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Motivations
It was the way in which my
parents raised me. They taught me about my heritage and what it
meant to be Cuban. Never did a doubt exist in my mind of who we were and
where we came from. Not until adulthood did I fully realize the
sacrifices they made to give us a normal life in this land of exile.
Like so many other Cubans, they fled the oppression and persecution that
took over their island and came to the United States seeking freedom not
just for themselves, but for their children also. They battled to
overcome the language barriers and the many obstacles they faced in a
new country in order for their children to grow up in a free society. My
parents did this for us, and although they did their best to hide the
pain and difficulty they faced each day away from their native Cuba,
they also made sure that we never forgot her.
It was the experiences I
lived through growing up in the heart of the Cuban exile community.
The stories and the laughter I heard of a bygone era left an indelible
mark upon me. I feel at times that I could not have been any closer to
my Cuban heritage if I had been raised on the island. The people around
me—from my family members to neighbors and friends—were not only Cuban,
but they also lived as Cubans. They taught me how to laugh in Cuban, how
to cry in Cuban, and perhaps most important, they taught me how to argue
in Cuban. They also taught me how to love and respect the great nation
that took us in. Not once did I ever hear anything but praise and
adulation for America, and the only envy they ever exhibited was for the
freedom they enjoyed here that they sought for their Cuba. The most
lasting and inspiring lesson they taught me, however, was the true
meaning of perseverance. Even after forty-seven years of exile, I can
still see the sparkle in my mother’s eyes when she speaks of Cuba.
It is that yearning deep
inside that calls out to me every day of my life. Some days it
is not as loud as others, but it is never silent. I can never ignore it,
nor would I want to; it reminds me of who I am and where I came from. It
is a desire that I know will never be fulfilled, a hunger that will
never be satiated, until I set foot in a Cuba free of tyranny. Only
then, when I see the streets I was supposed to grow up on, and see the
landscapes that were supposed to make up my childhood memories, will I
know that I am finally home. On that day, along with tens of thousands
of others like me, I will laugh the way I was taught, and I will shed
tears the way I was taught.
These are but a few of the things
that motivate me to speak out and write for the cause of a free Cuba. I
can understand how the concept of loving a country I have never seen
might seem incomprehensible to those who have not experienced what I and
so many others like me have experienced. And perhaps they will never be
able to fully understand what we feel. Nevertheless, the lack of
understanding among those around us does not make the yearning any less
intense. Like a broken heart, it is a pain that only the heartbroken can
understand.
Yet the yearning for Cuba is a
gift we all carry within us. A gift we were given at birth. A gift
which was carefully and lovingly cultivated by our family, and in many
instances, the only thing they could give us.
And it is a gift
that no revolution, no decree, no tyrant can take away from us. |
