melissa with Patty and Madison Nicole- our soon to be new baby cousin
Monday, December 20, 2004
Grace's wedding- Miami
I had such a great time at my cousin Grace's wedding in Miami.
I went for 4 days and was able to spend quality time with my extended family.
Whenever I go toMiami I feel like I am time-travelling to the epicenter of the Cuban universe.
I was not born in Cuba and still have never actually PHYSICALLY been there, but whenever I set foot in Miami I feel like I have been transported to a parallel Cuban universe where Cubans enjoy the liberties shared by all American citizens, but speak in Spanish all day and mention Castro at least 4 or 5 times in whatever conversation they may be having.
Ok, I may be exaggerating a little... but as an American-born woman of 100% Cuban parents, Miami is truly a place that makes you realize that you are not alone- there are other kids out there that instead of potato chips in their lunch bags had to pack chicken croquetas wrapped in foil paper, while the other kids asked them with horrified look son their faces if they were really eating fried bananas...Once I am actually in the heart of Miami I feel an inexplicable bond that arises from the immediate familiarity I feel with everything around me. People speaking with Cuban accents, the smell of frijoles negros and little old men with guayabera shirts remind you of every family meal you have ever eaten, every great-uncle you have ever met and every story you have ever heard about the island. Whenever I go there I feel like a part of me awakens, and I feel closer than ever to my family and to my culture.
Ok, I may be exaggerating a little... but I think I speak for all offspring of Cuban exiles everywhere (regardless as to wether they grew up in Miami or not) when I say that Cuba is much more than an island to us. Cuba, for us, is actually more like the ghost of a dead relative that passed away long before we were born. A blurry, yet oddly familiar image that is conjured with every old photograph we see, and every old song we hear. We grow up listening to stories about Cuba and even come to memorize gossip about entire neighborhoods of people that we will probably never meet, but who remain as familiar to us as if we had grown up with them ourselves. These memories that are not my own, yet they are so alive to me that I can easily recite family anecdotes as if I had actually been there when they took place: my mother as a young girl in Cuba riding her bike to go see every single American movie that was shown in the local theater, or my grandmother's stories about growing up on a sugar cane plantation and helping to raise her brothers and sisters, or even stories of my father as a boy with a BB-gun wandering the countryside with his dog behind his grandmother's farmhouse.
For now, since I have yet to go there, I can only continue to imagine what Cuba is like and endlessly reconstruct it in my mind. Miami completes my fuzzy reproduction of Cuba, it brings the color, the noise, the smells and the music to what I can only imagine Cuba was like when my family lived there.
I went for 4 days and was able to spend quality time with my extended family.
Whenever I go toMiami I feel like I am time-travelling to the epicenter of the Cuban universe.
I was not born in Cuba and still have never actually PHYSICALLY been there, but whenever I set foot in Miami I feel like I have been transported to a parallel Cuban universe where Cubans enjoy the liberties shared by all American citizens, but speak in Spanish all day and mention Castro at least 4 or 5 times in whatever conversation they may be having.
Ok, I may be exaggerating a little... but as an American-born woman of 100% Cuban parents, Miami is truly a place that makes you realize that you are not alone- there are other kids out there that instead of potato chips in their lunch bags had to pack chicken croquetas wrapped in foil paper, while the other kids asked them with horrified look son their faces if they were really eating fried bananas...Once I am actually in the heart of Miami I feel an inexplicable bond that arises from the immediate familiarity I feel with everything around me. People speaking with Cuban accents, the smell of frijoles negros and little old men with guayabera shirts remind you of every family meal you have ever eaten, every great-uncle you have ever met and every story you have ever heard about the island. Whenever I go there I feel like a part of me awakens, and I feel closer than ever to my family and to my culture.
Ok, I may be exaggerating a little... but I think I speak for all offspring of Cuban exiles everywhere (regardless as to wether they grew up in Miami or not) when I say that Cuba is much more than an island to us. Cuba, for us, is actually more like the ghost of a dead relative that passed away long before we were born. A blurry, yet oddly familiar image that is conjured with every old photograph we see, and every old song we hear. We grow up listening to stories about Cuba and even come to memorize gossip about entire neighborhoods of people that we will probably never meet, but who remain as familiar to us as if we had grown up with them ourselves. These memories that are not my own, yet they are so alive to me that I can easily recite family anecdotes as if I had actually been there when they took place: my mother as a young girl in Cuba riding her bike to go see every single American movie that was shown in the local theater, or my grandmother's stories about growing up on a sugar cane plantation and helping to raise her brothers and sisters, or even stories of my father as a boy with a BB-gun wandering the countryside with his dog behind his grandmother's farmhouse.
For now, since I have yet to go there, I can only continue to imagine what Cuba is like and endlessly reconstruct it in my mind. Miami completes my fuzzy reproduction of Cuba, it brings the color, the noise, the smells and the music to what I can only imagine Cuba was like when my family lived there.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)