Adventures with a Cuban Boy: The Separation

So I guess meeting a random Cuban guy at a discoteca and dancing the night away is a respectable way to meet someone, right? Maybe for a vacation fling. Well in my defense, I never was expecting anything more than some fun while in another country. After all, at the end of three months I would leave, and, thanks to the US embargo, most likely never see him again. So that was my plan, and his too.

Six months and 3,000 miles later, we are still going strong. Well, maybe strong isn't the best word, but we are going. The end of March got nearer and nearer and I was not ready to say goodbye to Jose. We had gotten too close and real feelings had started to develop, whether I told them to go away or not. There was no avoiding it, I was in it. So I told my Cuban boy, I love you, see you sometime, and got on that plane and flew away.

The separation anxiety, both from Cuba and from my love were traumatizing to say the least. Nothing could comfort me, not even Poptarts, something I had dreamed about in one of my hazy Cuban afternoon-nap dreams. I longed for the warmth of the island and the people, the adventure of every day, and of course Jose. Sitting here, four months later, I still miss Cuba more than ever, and I love Jose possibly more than before. Obama is trying but I don't see an end to this freakin' embargo anytime soon so basically I'm screwed. But I believe that despite all that, there could be a way. They say it's good to follow your heart, and that's what I'm doing.

So here's how it's working out so far. I have spent about $500 calling him and we've only talked about a handful of times in the period of separation. He can no longer afford to e-mail me because he has no money and they raised the price for the e-mail center. We have had serious conversations, silly conversations, conversations where I love him more and conversations that make me hate him a little. Cultural misunderstandings and language barriers constantly provide obstacles. Trust is an issue on both ends, and sometimes I wonder if I'm making a huge mistake. But after all that, I think about everything, good and bad, and couldn't be more sure that all of this is somehow worth it. Maybe I'm stupid, naive, or just crazy, but if you love someone and want to be with them, why not fight as hard as you can to be with them, across unfriendly borders, pesky legal systems, and a distance of thousands of miles?