#92
Many years ago during my junior year abroad, I visited an English language book store in Paris. While in a loft area above the book store where students would gather and talk shop, I engaged in a conversation with a beautiful,young English girl who was enamoured with my being from Cuba. However, when she said that she was enamoured of Fidel Castro and the revolution, I couldn’t help but explain that I wasn’t ‘that kind of Cuban’, that I was an AMERICAN, born in Cuba whose parents had fled Cuba after the revolution. Suddenly, my perception, my ‘image’, in her eyes changed and our promising conversation ended….I don’t regret it.