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She was already a star when she arrived in Miami; an actress who experienced both theater and film, but whose popularity soared on television, particularly with her unforgettable character "Arturita," a true guajira. She is a mother and an empowered woman, with a heart right in the center of her chest. She kicked the can down the road, and one day she became Elsa, María, Araceli, and Silvia. My interviewee has a bit of a clairvoyant side and walks through life wearing a crown of sunflowers, so that mamá Chola never leaves her side. She has been a phenomenon of improvisation: she is Yerlín Gretel Pérez López, and I am grateful she granted me this interview despite her very busy schedule.
What are you doing in Miami?
Here in Miami... I'm taking on the world! We have a family food business that is doing well, growing every day, and I continue acting. I've stayed active; La Guajira and I perform live shows just like we used to in Cuba. On social media, there's a platform called Pronyr TV that gives us the opportunity to act in series and dramas, reconnecting with actors I hadn't seen in a long time and working with others for the first time. We’ve come together, helped each other, and here in this country, you set your own limits. The challenge is that it takes a lot of effort and sacrifice because it’s not your original place. You have to strive to make it yours; I'm here fighting and will never stop working, living, and being happy because we all deserve that.
When do you say, "I have to leave Cuba"? What was it like to leave the island?
I considered leaving Cuba a long time ago, but there was one problem: I had no way to get my son out of the country. I traveled for work and cultural exchanges, and I could have disappeared from Cuba, but as I’ve already mentioned, I wouldn’t leave my son behind. Therefore, that wasn’t an option. Eventually, I managed to obtain a tourist visa for both of us, and when my son turned 15, just as we were trying to emigrate, Obama enacted that law. We had to put everything on hold, and I kept pushing forward.
The boy could travel to Mexico on the visa. I already knew I could escape at any moment, but on July 11, 2021, I felt terrible. I sensed that underneath me, the area was boggy and could swallow us all at any moment, and I felt immense fear for my son because amid all that chaos, I felt that the young people were in danger, that my Eduard was at risk of exploding, and I said, “It’s time to leave, we have to get out of this country.”
I didn't know if I could make it to the United States, but at least I could reach Mexico, and on November 16, I was leaving Cuba. The airports had been closed due to COVID, and when they reopened, I thought... let's go for it! Leaving the island always caused me pain; I remember that two days before my departure, I spent my time looking at the rundown buildings, observing the puddles, and I tried to imprint every corner of Havana in my memory so that nothing would be forgotten.
It was a way for me to say goodbye; leaving Cuba was very difficult, but it was absolutely necessary. It was never safe to live on the island, although they still say it is. But at a moment like that, it becomes impossible to live in a country where everything is questionable, criticized, and censored, where its inhabitants have no rights. Oh, Julita, how badly our people are suffering!
I believe that if we are anything, it is because we are memory. Tell us what it was like to be born in a town in the center of the island of Cuba; take us to that family home.
Whenever I start talking about myself, I love to remember the place where I was born. I'm from Remedios, in Villa Clara, a beautiful, magical town full of traditions and culture. I have so many wonderful memories of my town and my childhood that you can't even imagine. I'm a country girl, and I used to spend my vacations with my grandparents, swimming in the rivers, having fun with my cousins, enjoying the famous parrandas of Remedios, all while being surrounded by rich culture.
My family means everything to me: my mother, my father, my beloved brother, and my grandparents. I'm here in this country with my brother today, and I still maintain many friendships from that beautiful hometown. We connect and enjoy our time together so much. I cherish having been born in that place because I believe it has shaped the person I am today. I am grateful to have been born there.
You are a daughter, and I know you are a mother. Tell me about Eduard and what being a mother means to you.
Being a mother is the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me; it’s the only thing that cannot be studied, the one thing that cannot be planned out in advance. It’s an experience that unfolds and is learned along the way, leaving you breathless.
My son is everything I dreamed of. There is nothing I would change about my Eduard; he is my everything: my friend, my confidant, my companion, my reason for living. I didn't come to this country earlier when he was little because I had no way to bring him with me. He was able to leave before I did, and then I told myself, "Now it's my turn," because I knew I could leave no matter what, overcoming all the fears in the world. I had to arrive to be by his side, because if I don't live next to my son, my life has no meaning, and being a mother is, for me, life itself.
How do you come to interpretation?
The truth is, I never knew how I got into acting; I think it’s been with me since I was a child. I would put a towel on my head pretending it was long hair, and I would act, sing, and perform. My grandparents were my audience, and my grandmother would say that I was going to be an artist—and here I am. As I mentioned, Remedios is a town rich in culture, and there was a strong movement among amateur artists. From a young age, I was deeply involved in the scene: I danced in performances, sang in choirs, although they would quickly remove me because I was off-key, and I acted a lot.
I participated in many festivals and interpretation competitions, and when I finished grade 12, I told my parents that I wouldn’t study anything other than acting. My mom would say, "You’re crazy, that's for the children of artists," and I would cry because I wanted to go to Havana to study; I wanted to be an actress. They took me, and it was not in vain because I auditioned, passed, and that was it. Acting is what I just described to you — my life, what makes me happy, what fulfills me.
Is there a specific character that marks a turning point? Which one would you choose?
To me, all the characters I have portrayed are important; I have dedicated my heart and soul to each of them because I have never accepted a role that I didn't like or could not relate to. I have always been very selective and have fully experienced each one.
But despite always preferring drama, and believing I excel in that area, it was humor that made me better known. The character of Arturita came to stay; I created her spontaneously, and she has remained in the audience's memory. There are people who know me as "Arturita." I brought her to life for the show "Deja que yo te cuente," and it was truly wonderful because I have received the greatest compliments.
It is a character with whom I still live; here I also portray him, and I believe I will continue to do so until the last days of my life, because he has matured, and I think he will age with me. He may not be my favorite, but he is the one that is most appreciated, and therefore, the most important.
What happened on Sunday, July 21, 2018, and why February 2, 2024?
Thank you for bringing up the topic; I really appreciate the way you present it, even including dates. I always say that I am a fortunate woman, and sometimes I feel like I owe something to life and everything that surrounds me.
I have so much to be grateful for: for my profession, for the way I have lived, and for how I have fulfilled myself. I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t been very ambitious; I had aspirations, but I didn't set the bar too high, and life has rewarded me. Just when I had lost hope of falling in love again and being happy, this man appeared, with whom I share my life, on that Sunday, July 21, 2018.
I say that I will never get tired of pursuing love—love for my child, for my profession, for my family— but romantic love is important to me. I have spent little time alone, and today, living in this wonderful country, it may sound cliché because people say this country is meant for two, but yes, I feel very fortunate to have my husband by my side. With him, I am completely happy. And yes, we are getting married on February 2, 2024, Julita, and I am just so happy that, so far, that man is mine.
Current situation in Cuba
The situation in Cuba today brings sadness, pain, and shame. I left, and two months later, I was told, "Yerlín, this is not what you left; it's getting worse by the day." I thought they were exaggerating, but I haven't gone back. It has been three years since I left, and I don’t think I will return for now. Julita, the Cuban people are heartbroken, desperate to escape that place, because Cuba today is a dead end. It's not just the lack of electricity, water, or food, or the fact that people are dying in hospitals without even basic painkillers. It's not just the plagues and diseases in this never-ending dump, no. It's that there are no laws in Cuba. You wake up one morning knowing the sky is blue, and suddenly you're told that the government has decided it’s no longer blue; now it’s green... and that’s it, it’s green; and that’s just not livable. If you contradict them, it's disastrous. I feel a lot of nostalgia for my family, for the friends I left behind, but I'm terrified to go back. I told you I left thinking of myself as a mother.
I tell you, I was neither a pioneering explorer; I was a pioneer because I had no choice, and I was lucky because nobody ever forced me to attend an event; I was allergic to that. No one ever called me because I missed a parade; in short, I never participated in anything political. I don't like politics or politicians; I have a very bad temper, and nobody bothered me about it. But as I said, I didn't trust my son's story, and if anyone touched him, they would have to take me to jail.
So just imagine the pain and respect I feel for those mothers who have their children imprisoned for the events of November 27, 2020, or July 11, 2021—young people who are effectively incarcerated for thinking differently or for participating in protests, just like people do all over the world in countries with democratic freedoms.
Some managed to escape, but many remained trapped, and every day someone dies in the prisons. We know all that happens in there and how grim Cuban prisons can be.
I have absolute respect and feel great sorrow for those mothers; my pain is immense. I have no words to console them, only to tell them to have faith that one day those degenerates will disappear from there and that all the sacrifices and lost years of so many young people will not be in vain.
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