I was born and raised in communist Cuba. Until I was 14 years I had daily questions growing up. Why are gay men put in forced labor camps? Why do people go to jail for expressing an opinion about the government? Why do I have to go to school every day and be ridiculed because of my faith?
When the opportunity came to leave Cuba by finding political asylum at the Peruvian Embassy in Havana, my family and I went for it. We didn’t know that within 48 hours, over 10,000 people were going to occupy 28,000 square feet. Unable to move, we had nothing else to do but to wait, pass out, regain consciousness, and wait again.
For me, as a 14-year-old, it was the equivalent of entering the gates of hell. How we survived is still a mystery to me.
I made it to the USA and 40 years later, I still have nightmares about our time there.
During the Covid lockdown, I started writing small anecdotes about what happened during the embassy occupation. Every time I had to describe a specific hard situation, I gave up. A few days later I started again. I asked my husband not to mention the story again. I threw manuscripts in the trash, determined not to follow through. It has been the hardest thing I have ever done. Looking back. I am glad I did it.
I had to tell the story of 10,000 that didn’t make it.
The encouragement I have received with the manuscript and the unedited story made all the difference. I felt that people were going to judge me. When I sat at the country club and other venues, I wondered what colleagues and clients were going to think about me. How would they look at me once they learned of my horrible circumstances. I wished I had done it before. Every single person has been very supportive.
Today, I have been a full-time Realtor in California for 31 years, where I live with my husband, Dennis, and our four grown children.
My gratitude to Peru and the United States. Also to everyone who motivated my involvement in volunteering, community outreach programs, and writing this memoir.
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