my aunt tia maria passed away in camaguey, cuba, yesterday. she was 92. that's young for my family. apparently, it was a botched surgery.
i barely knew her; she and i only wrote letters to each other. it kinda bums me out that due to the fucking US embargo, and due to castro being such a dickwad and ignoring his people's civil liberties, that she is another member of my family that i never got to know.
if travelling to cuba wasn't such a fucked up ordeal(and if i could go with a clean heart; i.e. not feel guilty about the money going to the fucktards in parliament rather than my family), i would have gone with my cousin as we had planned a long time ago.
i would still like to go before my grandma yolanda passes away. i only got to hang out with her once, when i was eight, so i didn't fully appreciate all the wisdom and lore that a grandma is equipped with. i remember just being happy that i had a nice large black lady i could curl up with. and she brought me a tinajon.
**the tinajon (tee-nah-hone) is a huge clay pot used for holding water and adorning houses. it is the icon of my family's hometown, camaguey. in miami, if you are driving and you pass by a house that has a tinajon, chances are that they are also from camaguey. for a while, this was used as a means for people to reconnect, to feel familiar and to remember their ties to cuba.
so tonight, i will break out the havana rum i keep locked away and drink one for my tia(as is customary to do when a family member dies.) the zayas-bazan name still lives strong in myself and my cousin, and as each elder dies, we remember that it is our duty to uphold the honor and integrity that comes with this name.
i barely knew her; she and i only wrote letters to each other. it kinda bums me out that due to the fucking US embargo, and due to castro being such a dickwad and ignoring his people's civil liberties, that she is another member of my family that i never got to know.
if travelling to cuba wasn't such a fucked up ordeal(and if i could go with a clean heart; i.e. not feel guilty about the money going to the fucktards in parliament rather than my family), i would have gone with my cousin as we had planned a long time ago.
i would still like to go before my grandma yolanda passes away. i only got to hang out with her once, when i was eight, so i didn't fully appreciate all the wisdom and lore that a grandma is equipped with. i remember just being happy that i had a nice large black lady i could curl up with. and she brought me a tinajon.
**the tinajon (tee-nah-hone) is a huge clay pot used for holding water and adorning houses. it is the icon of my family's hometown, camaguey. in miami, if you are driving and you pass by a house that has a tinajon, chances are that they are also from camaguey. for a while, this was used as a means for people to reconnect, to feel familiar and to remember their ties to cuba.
so tonight, i will break out the havana rum i keep locked away and drink one for my tia(as is customary to do when a family member dies.) the zayas-bazan name still lives strong in myself and my cousin, and as each elder dies, we remember that it is our duty to uphold the honor and integrity that comes with this name.