My Family After Tragedy

My Turning Point The public hearings at the University of Havana during the so-called “Deepening Process” were some of the darkest days in our history. At the Faculty of Chemistry, classes stopped entirely; nothing was taught, nothing was learned. Attendance at the hearings was mandatory, and each day felt like walking into a tribunal rather than a university. Many students were expelled. Charlie was not the only one. I remember a young woman—I can’t recall her name—who was cast out simply for wearing a crucifix. It had been a gift from her godmother. When the commission demanded she take it off, she refused. The leader pointed at the door, and instantly a chorus began: “Out, out, out!” Her classmates followed her to the street, chanting in what was called a “repudiation act.” It was horrible to watch. These acts were not spontaneous. They were an intimidation tactic perfected by the government. They could—and sometimes did—turn violent. The year before, in 1980, lives had already be...

It was 1981, and I had barely survived my first year at the University of Havana, where I was studying chemistry. The leap from high school to university had been a huge adjustment—not just for me, but for many others. In the fall of 1979, about 250 of us began the program together. By the second year, fewer than 50 remained. That year we were introduced to a new subject: Philosophy. Every subject has to start somewhere, and we began with the classics—their ideas, their conflicts, their strengths and weaknesses. But one question weighed heavily on us: why study philosophy at all? Shouldn’t we be focused on chemistry—the nature of substances, their reactions, the concepts of atoms, molecules, and bonds? That was the very first challenge we posed to our philosophy lecturer, and to us, it seemed perfectly legitimate. The answer, fittingly, was philosophical. In the Soviet context, philosophy was meant to train us in analytical reasoning and critical thinking—by grappling with big questi...

 Can Glycosylated Antitumor Ether Lipid be used to treat GBM? ChatGPT said: Great question. Let's break it down clearly and carefully. Glycosylated Antitumor Ether Lipids (GAELs) are a class of synthetic lipid-based molecules designed to have anticancer properties. They are derivatives of antitumor ether lipids (AELs) , with added sugar moieties (glycosylation) to improve selectivity, solubility, and reduce toxicity. Use of GAELs in GBM (Glioblastoma Multiforme): 1. Research Evidence: Direct studies on GAELs and GBM are limited. There is preclinical evidence that antitumor ether lipids (especially compounds like edelfosine or miltefosine ) have activity against glioblastoma cells in vitro . Glycosylated variants of these compounds (GAELs) have shown antitumor activity in other cancers, such as leukemia, melanoma, and breast cancer, but direct clinical studies on GBM are sparse or non-existent as of now (2024). 2. Mechanism of Action: GAELs are thought to: D...

A thousand pictures, scattered wide, Moments frozen, side by side. Laughter, sunsets, faces bright, Fleeting echoes caught in light. Yet in the haze of time's embrace, Only three still hold their place. One of love, so pure, so true, One of loss, a tear in blue. One of hope—a flame so small, Yet the dearest one of all. Yes, you have guessed right; I was not having a perfect moment then I discovered these pictures in my Blogger picture drive; fresh air from the past.  I will sleep with a smile tonight.

  I never dared to continue with this story .   My feelings for what happened are unchanged.  My resentment is also there, however, as time passes I learn that those feelings will not lead me anywhere.  We do not forget but choose to survive and continue.  Sometimes I go for a walk and think about those days and it still hurts. It is better to close this chapter and leave it as is, that way this monster will not catch me again.

To our daughters, I learned so much from your mother. She was my lover and my dearest friend. The summer of 1992 was in full swing, and your mom and I spent every day escaping to different places around the mainland. We were having the time of our lives! By the end of the summer, I didn’t have a penny left—but I was the happiest man alive. Your mom drove a white 1989 Chevrolet Cavalier station wagon. That car smelled like a wet dog—Sam, her dog, was the main passenger before she met me. It would break down every 100 kilometers or so and would run out of gas the moment the warning light came on. And guess who had to push? That’s right—your dad. But we were like peas and carrots—inseparable and as happy as could be. You often say, “Dad, you use all these strange old words no one says anymore!” Well, your mom is responsible for that. I learned what a sea shanty was in that white Cavalier, listening to CBC Radio. There was a program about sailors and fishermen, focusing on how poorly...