Simply a Cuban's chronicle

I'm not the sort of individual who expounds on their encounters, I don't have a journal and every one of my loved ones censure my little propensity for composing. I have been in Luanda for over 4 months now, and no matter what the lines I have kept in touch with loved ones, I haven't invested a moment of my energy expounding on the impressions, encounters, and sentiments that have emerged during these months; today I felt the huge need to make it happen.

November 15, two days prior I discovered that this date denotes the 39th commemoration of well disposed relations among Cuba and Angola. I'm standing directly before the amplifiers that enhance the sound of the demonstration completed in remembrance of the previously mentioned occasion, up until this point everything is ordinary, my companions are with me, some are new companions, others not really. While we trust that the action will begin, we pay attention to the notes of meaningful melodies from Cuba and Angola deciphered improvisedly by a few of my partners, I can't try not to have a grin all over, I'm by all accounts not the only one, somebody even proposes a fix of bourbon to get the throat free from karaoke vocalists.

Out of nowhere we start to pay attention to the Angola's national anthem, while I'm unmoving, I converse with myself to me: "It's whenever you've first heard it"; A few similitudes appear to me with Cuba's national anthem. It strikes me that nobody is singing, "Perhaps it doesn't have verses".

Now is the right time to sing our hymn, abruptly I regard myself as standing firm, joining my heels, and my clench hands near the creases of my jeans; I recall how in pre-college and college there were rare sorts of people who did it that way, that has consistently annoyed me. Not long prior to beginning the verses there was a few issue and after a second it begins all along, the Cuban envoy makes a practically indistinct face.

We started to sing, unexpectedly I notice how those notes gave me goose bumps, a shudder starts to go through my body and it is extremely difficult for me to keep down the tears, what's up with you? I wonder, "That had never happened to you, it isn't whenever you first sing La Bayamesa in Angola, you previously did it in a few organization exercises, the main distinctions comprise in the date we are remembering and that on those events the sound was higher.

I continue singing, I understand the sensation of profound Cubanness that attacks me right now, I feel more Cuban than any other time, I continue to make an effort not to cry despite the fact that my wet eyes can sell out me, I think nobody has seen me, my voice got and I couldn't continue, until recently never had I been so moved by those notes. it's whenever I first understand that I am extremely distant from my country, from my family, from my companions, from the neighbors, from bread with spread and squeezed orange on "Calle 3", from the area, from the Erisdel's pizza shop, from the embrace of my folks.

the hymn closes, the act proceeds, I stay still, quiet…

I now comprehend the reason why cry our competitors at the award ceremonies of the World Cups and the Olympic Games.