The Reason I Write

I wrote "What Are You Going To Do With It?" late last night, and have read it many times to re-live it, and also for editorial purposes. There are many stories in draft mode in my blog. Often I remember something and I start the post because I do not want the thought to go to sleep again.

Many years ago, around the time I arrived from the United States to join my wife for good, I told Christina that perhaps we should write our story.

"Write it" - she said to me. I meant to tell her, that we should write it together; but she was adamant.

"No, this is something you need to do. Write it".

It is amazing how much I remember.

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The Planner 00Iren

When I tell my daughters that their mother was amazing, I am not sure they grasp the magnitude of her stature. They tell me – “Yes dad, we know”. I remember the day I saw Christina the first time. It was in the halls of the chemistry department of Simon Fraser University. We both entered this long hallway at the same time, in opposite directions, in white lab coats, and we had the opportunity to take a good look at each other. When we passed our eyes crossed. She kept walking without turning but I looked back to see her disappear into one of the laboratories. “ Wow, I do not have a remote chance with that girl! ” Years later, after we reunited in Vancouver, she told me that she thought the same "- He is going to make a woman very happy one day" - She told me that she had no idea that it was going to be her. After I received the ultimatum letter from Canada Immigration, I was left with no option but to escape to the United States and avoid deportation and possible impriso...

A Thousand Pictures, Three Remain

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.

Our Charlie, Hegel

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...

My Family After Tragedy

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