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An extensive and emotional text published on social media by the Cuban writer Dania Ferro has gone viral among Cubans both on and off the Island.
In her message, shared on Facebook and accompanied by a call to read it "until the end," the author recounts her arrival in Miami in 2004 and reflects on the profound contrast between life in Cuba and the experience of exile, not only in material terms but also in the way of thinking, dreaming, and projecting oneself into the future.
Ferro reports that he arrived in Miami on Thursday, March 4, 2004. From the outset, he underscores the paradox that would define his entire experience: the geographical proximity between the two territories and the vast distance in terms of development, mentality, and ways of life.
Miami airport was his first impression. Everything felt new and overwhelming to him: the infrastructure, the cleanliness, the smells, the lighting, the clothing of the people, the cell phones he saw everywhere that he had never even held in his hands before.
Everyday details become symbols of a completely different world.
She described the immaculate bathrooms at the airport, complete with paper, hand lotion, mirrors, and automatic toilets—elements that profoundly impressed her because they contrasted sharply with what she had experienced in Cuba.
Upon leaving, the city struck him as a "planet of the future": roads filled with modern cars, imposing buildings, houses with vehicles parked outside. In his hometown of Pino Solo, he recalls that seeing a car was a rarity and that he grew up among red dirt roads where children played without worrying about traffic.
The reunion with her family marks another key point in the narrative. Her family was waiting for her and her grandmother. The image of her mother, rejuvenated and integrated into American culture, becomes a metaphor for transformation.
"What a beautiful house Lili has. What a lovely bathroom. Soaps, shampoo, conditioners for all hair types. It was a lavish display of creams, makeup, perfumes... and paper. So much toilet paper everywhere. I would never use newspaper again. What a relief," she emphasized.
The first meal at friends' homes in her hometown also leaves a mark: a lavish table with fruits, milk, sweets, yogurt, bread—enough food to satisfy a hunger that, she admits, had defined 19 years of her life.
That moment of abundance was also the beginning of an unexpected feeling. Ferro describes a "stabbing pain in the chest" when he remembers the family and friends he left behind in Cuba.
The joy of being able to eat without limits mixed with the pain of realizing that, just 90 miles away, others continued to live in scarcity without even imagining that other reality. It is not defined as sadness or guilt, but rather as the pain of opening one's eyes to a truth that forever alters the way one sees the world.
From there, the author introduces a central concept of her testimony: migratory anxiety.
It explains that their first encounter with anxiety did not arise from fear or lack, but from abundance, from light, from the possible future.
Over the years, he realized that this feeling was the clash of consciousness with reality, the discovery that the differences were not explained by some being better than others, but rather by the existence of different systems.
In his reflection, Ferro emphasizes that it is not about individual superiority, but about living in an environment where effort is rewarded, where one can dream without asking for permission, where thinking differently does not pose a danger, and where prospering is not viewed as a sin.
"If in Cuba they knew that just 90 miles away, life is so different. That it's not magic. That it's not luck. That many times it's just a change of mentality, a change of system, a change of opportunities, a change of information," he explained.
Dania centers her text on one of the phrases that has resonated most with readers: "Cuba and Miami are separated by just 90 miles of water, but by an ocean of mindset."
The writer then draws a direct comparison between both realities. In Cuba, she says, people learn to survive and "make do"; in Miami, they learn to plan and build.
"There talent is stifled. Here, talent is encouraged. There, lack is normalized. Here, abundance becomes a possibility. And I'm not just talking about money. I'm talking about a mindset. There, they teach you to settle. Here, they ask you: what else do you want?" he compared.
Ferro explains that anxiety also arises when one understands that it was not a lack of abilities that caused poverty, but a lack of opportunities; that there were no personal limits, but rather a system that imposed them.
"It wasn't that the people in Miami were better. It wasn't that they were worth more. It wasn't that they worked harder. It was that they lived within a system that allows dreaming without asking for permission, where effort is rewarded, where thinking differently is not dangerous, where prospering is not a sin," he emphasized.
That discovery, he notes, does not always provide immediate relief: sometimes it hurts, disorients, and generates a silent anger, especially when one deeply loves those who remain in the place that was left behind.
"Changing countries is not just about crossing borders; it's about reprogramming the mind. Because if Cuba changed its system, if it altered its understanding of work, freedom, and merit, if it changed the narrative of 'it can't be done,' if it stopped punishing those who succeed and glorifying scarcity... we wouldn't be so far away," he detailed.
The text moves towards a deeper reflection on the migration process as a change that goes beyond the body. Changing countries, it writes, involves reprogramming the mind, unlearning resignation, allowing oneself to desire without guilt, and accepting that one deserves more without feeling like a traitor.
In that process, the mind may take years to traverse the same 90 miles that the body covered in minutes.
In one of the hardest passages, the author states that Cuba is not condemned, but rather "mentally kidnapped," and that anxiety often does not stem from a fear of the future, but from a delayed awakening to a life that could have been different for many loved ones.
To heal, it concludes, is not just about learning to breathe better, but thinking differently.
Dania Ferro concludes her testimony by revealing that this text is part of her new book, "Anxiety, the Crack Through Which Light Entered."
His story has resonated deeply within the Cuban diaspora, not only for what it conveys, but also because it articulates an experience shared by thousands of emigrants: the blend of gratitude, sadness, and awareness that accompanies the discovery of a possible life beyond scarcity.
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