Watching the rain fall

Be thankful for living in a society where dreams, projects and aspirations put a spring in your step.  Some are not so lucky.

From time to time, there is a little reminder about life in my native country, Cuba, which makes me stop what I am doing, and simply meditate on that bit of information.

The thoughts always turn to the day I left Cuba, a sunny morning of February 28, 1962, and how that one day marked me, settled the course for the rest of my life, made me an American and gave me membership among those who have lived the American dream.

So yesterday, when my only remaining relative in Cuba, my first cousin Mary, a psychologist who lives in the central/eastern province of Camagüey, sent me her customary daily email to chat about life and family, I could not help but ponder over her last paragraph many times.

Her note included the familiar back and forth exchanges about relatives.  But then she wrote:

The rain does not stop here.
It is hot and humid.
Only the sound of the frogs entertains us.
Sometimes I wish I was one of them, carefree, singing away.

Here there are no projects for anyone, nothing for my husband and me either.

So, in this place, we wait, but we don’t know for what, and we watch the rain fall.
Although I have not told her, I can’t quit seeing the image of something that has a title, but no form yet,  Watching the Rain Fall in Camagüey. It could be a song, a documentary, a film, an essay or simply a blog post.

Let’s make it a blog post for now.

Watching the rain fall inCamagüey is a story about three generations of Cubans with no project, which means no goals, dreams, aspirations.  The Cubans of today either watch the sun shine or the rain fall.  Spectators in a theater where the play and the scenery never change, and the exit doors are locked.

The weather takes a totally different meaning for people in Cuba.

Just think: for those of us lucky to live outside of Cuba, the weather is something we check in the morning as we grab a coat, a sweater or an umbrella on the way out to work, to a project or a destination.

For us, the rain is usually an interruption, more than something to watch.

My heart aches for my cousin Mary and for the millions like her, watching the abundant rain fall, the only thing of which there is an abundance there.  Connected to nature, but very disconnected from the rest.

Much is said today about the luxury of disconnecting for those of us with access to all things digital. Then, again, if you value disconnect, no people are more disconnected than those of Cuba.

They are watching the rain fall in Camagüey without even a dream to connect to.

Reproduced with kind permission from Mario Garcia at The Mario Blog – http://garciamedia.com/blog/

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