Hello, friends.
I fondly remember the coffees I used to have in my country. Cafes in Cuba are nothing like the cafes here in Spain. The coffee, well, maybe a little. I can even find Cuban coffee.
But the atmosphere is different.
I remember the day before I left for Spain. I sat alone in a cafe and took in everything so I would never forget it.
I knew that would be the last time I would have that coffee in the company of my friends and acquaintances.
But that day I was alone, and I wanted to be alone. I needed that solitude to hold back the tears.
It's not easy to emigrate and leave everything behind.
I watched other people carry on with their lives as if nothing had happened, as if nothing were amiss; while my world was about to change radically.
And that, in part, made me happy. Because, even if I left, my soul would always be there.
I remember some people passing by and saying hello without stopping. But everyone knows that when someone is sitting alone in a coffee shop, it's because they need that privacy that comes with being alone with their coffee.
We all know the rituals of coffee and its unwritten rules.
Coffee will always be that anchor that ties me to that moment. I don't know how to explain it, but that day, sitting alone in that café, I felt more surrounded and more accompanied than ever before. I had everything I needed right there in front of me: a coffee, friends who understood me, who respected my solitude; friends who were within easy reach and who, if I needed them, would come and sit at my table. I still have them, here in my memory, in every cup of coffee.
