The longing for a long-gone home deeply colors the work of many an immigrant…: “The great diva Celia Cruz, in one of her last songs, an unusually sad song, “Por si acaso no regresso” (In Case I Don’t Return), expressed her fear that she’d die without seeing her native land again. That reality came to pass: she did not return. I keep returning to Cuba for you, Celia, for you, Mami y Papi, for all those who don’t return, can’t return… [Upon return to the U.S.] I have my ritual: I unpack my suitcases, look through scribbled notes, and torment myself with the question: So what did you bring back? Several months in Cuba… y qué? That’s all I have, fragments that I trip over, like the broken sidewalks of my Havana. It’s not much to go on, but I sit down at my oak desk and turn on the computer. I thank the spirits and my ancestors for my safe journey. Next I rub the beads on my evil eye bracelet to ask for good luck. And I start to write. I erase most of it. I write more. Erase. Write again. And erase. It goes on like this for a long time, until eventually some words remain on the page that I can live with. I know that if I hang in there long enough, I may be blessed. The pieces will form a story – and once a story is told it can never be lost.” Ruth Behar, Traveling Heavy, pp. 222, 224-225
Posted on: Sun, 23 Mar 2014 11:24:23 +0000
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