I am afraid of all those Brunos Rodríguez who are bosses and foreign ministers and that deny that reality that, in Cuba, is hunger.
Havana, Cuba. – I exposed my face, and also some of my old torso, after they relieved A few statements by Bruno Rodríguez Parrilla from four years ago: The minister dared to ensure that no one was hungry in Cuba; And he said, very quiet, like who delicately sucks a sweet caramel. “In Cuba there is no one going hungry,” said that chancellor, who is not a kind steak that was taken from the sea to put it on, after a good dressing, on the grill.
And, for that reason and to show my thinness, I exposed myself. Just this thinness that already goes from being thin and begins to have the dyes of the caquexia, which is a little more chronic and much more ugly, and pretending to confront the chancellor who seems not to have much dignity, as it was accentuated in that other, I got the image with the stomach stroke in their evidence.
I made myself The photowith the cell phone, of course. I put myself in front of that camera of my phone to warn, with the camera, the strips of my face, the decline of a man who seems to get rid of a little more every day. I wanted the reader to have the evidence of my brutal – thinness, that thinness that already has almost all the signs of cocaxia. That thinness, of a very dangerous consumption for my health …
In the image you don’t see everything I feel. In the image you cannot see the entire dimension of my tiredness, that sopor, which is not really numbness but much more and, above all, a danger that could be deadly. And the mortal, we know, it is not sporadic: death by hunger is for a lifetime, for all death; And the worst will be that there will be no evidence. The communist newspapers will not let the evidence of my death, of my passage to the beyond.
No one is going to take a picture for a newspaper, a snapshot that dares to make my strange face visible, withered eyes, my pain in the soul that I might still whisper a little, and the back that weighs and hurts, and hunger, hunger, hunger. Hunger is very bad advisor. The hunger withered the bones. And the hunger seems not to deserve the considerations that we should have with the hungry, those that, as they say, have a walk very similar to that exhibited by the drunks, the one that becomes zigzagenant, dangerous, and even mortal.
My arms weigh, Bruno, my body weighs everything, and that desolation that insists on taking over the abdomen, or more exactly in the stomach that crosses, roars? I have known hunger in old age, and I fear that this disastrous food will be accompanied by major evils. My back hurts, the pain that is denied by the authorities of a country that is living its worst moments hurts.
I’m afraid; I am afraid of death from starvation and hunger, but I fear that slow and heavy walk now, the guts that have left, with some appearance of conformity have stopped sounding, as if they knew that before any warning they make it will not be corresponded. So many things hurt. I am overwhelmed by the acquiescent spirit of my co -religionists. I’m afraid of hunger, I’m very afraid of death by hunger. I am afraid of all those Brunos Rodríguez who are bosses and foreign ministers and that deny that reality that, in Cuba, is hunger.
