GAF
A new bridge in Matanzas
Matanzas remains firm, standing on the fibers of its henequen, with support points from all the provinces. His crocodiles now wear a doctor's gown and cap and play, against the pandemic, like a Cuban team
Once I read the Upec call to help colleagues from Matanzas, I realized that I had no way of putting faces to the gesture, given that, a Camagüeyan who studied in Santiago and many paragraphs later came to Havana, as I am The Yumurina land has eluded me: it is one of the ones I know least and — except for the more than fraternal Ventura de Jesús — I have no great friends in it. No, I haven't seen our version of Athens, and to top it all, when I got ready and took inventory I discovered that my own pantry looked like a sturdy Gobi desert affiliate. But… because there are always good buts too, I immediately recognized that I had misinterpreted the news: it is not so much about what (is donated), but about the horizon of its for what and the depth of its why. By "reading" the latter, I fully understood, I started looking for - what word in the text: Ctrl + B in my heart - and I found a piece, a minimal piece and not a colossal piece, with which I could collaborate. And she is there, in the saddlebag of many, ready to serve another after serving me, to strengthen me in the idea that, if I had too much or even what I gave, the action would not be "funny." The one of the journalists is not an SOS or other desperate letters. Matanzas remains firm, standing on the fibers of its henequen, with support points from all the provinces. His crocodiles now wear a medical gown and cap and play, against the pandemic, as a Cuban team. These days, the City of Bridges is embellished by a brand new love viaduct that has a hallmark of engineering beat: instead of linking two banks, it unites us from one, planted as we are, flag raised, on the breakwater of love. So I am satisfied. With those of other colleagues, my simple gift goes there, a small maximum detail that perhaps luck or fluke will put in the hands of my friend Ventura or another journalist of a human height couple. At the end of the day, that doesn't matter: as Carlos Manuel's children, we are all from Matanzas. If my blood goes in my texts, and believe me it runs in them, through Matanzas, even my own ink!
