Joceline Bolaños
My name is Joceline Bolaños. I was born in Miami, FL in 1989. At FIU, I am a freshman majoring in Political
Science and Economics. I expect to
graduate in May of 2011. After
graduating, I plan on becoming a U.S. Foreign Service Officer. My hobbies and interests include volunteering
and attending political events, occasional partying, and just spending time
with my friends and family. A home to my ancestors, Cuba is a land only ninety
miles away from me. Cuba is the reason I
believe in humanity and change because “ninety miles is too small of a gap for
such a big difference.”
90 MILES AWAY
Joceline Bolaños
In Key West, Florida,
an ideal tourist destination, you can choose from a wide array of experiences.
You can choose to come for the night life, the history, or simply for the blue
skies and sandy beaches. You can come for the ever popular Spring Break, or
even for an Ernest Hemingway look-a-like contest. Whichever experience you choose, it is
utterly impossible to see Key West for what it naturally is without visiting
the southernmost point of the United States. Here, you can take pictures of the
endless sea, or the beautiful horizon, but whatever the reason for your visit you
can’t avoid the gigantic concrete cylinder that sits at America’s southernmost corner.
This monument decorates the very edge of the United States and declares in large
block letters. “SOUTHERNMOST.” Printed right above is another geographical
statement in a gentile cursive; the words “90 miles to Cuba” are written for
everyone to see.
When I look at those
words, I gaze and wonder how peaceful and calm they look, how tropical and full
of fun they appear. Ninety miles away. That’s where my cousin Jorge, the doctor,
lives. That’s also where my uncle lives.
Ninety miles away. That’s where my grandmother died. Yet here I am at the southernmost point of the
United States, so close, yet still too far.
I will never forget
August 8th, 2005. The lottery
had gone up to a $72 million jackpot. My
mom, dad, sister and I were sitting outside chatting about how we would divide
the lottery if we won it. My dad’s
classical ring-tone suddenly breaks the chatter. He picks up his cell phone and pulls it away
from his face enough to be able to see the caller id. An unrecognizable number. He stands up and flips open the phone, puts it
to his ear, and says: “Halo?” He walks
back and forth pushing the phone tighter and tighter against his ear,
struggling to hear the voice at the other end of the line. “Halo?
Haloooo?” It’s his brother. “Oye, niño! Como anda todo por alla?” My
mom, sister and I anxiously struggle to hear the conversation about how my
dad’s brother is doing in Cuba. We hear
total silence. My dad pushes the cell
phone tighter against his ear, his eyes open wide, and his jaw drops. He jitters and shouts “You’re kidding me? No way! No, no, no, no, no, you must be joking, you
have to be!” We stand up, my mother, my sister,
and I, and we look at my dad. We stare
at him as we crowd toward him asking: “Que pasa? What’s wrong?”
My dad puts his hand
against his forehead and combs his hair back with his fingertips. He laughs and says, “I can’t believe it.” Then he frowns and says, “I can’t believe it.”
The forty-two muscles in his face are
confused. He expresses every feasible emotion
at once. My mom, my sister, and I are now extremely anxious to know the secrets
being whispered into my father’s ear.
Into the phone he says, “Okay, okay, we’ll be keeping in touch, call me
if you find out anything, as will I. Bye,
Byeu.”
