Maria Lyda: Fitful sleep as change comes to Cuba
Cuba is keeping me awake.
After waiting so many years to see a glimmer of hope and freedom for my people, I am shocked by my feelings for the never-forgotten island of my youth: I feel optimism that the very characteristic of seeing the best in any situation is still imprinted in our DNA, that this trait will resurface in a free marketplace where citizens can realize dreams beyond escaping the coastlines that defined the day-to-day misery of most Cubans — incredibly, not for a few years, but for the decades that have passed since I fled as a teen in the early 1960s.
But then it is fear that invades those hopeful thoughts. It is the fear that one feels in the heart and creeps deeper in the wee hours of an otherwise peaceful and gentle sleep.
I fear for Cuba. I fear for Cuba for so many reasons.
There has been a lot of “Cuba” all around me in the refuge and home the United States has provided. But I have become a “professional Cuban,” doling out tidbits of insight when asked. Cuba has held a fascination for many for a long time.
It is understandable: the beauty of a Caribbean isle so close, so easy to reach. And then there are attributes that single her out. Her size, her elongated and curvaceous shape. A road trip from her west end to the tip of Oriente, the most eastern province, is about the same distance as from Chicago to New York.
The plentiful contributions of her citizens — from music infused with Afro-Cuban rhythms, stunning visual arts and graceful ballet to baseball, chess, political thinking and medicine — have made us Cubans and others feel that this was an important country that counted, that counts.
As Cuba is seen in a new and inviting light, Americans’ interest in traveling there has increased exponentially. And I am afraid for Cuba. I yearn for the day we see Cuba free, truly free. Yet the intervening years may prove heartbreaking.
On more than one occasion well-meaning people have expressed their enthusiasm at planning one of the already advertised “cultural cruises” because they want to see a people and a land frozen in time. They don’t realize that what they view as nostalgic belies the suffering of millions, the loss of freedom and property and the shedding of blood.
The island is floating with optimism: The Americans are coming! As with most major events, someone is bound to be disappointed. The expectations are so high. There is such a disconnect between our imaginings of what we will find and the reality of the wreck the revolution has constructed.
I am now an American and have been for years. I am awed and grateful for American generosity and for the opportunities I have encountered all the while not forgetting those still caught in the Caribbean nightmare. A quiet little part of me has remained intensely Cuban and maybe it is time to pay attention to it.
My son, born in the U.S.A., as the lyrics go, has paved the path for me by traveling to the island several times and is encouraging me to join him next time.
I have subverted my loneliness for Cuba and family. Now might be the time to confront that loneliness and find what part of me was left behind.
Perhaps it is time to put my fears away and get some sleep.
Maria Lyda, who learned to speak English while living in Atchison, Kan., is a professor of Spanish in Tulsa, Okla.
This story was originally published September 13, 2015 at 9:00 AM with the headline "Maria Lyda: Fitful sleep as change comes to Cuba."