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1967
Letter from Jorge Mursuli

 

Left Sancti Espiritus, Cuba and came to Brooklyn, NY, in June of 1967.

"Cuando sali de Cuba, deje........."

I left palm trees, tropical breezes, and lots of cotton shorts (not one picture of me in pants). For skyscrapers, pollution (topic du jour in '67), and a big yellow parka given to me at our interim stop in Miami at the Freedom Tower.

I left the possibility of knowing what it's like to live amongst a large, crazy, loud Cuban family with 16 aunts and uncles and a plathora of cousins. (No one else emmigrated till I was an adult). For a New World where a family gathering meant a day with my parents and older sister. It was us against the world.

I left my Tia Estrella, who helped raise me, and her wrinkly hand. I remember rubbing my face on her soft aging skin. For some reason, I loved that. She never married and called me her son. I remember leaving for the airport in a yellow Volkswagen Bug, crying, wondering why "mi Tia Estrella" who was there for me every day after school wasn't coming with us.

For a latch-key world with overly employed parents and a 13 year old sister that became my afternoon guardian behind a very secured apartment door. My sister became my boss, my cook, and my best friend. I didn't rub my face on her hands, not even close.

I left future work in sugarcane fields. For enforced study hours, constantly reminded of the working fields I left behind and the choice of fields my parents were now offering, accounting, law, medicine, etc. It was a hard argument to win, so I studied.

What I left pales in comparison to what I have received. It's a no-brainer for me. However, everyday that I get a little older, I understand more the magnitude of what my parents left. Besides, family, material goods, friends and an entire world they had worked hard to build, they left part of their soul and identity. They were several years older than I am today. It's almost paralyzing to think what it would be to be uprooted and replanted in a different world with a different language and a much less enjoyable set of day-to-day circumstances. They went from being part of the neighborhood to "spics" in the neighborhood. From running the plant to cleaning the plant.

And from wearing the clothes to sewing them in a dirty factory. It's humbling, and I am painfully grateful. Mami y Papi, te quiero.