My mom picked up her cell phone and suddenly started crying. We were having dinner at a local restaurant to celebrate her birthday. My aunt called to tell us that our interview with the U.S. Embassy was moved to next month. I could not believe it, after all these years, it was finally happening.
With a family divided itself by immigration, we were also set aside in society because of our ideology. Little did I know this would be what shaped my character and made me the person I am today.
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My home turned always around to my mom, she was the strong pillar holding up us together. Without a physical paternal figure, she took over both roles. Not only to take care of me but the house and my two abuelas; both of who became so dependent on her, she had to quit her job and almost her life. From then on, we shall live from monthly remittances only. That’s how I learned what family meant.
Every day on my way to elementary school she would tell me how I was not allowed to repeat anything I heard at home; how I should keep my private tutors a secret and the fact that, even with the lack of professors, I already knew how to read. I remember clearly the first time I was taken to the principal’s office. My third-grade teacher was giving a speech about how all people who live in the United States are bad and wish horrid things upon us Cubans. I started crying and calling her a “liar”; half of my family lived in Houston, and I knew for sure they were not mean at all. That’s how I learned what frustration meant.
After the scandal, when I got home, my mom explained to me how my uncle and aunt escaped our country because they did not agree with the government's ways. How politically speaking, they did something “wrong” but, really speaking, it was the best they could have done. How, after that, our lives improved and there was still hope for me. While I was just a child to fully understand what my mom said, her message to me was clear: they did it for us. That’s how I learned what sacrifice meant.
By the time I started middle school, our Texan family will come to visit us twice a year. While my mom waited anxiously for the goods, clothes, and all you can imagine; I was dying for them to tell me stories about their daily life and experiences. How were they could buy a beautiful house and a nice car in only three years? Why is the state letting them open their own business? Do they really vote for the president? They answered all my questions and more. That’s how I learned what freedom meant.
When I was a senior in high school I was already tired of the way we lived. The government’s incessant brainwashing, political oppression, the poor educational system, and the lack of everything: medicines, food, information, and freedom of speech. I would constantly receive expulsion threats from the teachers; for either passing from hand to hand George Orwell’s Animal Farm or for not attending the military training to learn how to shoot a “Yankee soldier”—because, you know, an imminent attack was always coming. That’s how I learned I had enough.
My whole life has been marked by the unceasing feeling of not belonging. By the sacrifices made by my family to support each other economically. My internal conflicts between what others said was wrong, and what I thought was right. So, one day, I told my aunt I was ready to move and leave everything behind. I really do not know if I could have been brave enough to cross any American borders or to throw myself into the Caribbean Sea on a handmade boat; even if those were options. But I do know that the moment I had the smallest chance to taste what meant to be free, be part of the land of opportunity, and, change my life, I got out.
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