Where's Kiva?

It's been a while, I noticed. I tried finding another vehicle, a.k.a. blogging website, for my "travel writings" as my friends call them, but they were too complicated, flashy, whatnot. I just want to write, it makes this much more concrete, real, effective, I suppose. One person even said I should write an autobiography. Yes, Derek, it's flattering but it's not happening until I'm too senile to have the normal amount of constraint to write one. I'm back because I realized I'm coming to an end, at least for a little bit. I'm not foreshadowing my death, my cease of existence, rather the cease of existence of this lucky life I've lived the past x amount of years, where I bounced from vacation to study abroad to international opportunities and so on and so forth. I graduated from college. Big news. Bachelor's in Hispanic Studies. I got the official document in August, just a few weeks before I returned home from working in Bemidji, Minneso...

These weeks have gone by in a blur. I feel as if I’ve only really been in Cuba a week or two, and I’m just getting comfortable; yet October is right around the corner. I think I credit this time lapse to studying abroad in a tropical setting. And while yes, Cuba is a tropical island, it is an island nation—there is a strong sense of identity, not of being yet another Caribbean cruise stop, not of being a former colony, not of being called “communist”. No, Cuba is much more. The Cuban way is to be at least 20 minutes late to everything, but managing to finish on time, probably due to the Cuban speech-rate of 1000 words per minute. Within moments, a speech on the Platt Amendment can turn into a whirlwind of explanations, historical dates and figures, personal anecdotes and peals of laughter. Then there you are, dumbfounded but wanting to smile because—well—Cuba. It also seems to be the Cuban way to have a cure for everything, whether it’s legitimate or highly irrational. So, if you ...

There is nothing I enjoy more about traveling than an incoming flight to your destination city. While the flight attendant reminds us of our eminent arrival, the lights come on, people rustle about, seat backs are set forward and I immediately begin to feel a sense of urgency and something unsettles inside me. It’s a mix of being uncomfortable and excited, usually. Not this time. This was the first time that this precious moment was changed for me. As we began our descent, glimpses of untarnished Cuban farmland with thin, narrow roads dotted with 50’s style cars appeared through the tropical rain clouds. Patches of silver palms and cabana-like houses appeared. I felt that routine urgency, that sense of being thrown off kilter, immediately vanish. What replaced it was tears. They weren’t external, real tears because I never felt them go down my cheeks. But they were inside me nonetheless—overwhelmed and eternally satisfied. The work I had put into going into this adventure of a lif...