - see that photo in this post) and hoped and prayed for the best.

Amy was able to not only meet and spend time talking with and interviewing her, she got to go on A Dissident Adventure with her in Havana.

Here's that story:

Kikita wrote this post and is PUTTING HER FREEDOM TO WORK.

By some amazing chance (or Divine Intervention), I was able to get my cousin Regina alone and deliver the flash drive. What struck me was how grateful she was not only for the flash drive, but for the make-up that came with it. She LOVES make-up.

While she went about pulling out the various compacts, we were having the most amazing conversation about her blog, La Mala Letra. 

She told me that she is not afraid, which is why she has her picture and full name on her page, but her family is. She does it for herself more than anything because she just couldn't stand to keep quiet any longer. She had been a strong communist for over 20 years and then became disillusioned with the "Revolution."

While I was in awe of her courage, what impacted me even more was her view of what she is doing. She explained that she does not expect to make any big change by herself; that she feels like one small pebble falling from the ceiling each day, but hopes that one day she will look around and so many other pebbles will have fallen that the ceiling will collapse.

Her son was born 16 years ago and she has been wanting a better life for him ever since. 

This is him and his friend, Brian, being teenage boys. My eyes well up every time I watch this. He is a junior in high school. After he graduates he will have to serve in the military for at least a year before going on to college. He is the best English speaker in his class and asked me when I was coming back, but then decided he would like to visit California better. I think he looks like a combination of Lucy and Jonathan. He was such a sweet boy. It kills me to think of what possible future he has if he has to continue growing up on the island prison.

Regina woke up one day not too long ago and realized she HAD to do something about it. And not just for her son. She wants the youth of Cuba to have hope for a better future instead of just hoping to one day leave. She said she writes what she sees. She writes about the realities of Cuba. And she is part of a group of bloggers that meet on a weekly basis at THE HOME OF YOANI SANCHEZ. YES!! Ms. Generación Y herself! My eyes began to leak when I heard that Regina was going and I practically begged her to take me. I explained that I had harbored a secret hope that I would be out walking somewhere and just run into Yoani.

But . . . I was staying in the house of Tío Timbiriche, a communist. Regina and I shared the sentiment that we absolutely adore our family, especially Timbiriche, and that is why we never discussed politics in front of him (or the youngest of abuela's siblings: Mari, who is also a firm believer in "la Revolución). Because there was no way we could tell the truth about where we were going, Regina told them she was taking me to La Plaza de la Revolución.

I couldn't believe it. I was participating in dissident behavior! Lying to everyone and keeping a big secret in order to go to a meeting . . . AT YOANI'S HOUSE.

We had to take a couple of buses. And then we had a long, hot walk. But I smiled when I saw the door.

 

And I couldn't believe how many people were inside. There were easily 25-30 and more showed up over the 2 hours while I was there. Honestly, it reminded me of a prayer meeting. 

 

And seeing all those people gave me a new hope for the future . . . 

For Cuba. For Cubans. For LIFE in general.

And then they asked me questions that I felt like I had no business answering.

"What do the Cubans over there think of us?"

"What do people say about us?"

"Sometimes people send me gifts and I'm embarrassed to take it, why do they do that?"

I just kept telling everyone how much support they had from "la Yuma." That people were for them and would do whatever they could to help. That they send gifts because they want to help and don't know how. I told them to be encouraged because they WERE making a difference.

One of the guys from the group, Porno Para Ricardo was there.

I couldn't help feeling like a fish out of water. These people were incredibly courageous. They risked their lives every day. What was the worst that could happen to me? I get deported? Sent back to my comfortable life in Southern California? While these thoughts were swirling in my head, the other thing I kept thinking was "They are just people trying to make a difference."

Then Yoani came out. (Mami posted about Yoani back here.)

  

AND I GOT TO MEET YOANI SANCHEZ! 

 

And then we had to hurry up and get to La Plaza in order to create our alibi.

What a dichotomy I was living! I was right in the thick of it!

Morning at Yoani's house, afternoon at La Plaza. SHUT. UP.

The buses were on time for us all day and Regina mentioned that that RARELY happened.

I gave her my easy answer, "That's because Jesus loves me."

 

I asked her to send a message to our family . . . so my big, fat, Cuban family I am proud to introduce you to my cousin Regina Coyula: