What the heart chooses,

By Dany Cesario

HAVANA TIMES — There are voices that don’t need to say your name to make you feel at home. Something curious happens when we leave Cuba: without even realizing it, we begin searching for familiar accents.

It can happen at a market, a bus stop, or a pharmacy. Just hearing the voice of a fellow Cuban is enough to make your heart turn before your head does.

Here, I have met extraordinary Cubans—people who, without knowing me, explained how to complete paperwork, where to shop more cheaply, and how to avoid making the same mistakes they had made. Wonderful people who opened the doors of their homes, shared a cup of coffee and the delicious rice pudding they had prepared for dinner, making the weight of homesickness a little lighter.

However, I have also met others—those who, when they hear you speaking Spanish, simply look the other way and pretend they didn’t understand so they won’t have to say hello, looking you up and down as if they had forgotten that they, too, were once newcomers.

And then there are the most painful ones: those who take advantage of immigrants’ desperation, living off other people’s hopes, promising help only to end up deceiving those who are simply looking for an opportunity. We experienced it ourselves, and it hurts even more because the blow comes from someone who knows exactly where you come from and everything you have had to leave behind.

Over time, I came to understand that leaving Cuba does not make us all the same. It simply places us on the same road, even if each of us travels it in a different way.

I realized that everyone carries their own story, their own wounds, their own values, and the person they have chosen to become.

My conclusion is that some Cubans honor the place they come from, while others, unfortunately, make their own compatriot’s burden even heavier.

That is why I no longer say that “Cubans are good” or “Cubans are bad.” That would be as unfair as saying the sea is always calm just because we once saw it on a peaceful day.

And perhaps my greatest lesson is that you can put down roots in another land without tearing up the ones that still sustain your soul.

Today, I no longer look for Cuba in every person I see I find it instead in a word that slips out without my noticing, in the aroma of freshly brewed Cuban coffee, in a song that appears unexpectedly and suddenly turns distance into a memory you can live with.

Sometimes I smile. And that’s okay. Because I have come to understand that some memories don’t hold you back—they walk beside you. They move silently alongside me, invisible, stubborn, and faithful, while life continues its course.

Days later, I crossed paths with another fellow Cuban. We looked at each other for barely a second. He kept walking, and so did I.

Since then, whenever I hear a Cuban accent, I no longer expect to find a piece of myself. I simply smile… and continue on my way.

Read more from Dany Cesario’s diary here in Havana Times.