Lines in downtown Cienfuegos.
HAVANA TIMES – Chronic is one of my favorite words, and it's also one of the most powerful, which is why I don't use it very often. It brings back memories.
As a doctor, I am a victim of memories that flow back … dialysis patients, patients with diabetes, cerebral palsy in children, cancer, mentally ill patients with fixed eyes, and autistic children. Likewise empty pharmacies, "how expensive", "there are none", "there are none", "there are none" … an endless list.
Tonight I saw the news out of habit. Yes! The show used by the Cuban government broadcast media for depressing purposes. "Cuba is steaming ahead." While (every) other country is in chaos. Seeing that depresses me.
In fact, I had already lowered my head and placed it on the table on which I was writing. This weight in my chest has already synchronized with the evening. A weight that I don't like to channel. t because I'm a pessimist, but because I'm his vehicle. rain this time to wash it away and make my day better …
They literally talked about "the food and nutrition sovereignty we need to achieve". (It's disgusting) About new sovereign and sustainable food systems. About establishing a eating culture that contributes to a healthy and balanced diet. About agricultural production and increasing production methods. "This will provide Cubans with pork, chicken and turkey," said one interviewee. The normal verbal diarrhea – I told myself. Get hungry?
I couldn't eat. Furthermore, I couldn't let off steam with my partner, like something out of a terrible nightmare. He got off the toilet badly and showed me the product of a nutritional violation. I preferred to keep quiet. I haven't told him about the news determined to laugh in my face.
Go for a walk today, luckily there was bread. We bought some and it's gone. We walked along the same old shop windows with our clean hands, our young and innocent hands. Shops barely filled with water, alcoholic beverages and diapers.
The water reservoir! – my partner yelled as a joke to ward off my empty feeling … We passed lines in the city, corners of stacked old people, in front of drugstores with no anti-inflammatory and antiviral drugs. We passed voices and sighs. Some people asked questions like, where did you buy bread?
Some little girls were playing on the street corner. I don't think I'll ever forget the picture of this girl looking at our bread. Her head turned as if she was watching something magical. Her eyes were fixed as if she were a mentally ill patient. The girl's little mouth echoed like a metastatic tumor. Her throat stood still like an oxygen-free brain. We were so excited that we couldn't give her a piece of bread. Oh the bread I would have given her!
Chronic hunger is a known problem in Cuba. matter how many times my parents tell me, I can't even imagine what it would have been like when we were friends of the Soviet Union. I still don't know why I was denied milk when I turned seven. The same milk that will soon be taken from my son's “staple food basket”.
At the horizon
This will be a time of acute, chronic hunger, no doubt about it. body can tell me why. I take a moment to meditate on lies and heinous deeds.
Imagine the terror of the qualified journalist, her illusory search for the truth, her circus-like reports, her clogged voice, her dirty and withered aura. I cannot deal with CENSORSHIP. It is a word that many people fear.
They are afraid to talk about food shortages. However, my voice refuses to lower its head and screams: Damn it! Those who drank from the blood of the Mambises 61 years ago. Who has forgotten that artists who were created died of starvation? If Arthur Rimbaud woke up from the dead, he would be writing the second season in Hell.
So much fear spread, fear accumulated, possibly lost years, violence and wear and tear on our streets every day, in our own families? Dysfunctional families all for a piece of bread. Chronic disease. Stations of the Cross. OPEN YOUR EYES, CUBANS!
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