On Tuesday, July 10, I joined the club of the third age, having crossed the frontier of 65 years. As usual in these commemorations, I dedicated myself to taking stock of my life, what I learned, what I gained and what I lost. In this the country appeared and the question of whether it belongs to me to the degree that warrants prefixing it with the possessive adjective my.

I have the presumption that Taína blood runs through my veins, my grandfather fought in the War of Independence, but I don’t identify myself with the image Cuba has in the rest of the world. Some day this will be a country that I can speak of with pride. Today it is not, but it continues to be my country, my pain, my guilt, my responsibility. It remains, then, in the inventory, dispersed between the debts and the tasks remaining.