Its mere presence seems to testify that Cuba is really there, just like the blip Cuba makes on Key West's weather radar. The main way I know that Cuba is out there is from my neighbors who used to live there. We sit eating at Dennis' Pharmacy as they recount bizarre stories of daring escapes on tiny boats in the night, or on high-jacked planes. As they tell me their stories, their faces fill with gratitude as they cross themselves thanking God they made it here at all. I've never been there .
Life returns, and fears' lies end.
Now, five years later, I can only touch those lost feelings of hopelessness by looking them up in my journal. The lines I find there seem to be written my someone else, though the handwriting is mine. As I go through them, it's like reading someone else's diary . Polar opposites from what they were like, the yin and yang, lies and truth, then and now . And that's what I want to tell you.