My family is from Cuba. My mother is from Pinar del Rio, my father is from La Habana. They were both born a few years after the Regime of Castro started in Cuba. They were part of the generation that witnessed the losses in real-time of food becoming more and more scarce, of life in Cuba becoming a ruin. In 1999 my parents and older brother came to the states. The only things they brought were the few black and white wedding photos they could afford in 1990, clothing, and one of my brother’s toys called a Trompo -- a round cone shape with a metal tip that gets wrapped by a string and spun. 
My parents were part of the lucky few that won a lottery to a trip to the US, a result of the protests in Cuba after the fall of the USSR, the dictatorship opened its borders to allow those who weren’t with the regime to leave for a short window. Whenever I and my mother fall into the conversation about their trip to the US, the part that gets me the most is when she looks back on the airplane stairs at her mother. “Vi a Mima parada arriba la cerca de metal y me pareció que nunca la iba a ver la más. Que no iba poder abrázala otra vez. Llore en todo el viaje, mi familia dividía en Miami y Cuba.” 
Every day of my life I feel like the dictatorship in Cuba has stolen what could have been for my people, for what my childhood with my brother could have been. I thank God every day I can that we were able to escape and that Cuba today, as of July 11, 2021, has started protesting once again and for Libertad, Freedom, for Patria y Vida, homeland and life. 

– LAA

Relationship:  Child of im/migrant Child of im/migrant