My family and I left Cuba in 1995; I was 10 years old. Given the travel restrictions to the island at the time, the next time I returned to visit family was in 2000 and then again around 2004. After this, I always opted for traveling to the other side of the world rather than returning to the same place over and over.
In December 2014, as I was getting ready to make a permanent move to the Middle East, I figured it would be a good time to go visit grandmother. And so, after a barely there forty-minute flight from Miami I arrived to this so close, yet so far island on the Caribbean that once was home.
Even before we landed, as the plane was descending and I could see the terrain appearing closer and closer, I was hit with a sense of familiarity that was instantly activated by the deep greens in the landscape my subconscious remembered so well. As I took those first steps down the small narrow stairs and onto the open-air tarmac all the memories I didn’t know I had flooded me from the inside. The warmth of the sun, that deep, bright blue in the sky, the olive green in the officers’ uniforms, the royal palms in the distance soaring towards the clouds. All these insignificant elements had been dormant in my mind for a decade.
Fui a comerme las nubes y a tomarme el agua del Malecón. Estoy serca. Enseguida vuelvo. / I went to eat the clouds and drink the water from the Malecón. I’m nearby. I’ll be right back
Over my two-week stay I was blown away with both a sense of excitement and awe for rediscovering my own vibrant country and people and shock over how dire everything looked. The places I remembered vividly from childhood had peeled away layers from their skin exposing their old rusted steel bones.
Many tourists, photographers, etc. have walked the same streets in these images and, while they opt for capturing lively street scenes, I want to capture the reality of the situation. Central Havana is falling apart. Buildings stand as empty shells without a roof, doors, or windows while families still live inside. These are not beautiful vibrant ruins, this is an opportunity lost.
My objective is to show these images through the eyes of, not a visitor, but as someone who was born and raised here, who has breathed and lived this island, and who was lucky to have left. These crumbling and decayed structures are the “what if’s” and “what could have been.” They’re the opportunity lost for generations that have not been able to achieve their true potential because of the circumstances around them.