Given the uncertainty surrounding the U.S. election results in November, the possibility arises of a new wave of migration to the southwestern border of the country.

Every year, there is a string of statistics on the flow of illegal immigration across the southern border of the United States. Behind each of those numbers, there is a face, and a story.

With an inefficient drainage system, sometimes a drizzle is enough for hundreds of potholes and corners to reflect, on a murky surface, fragments of the city.

A spot can be a personal refuge, a place full of memories; a starting point and also a destination, a return.

Every time I return to this city, known as the Tierra Caliente, leads me back to the bay. The trip over its waters makes me evoke collective history, and my own.

Officially it is called Céspedes Park, but for Holguín residents it is simply San José Park. My family says that, when I was about 3 years old, I insisted they take me there.

The Cuban capital at the end of the 1950s, on the street and in full color, captured by an anonymous lens.

On April 5, 1984, the first of the Cuban singers-songwriters’ concerts was held in a country that had just returned to democracy.

Among the 30,000 missing persons reported during 1976 and 1983, there are two Cubans; they were young members of the diplomatic representation in Argentina.

When reviewing images captured in my hometown, I discovered that there was a prism of longing for moments, people, places or situations from the past.

Concepts of quantum physics and their application to everyday life unexpectedly led me to think about Cuba.

Located meters from the main entrance of the Santo Ángel Custodio church, on Compostela Street, she seems to walk slowly and with a distressed expression.

Photographing it, silent and empty, was overwhelming. But this city is not like that. It is vibrant, boisterous, brimming with stories.

A catchy chorus served as an excuse for me to approach one of the intrepid divers and take pics of the group.

Thousands of kilometers away, “the damn circumstance of water everywhere” continues to mark me.

I think I’ve learned to peek into the voice that hides behind some smiles and glances; sometimes jubilant, sometimes melancholic.

Just hours after closing the most recent novel by the Cuban writer, I ran into him in person among the crowds at the Tocumen Airport. Cuba became the topic of conversation.

Nuances that I found in a walk along the well-known avenue; passing through a little piece of Cuba by the hand of the miraculous saint himself that gives it its name.

Cayo Hueso, that grid delimited by a part of the Malecón, Zanja Street, Belascoaín road and Infanta Street, is one of the most genuine and lively faces of Cuban identity and culture.

Elián Ángel Valenzuela, the L-Gante Keloke, has become in a short time one of the most popular and followed singers in Argentina.

It is part of the experience of being on the island.

In Cuba, for decades there are more elderly than children.

“I grew up on that block, the son of a dialectical materialist, and I played ball and hide and seek with Joanqui and Andresito, Seventh-day Adventist Christians who also took me to go horseback riding at their grandparents’ farm in the country.”

The Diana Sacayán-Lohana Berkins Law for the Promotion of Access to Formal Employment for Transvestites, Transsexuals and Transgender Persons aims to repair historical damages with the trans community in the country.