26 de julio

7-26-03
My mind's all over the place not knowing where to start to write. I only now am realizing this is July 26. Fifty three years ago Fidel, Abel and the others assaulted the Cuartel Moncada. Last night I started reading this article in the New Yorker about the succession. Fidel is an old man, he falls and forgets things and isn't seen in public very much and what will happen when he dies? In the photo I remembered how much he resembles my father, who loved him and hated him.
And here I am a wage slave despite that revolution. Even if I had stayed I would have possibly ended up some kind of burocrat there too. I can barely remember even the life I imagined I would have lived if I had stayed. But I still have an everpresent feeling of error, that it was an error my ending up living here. My father's error and mine somehow, as if my Archie comic fantasies had caused my family to come into exile.