An Ode to the Motherland

I grew up in Cuba. Well in reality, my childhood was split between Cuba and the US, but I've always considered the 9 years I spent in my home country to be the most formative part of my upbringing. My days were spent in school and playing with my friends until my mom would call out for me to come home. I have some of my best memories in that amazing place that I will always call home. I also have the worst memories there but I've made the choice to ignore those.

My favorite one is my mom reading to me. We used to lay in my big bed and she would read me poems written long ago by a man named Jose Marti. I remember the one about the little girl who went to the beach with her pail and shovel. I remember that my mom's voice was the most soothing sound I'd ever heard.

Back then my life was perfect. I had the best friends ever. We were like a gang of tiny hoodlums. We played in nearby parks and went on endless adventures together. I still have scars on my knees from those very same outings. Okay, so my scars are mostly from my debilitating lack of coordination, but that's not the point. We used to literally climb the walls that separated our houses. We were innocent. We were happy. We grew up in a place where the bad things where simply not up for discussion. Sometimes I think that was the right call. Talking about the bad things is really fucking painful.

What I miss the most is my time with my dad. I guess all split custody kids miss the parent they saw the least. For me, it's a different kind of longing. My dad was truly the greatest influence in those 9 years. We used to travel a lot together. Because of his job he had to visit farms in neighboring towns and he usually took me with him. I remember once we went to a farm that was near a beach. I remember playing in its strange dark sand. Every time I smell the ocean I think of that day. My dad is the most intriguing person I have ever met. He can talk for hours about almost any subject. He had this huge bookcase filled with countless tales from all over the world. Both of my parents inspired the thirst for knowledge in me. Cuba inspired almost everything else.

I owe as much of my personality to the land which birthed me as I do to the people. It feels like its been centuries since I've walked its streets. It's the only place where I feel as though I am home. It's the only place where I feel like I belong.