90 Miles Away

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 8^th, 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.”

My dad turns to us and says, “Roge se tiró.”  “Roge threw himself?  “Where?” I say. “Out to sea.  He’s on his way over here in a raft.”  I can’t believe it.  For the first time, I was going to meet my cousin, my uncle’s son.  I was very excited and began thinking of where we would have to take him when he got here.  To the beach, I thought, and to Disney World.  He’d love Disney World.  My dad remained seated in his chair, and I realized that he wasn’t as happy as I was.  That’s when I noticed what was wrong.  I noticed the worry.  What if he never makes it?  What if he ends up swallowed by the ocean somewhere off the coast?  Bittersweet, I thought, even though I was just a little bit happier inside.  I guess I shouldn’t get excited for someone out at sea for four days, risking his life in a raft that is definitely not fit for twenty.  In a desperate search for freedom and liberty, the circumstances under which many Cubans come to this country are unbelievable.

I believe ver much in democracy.  I believe in personal freedoms: freedom of speech, freedom of press, freedom of religion.  I believe that everyone should be able to speak their minds whether or not it is in agreement with the government.  I believe that everyone should have the choice of reading a newspaper other than “el Granma.”  I believe that no one should have to renounce their religion in order to take part in politics.

Ninety miles away lies a beautiful island whose peace and tranquility have been absent for 49 years. Ninety miles away is a government with the highest number of political prisoners in the world.  Ninety miles away there’s a country filled with my brothers and sisters.

I believe in humanity.  I believe in an effort to relieve our brothers and sisters of repression and suffering.  I believe in change.  But, most of all, in you and I believe that you believe in the same things I believe in.  I believe that together we can change the world, and I believe that Cuba would be a great place to start.  I believe that ninety miles is too small of a gap for such a big difference.  Perhaps the next time you enjoy the southernmost part of the continental U.S., you will think of those who are ninety miles away, those wishing they were ninety miles closer, wishing they were as free as you.   I believe together we can set them free.