Identity is a funny thing. It’s not just a passport or a birth certificate. When I say i am from cuba, people usually start picturing old Chevrolets, white sand beaches, or maybe a cigar-chomping caricature from a movie. But honestly? Being from the island is a lot more complicated than a postcard. It’s a mix of intense pride, a bit of heartbreak, and a constant, nagging sense of nostalgia that you carry around like a heavy backpack.
Cuba is a place of contradictions. You have world-class doctors working for pennies and crumbling buildings that look like ancient ruins but house entire families. Growing up there means learning how to fix things that should have been thrown away forty years ago. It’s a culture of "inventando"—inventing—because if you don’t have a part for your fan, you make one out of a plastic bottle and some wire.
Living as an expat or a member of the diaspora changes the phrase entirely. When I tell someone i am from cuba in Miami, Madrid, or New York, it’s an invitation to a political debate or a long story about someone's grandmother’s black beans. It defines you before you even open your mouth.
The Reality Behind the Phrase
Most people think they know Cuba. They’ve seen the photos of Old Havana. But the lived experience is a different beast. To say i am from cuba is to acknowledge a history of isolation and resilience. Since the 1959 Revolution, the country has been on a trajectory unlike any other in the Western Hemisphere.
Think about the "Special Period" in the 90s. After the Soviet Union collapsed, the island basically ran out of everything. Food, fuel, electricity—gone. My family remembers eating "steaks" made of breadfruit or orange peels. It sounds like a tall tale, but it was daily life. That era baked a specific kind of toughness into the Cuban DNA. We don't just survive; we find a way to make it look like we're having a party while we do it.
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The dual currency system, which was only recently "unified" into the CUP (Cuban Peso), created a strange class divide for decades. If you had family abroad sending "remesas" (remittances), you could shop at the stores with the good soap and the imported chocolate. If you didn't? You waited in the "cola"—the line. Lines are a national pastime. You wait for bread, you wait for the bus, you wait for a chance to leave.
Why the Language is Different
Cuban Spanish is fast. It’s aggressive but melodic. We drop the "s" at the end of words like it’s a burden we can’t afford to carry. If you hear someone shouting "¡Oye, qué bola!", you know exactly where they’re from.
It’s not just the accent, though. It’s the slang. "Acere" is our "mate" or "dude." "Guagua" is the bus. There’s a secret language to the island that stays with you even if you haven't stepped foot on the Malecón in twenty years. When I’m in a grocery store in a different country and I hear that specific cadence, my head snaps around instantly. It’s a visceral connection.
The Emotional Weight of Saying I Am From Cuba
There is a concept called "la lucha"—the struggle. Everything in Cuba is a struggle. Getting eggs is a struggle. Getting internet that doesn't lag is a struggle. Because of this, when someone says i am from cuba, they are often signaling a shared understanding of frustration and hope.
The 11th of July protests in 2021 changed the narrative for a lot of us. For the first time in decades, people across the island took to the streets. It wasn't just about politics; it was about hunger and the lack of medicine. Seeing those images while living abroad is a special kind of torture. You feel guilty for having a full fridge while your cousins are protesting for "Patria y Vida" (Homeland and Life) instead of the old slogan "Patria o Muerte."
- The diaspora is massive. Over 2 million Cubans live in the United States alone.
- Miami is the "capital" of the exile community, but there are huge pockets in New Jersey, Texas, and Spain.
- The connection to the island remains through "parish" packages—heavy suitcases filled with Tylenol, powdered milk, and clothes sent back with "mulas" (travelers who deliver goods for a fee).
The Myth of the Time Capsule
Travelers love to say Cuba is "frozen in time."
It isn't.
It’s decaying.
There’s a big difference between a vintage aesthetic and a lack of resources to build anything new. The "Yankee Tanks" (those 50s cars) are held together by boat engines and sheer willpower. While it looks cinematic for a tourist’s Instagram feed, for the guy driving it, it’s a daily mechanical nightmare.
We also have a weird relationship with technology. Before 2018, mobile internet was almost non-existent for the average person. Then came the "SNET"—a giant, illegal underground Wi-Fi network that spanned Havana so people could play World of Warcraft and share movies. Now, with 4G becoming more common, Cubans are finally connected to the global conversation, even if the government still blocks certain sites.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Culture
People think we all dance salsa and drink rum all day. While music is everywhere—you can’t walk a block in Central Havana without hearing Reggaeton or Son—life is much grittier.
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One thing that surprises outsiders is the education level. You’ll meet a taxi driver who is actually a neurosurgeon. Why? Because he makes more in tips from tourists in one afternoon than he does in a month at the hospital. This "brain drain" is one of the biggest tragedies of the modern Cuban experience. The country produces brilliant minds, but it can’t afford to keep them.
Religion is another layer. Santería (Regla de Ocha) is deeply woven into the fabric of the island. It’s a syncretic religion, blending West African Yoruba beliefs with Catholicism. You’ll see people dressed head-to-toe in white, or little offerings of fruit left at the base of a ceiba tree. Even if you aren't a believer, you respect the Orishas. It’s just part of the air you breathe.
Navigating the Politics of Identity
You can’t talk about saying i am from cuba without touching the third rail of politics. It’s inescapable. Within a single family, you might have a revolutionary grandfather, a daughter who wants to reform the system, and a son in Miami who wants a total embargo. Thanksgiving dinners (if you’re in the US) or Noche Buena (Christmas Eve) are minefields.
The US-Cuba relationship is a pendulum. One year the "thaw" is happening and cruises are docking in Havana; the next, the sanctions are tightened and the island goes back into a tailspin. Being the person who says i am from cuba means being the designated spokesperson for these policies every time they hit the news. It’s exhausting.
But there’s also a beauty in the persistence of the culture. Whether it’s through art, like the works of Wilfredo Lam, or the literature of Pedro Juan Gutiérrez, the "Cuban-ness" (Cubanía) survives regardless of the regime or the location.
Actionable Insights for Connecting with Cuban Culture
If you want to understand the reality of someone saying i am from cuba, or if you are looking to reconnect with those roots yourself, here is how to engage authentically:
1. Look Beyond the Tourist Path
If you visit, don't just stay in Varadero. Go to the "casas particulares" (private homestays). Eat at "paladares" (private restaurants). Talk to the owners. This is where the real economy lives. Support the people, not just the state-run hotels.
2. Learn the History from Multiple Sides
Don't just read the state-approved textbooks or the loudest voices on social media. Read "The Structure of Cuban History" by Louis A. Pérez Jr. or check out the archives at the Cuban Heritage Collection at the University of Miami. Understanding the nuances of the 19th-century independence wars is just as important as knowing about the 1959 revolution.
3. Support the Arts
Cuban artists are some of the most creative in the world because they have to work with limited materials. Look for independent filmmakers and musicians who are producing work despite censorship.
4. Respect the Complexity
When someone tells you they are from Cuba, don't immediately jump to "Is it like the movies?" or "What do you think of the government?" Listen to their specific story. Some left on the Mariel boatlift in 1980; others came last week on a plane. Some miss it desperately; others never want to look back.
5. Taste the Real Flavors
Real Cuban food isn't just "spicy"—it's actually not spicy at all. It’s savory. It’s about the "sofrito"—garlic, onion, and bell pepper sautéed in oil. If you want to honor the culture, learn to make a proper Arroz con Pollo or a slow-cooked Lechon Asado.
Being from Cuba is an inheritance of joy and struggle. It’s a permanent state of being caught between what was, what is, and what could have been. When I say i am from cuba, I’m not just stating a fact. I’m telling you a story of a family that stayed, a family that left, and a culture that refuses to be silenced by an ocean or a border. It is a messy, beautiful, and deeply human identity that defies any simple explanation.