Dreamer

I like to say that I was a dreamer. I enjoyed letting my imagination run freely as the countless stray dogs that run through the streets of Havana. They have no private owner—they are owned by the state. Now, my dreams succumb to the denseness of reality, winding through the labyrinth of time trying to find its way out so my brain can dream again.
Some dreams are generalized, and associated with groups of people. There is the “American Dream” which is the desire to succeed in the United States through the completion of one’s occupational goals. Another example is the Cuban Dream. What the Cuban Dream is exactly, I have not figured out for it varies amongst Cubanos. For those in favor of the revolution, it is generalized that their dream relies on the idea of socialismo, things being run by the state in order to reach equality among the Cuban people. Others, against this mindset desire to seek more than equality, what it is that they are seeking has been generalized and stereotyped as well.
Among those not in agreement with the concept of socialismo, it is stereotyped that those Cubanos seek refuge in the United States. After viewing high profile cases such as Elian Gonzales, it is tempting to agree with this stereotype, but there are some that do not share the same views with the Cuban government, or the idea of socialismo, but neither have intentions to seek refuge in the United States.
I walk along the roadside of Havana because Giovani warns Aliesha and I that the sidewalks are too bumpy. “Camina aquí, en la calle,” Giovani informs us. Giovani, a young male in his late twenties who works for La Residencia (the place to which students attending Casa de Las Americas reside) befriended Aliesha and I within the first week of our arrival. He refers to us as his hermanitas or little sisters. Tall, with his broad shoulders and skinny legs, he walks before us leading the way to the home of a family friend of Aliesha.
Somewhere along the walk, the conversation shifted to life goals and aspirations, Giovani asks us if we would come back to Cuba, Aliesha and I insisted NO! His strong facial features gathered close together as he shifted his head to the side indicating that he was slightly perplexed. “¿Por que no?” he inquired. Aliesha and I continued to demonstrate the reality of living in Cuba, from outsider perspective and how it does not coincide with the American Dream. “In Cuba, I feel like I cannot do anything,” Aliesha explained, “there is no retribution for working hard, people work different jobs and get paid similar low wages, that is not fair.” I nodded in accordance to Aliesha’s protest. It did not make sense to us that a taxi driver makes more money than a doctor.
As we proceeded to inform Giovani how things work in the United States the question presented itself: “when do you plan to move to the US?” The key word here is when, I cannot speak for Aliesha, but I was assuming that Giovani had intentions of leaving Cuba. “No quiero salir de Cuba,” firmly responded Giovani. His expressions secure with his statement and his body language did not display any sign of resentment. We all stood there as though time met pause until Alisha interjected and asked why. Giovani sighed, looked over his shoulder and asked us in return “what is there for me in the United States?” Now Aliesha and I were perplexed because we did not know what to say. We both began to studder, while trying to compose appealing reasons, but none came to mind. Never had a Cuban ask me such a question. Giovani said to us “I enjoy myself here, in Cuba.”
It was not until then that I realized that not every Cuban in opposition to Fidel, or to the idea of socialism desires the American Dream. For them, this dream may have no worth. It was here that I began to re-evaluate the concept of the American Dream and ponder if my dreams had any valediction. This point commenced the fading of my own dreams, because I too began to question the roots of my own dreams.
I like to say that I miss dreaming. Now, mis sueños slowly fade as does the moon when the hot Cuban sun reveals itself at the break of dawn. I am reminded of the statue of John Lennon in a local park in Havana. At his feet inscribed in the marble reads: "Dirás que soy un soñador pero no soy el único." Perhaps, quizás, my dreams and I may reunite once again.