100 planes to be
100 planes landing in Havana every week, some say every day. On top of that cruise ships parked alongside Malecón, arriving from all directions: Los Angeles, Washington, Paris, Madrid, you name it. On board: tourists, grandchildren, sons and daughters, dollars, wifi, progress, ultimately freedom. Whole generations of Cubans are raised in the spirit of expecting change which is about to come, a political, economical, cultural opening; Cuba to the world, the world to Cuba. Constantly reminding themselves that this can’t last much longer, this is a nation born from revolution and kept in suspense. A longing and an anticipation of unavoidable change become part of daily life. The routine of excitement tempered by time; the everyday narrative of discussing what's about to disappear and appear mixes with rationalism and experience of disappointment. There is an invisible code of order; hiding behind chaos and the joy of small things, living every day like there is no need to think about tomorrow because no one knows what it brings anyway.
This essay is my personal observation of Cuban society “in waiting”. 100 planes are somewhere there above the city. Everybody can hear them, but no one can actually see them.
This essay is my personal observation of Cuban society “in waiting”. 100 planes are somewhere there above the city. Everybody can hear them, but no one can actually see them.