My story is being written.

I was ten years old when I watched someone I loved disappear behind an airport door I wasn’t allowed to pass. I didn’t understand it then. I understand it completely now.

I grew up in a small sugar-mill town in Cuba, in a house with no running water, reciting slogans before I could read a full sentence, and also, somehow, genuinely happy. At twenty-one, I made a decision that would take me through five countries in three weeks, on a road I have never told in full.

This isn’t the short version of my story. It’s the real one: corruption, fear, the strangers who chose kindness when they didn’t have to, and what it actually costs to build a life from nothing.

The book is coming. This is where you’ll hear it first.