Havana Cuba.- When I was a child, and also later, my grandmother used to tell me that I was her melon heart and she would kiss me on the forehead; Although she did not understand the “metaphor” very well, she responded to him each time with a grateful smile and a kiss. Perhaps I was seduced by the idea of having a big green heart; So I was not capable of guessing the true dimensions of the heart, much less that having one with such dimensions would make the doctors look at me with a certain commiseration, with great pity, as they look at sick children.
Later, and with a few more years, I understood that this was a tenderness from my grandmother, almost a compliment, but I also knew that someone who had a heart with such dimensions could not survive. Then I did not understand that the “melon heart” was a sign of love, a kind of password for me to understand that I could not live without me, and also the idea of a sweet and loving heart, a very vivid red and full of seeds. . The melon heart was a kind of password.
Undoubtedly there are good hearts in the world, but there are also others that are malicious, and there are many, so many that they could pave the way to hell. And one of those desperate little hearts, desperate, could be that of Lis Cuesta, the wife of Miguel Díaz-Canel, who behaves worse every day. It turns out that now La Cuesta wants us to believe that she also suffers from blackouts, that her refrigerator defrosts and the “revijío” chicken drumstick that came to the butcher’s is spoiling.
Lis, that “wife” that they have made so visible, wants us to believe in one of her many tweets that her heart is in mop mode due to the overwhelming blackouts, and that she even left afterwards, without being able to close her eyes because of the heat, to “Meteoro”, and from there it continued to the closing of Cubadisco. And then…
And it seems very cheeky to me that he tries to make us believe that he left for the street without a wink, with a withered look, and although he does not say it, perhaps he also wants to suggest that he did not have a little coffee in his pantry , and that after washing his mouth with the bits of Perla pasta he had left, he went to catch a bus, because he didn’t have a single peso for the almendrón.
Yesterday a friend told me that it seemed ridiculous to think that someone would demand of a president, even if he is not elected, that he suffer the same blackouts as the people, and that he sweat and sweat; but it is ridiculous and it is “an obscene display of cynicism and ridicule” that makes us so gullible, so stupid. And they also made me notice that it would be much better if Lis Cuesta accepted the title of first lady without qualms and didn’t work so hard at her job…
Undoubtedly, there is no logical way to deal with such nonsense other than with the most emphatic, bombastic and stark taunts. Lis Cuesta, and even her husband, have earned each of the jokes that are dedicated to them. And she, more than him, makes us think of a disorder in her mental processes. She must have known that these delusional, utilitarian comments do not achieve what she previously seemed to propose. Fidel Castro terrified us, while Lis and her husband only cause us “embarrassment.”
Utilitarianism almost always harms ethics, and private utility is not the same as public utility. Utilitarianism is almost always hedonistic, and they should have known it. To believe that we are going to believe them is presumptuous, and someone must put a stop to them; someone should suggest to Lis Cuesta that she read what she wrote twice before posting it on social media…her nonsense provokes laughter, but then indignation. I have not been able to imagine her in the middle of a blackout “gutted in sweat”, just before, for example, attending an official ceremony.
I don’t think anyone would assume that the highest power has blackouts, that it sweats and sweats in the midst of heat and darkness. They never run out of water, and they know very well the benefits of clarity, the strength of light. Lis does not have to get on a P12 during peak hours, at any time. This woman should be a little more restrained. She shouldn’t say that ridiculous thing about her “squeezing her heart”, that she becomes a rag.
And I was imagining her in some operating room receiving a sponge to put it in the middle of her chest, especially if we know that in the distant 1967 the first heart transplant was performed in South Africa. Lis, have mercy, have sanity. And she loosens up, woman, loosens up…, and she tries to get you a transplant, to replace that rag heart, and by the way to make you a more restrained and less delusional lady.
OPINION ARTICLE
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