It’s been a while now that I have been thinking about writing, but my perception of myself as someone who is a nobody, with an irrelevant opinion, with the exception of my family and friends, and above everything else not being someone who can influence events, these things made me desist time and time again.
Once I decided [to blog] I started to see signs in almost everything and in that sense – the essay – post Why I blog? by Andrew Sullivan, has become an enlightenment. Since I live in Cuba, I smile when I read that Mr. Sullivan updates his blog several times a day. Optimistically, I will be able to do it twice a week. I’ve never seen a blog in person, I was introduced directly to the Internet six months ago and in a fleeting way, so I run the risk of doing more of the same, but if understand correctly, it does not matter: If I help someone, or someone helps me, I am making friends, or at least / readers. / / /
This so-called citizen journalism entices me because the [Cuban] press ignores or scarcely reflects what I perceive to be essential, things that should be treated very seriously. The main newspaper in my country, which has eight small pages, where one assumes that information must be squeezed to fit, barely has any news, it does not fail to mention the successes of urban agriculture or the easy article that begins with: “Here, where before 1959 there were … ” In what drawer or trash can have the problems been placed? I have the impression that this is a small newspaper in every way. The television news, the medium that I diligently visit, leaves me with the same feeling, some journalists with “poetic” language inform me of the reconstruction efforts following the hurricanes or the lives of young people in the military service. Or whatever. And if it is newscaster of [Cuban] national issues … And it’s all so, but so beautiful and perfect, how I would wish to move to the country described on the news. But while I investigate the bureaucratic formalities for the move, and with the suspicion that this may be another dimension of the space-time continuum, I will keep my senses on high alert at the corner Market, on the bus, at the doctor’s office, because in this small dimension of mine, there are many problems and since I do not read about them, I will write.