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I have three new roommates this semester, and they all have interesting stories to share.

One of them, Emma, is of Cuban descent. When Fidel Castro came to power in 1959, Emma’s grandfather realized that his country is no longer a place where he would like to raise his children, so he drove his entire family out to Miami. None of them has been back to Cuba since.

Emma said that her grandmother is now quite old and is terrified that she might die before she sees Cuba again. Why don’t you just enter Cuba from Mexico, I asked? Because her grandmother prefers to die without having returned to her motherland than to return there while the Castro regime still lasts.

Isn’t it tragic to love and hate your country so much?

Emma says that her grandparents always keep a bottle of champagne at home in case Fidel or Raul die. So, she said, we are also having a big party at our apartment in case that happens.

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Read more of my posts on immigration: 

The Hungarian Belly-Dancer Who Hates London

One-Way Ticket to the States

Soviet Elephants And the Polish Taxi Driver in Boston

Preserving My Cultural identity in America

 

 

 

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