Grid of time and events...

Everything is definitely connected. We live in a… let’s say… grid of time and events, as if it were a game of levels we must unlock. I say this, and I can already see you raising a sceptical eyebrow — but listen closely. What follows will prove it.

Villalón Park, D Street, Vedado district, Havana, Cuba.

I hadn’t planned on coming here. It wasn’t part of any plan at all — but I can tell you that when I woke up yesterday, I felt strange. A kind of infinite sadness was devouring me from head to toe. Maybe it was because of the news… the news that, amid all the paperwork I’ve been navigating to trace my Spanish great-great-grandfather, I was told I’d also need a document — a certificate from - Kyiv, Ukraine, the city where I was born — confirming or denying that I’m registered there. Of course, this means more bureaucracy, more steps. Going to the Embassy, securing an appointment with the Consul, bringing documents so they can begin a search, and so on… as if everything I’m already doing weren’t enough. I honestly think I’m running out of time. You see, I have until the start of October to put my whole case together.

The shadows had taken hold of me. Yet by the time I arrived at the park, that feeling was no longer there. Without even thinking, I had already made it here — and by then, I’d followed a few paths that, in some way, left me feeling at ease. The plan I’d mapped out was as follows:

Go to the Embassy of Ukraine to ask how I should proceed in order to obtain that birth certificate.
Continue on to the Territorial Office of the Telecommunications Company to file a complaint during the public service hours held on Fridays.
Schedule an appointment at an international consultancy to legalise documents.

Naturally, I did the entire journey by bicycle… 27 kilometres in total, a little over two hours riding at an average speed of 14 or 15 km/h. Bear in mind I’m in a city full of traffic and traffic lights — many of which weren’t even working due to power outages. Sometimes there’d be a traffic officer directing things, and other times… nothing. Pure chaos.

Seeing the girl in the park — she felt like a sign of success to me. Do you see that ribbon around her? Even I could hardly believe it. Haha… Well, although everything is still up in the air, at least I have more clarity now. I know which documents I have to bring to the embassy on the 10th to request the search. I filed the complaint directly with an employee from the Marianao Office who happened to be there at the time, and she explained again that there’s no drop cable — but that my case is on a priority list for when it arrives. I believed her, with a great deal of faith, even if it’s not true. And as for the appointment to legalise documents… I was told I have to be there at six in the morning on Monday when they’ll be giving them out.

The most important thing I did when I left the house that morning was to tell myself, over and over again: don’t let it defeat you! And so, in tears, with a sorrow that pressed against my chest, I pedalled on — and little by little, things began to shift, taking on a different hue as I unlocked each new level.

Seated in this park, right beside the Amadeo Roldán Auditorium Theatre, I laughed and breathed a sigh of relief… but I also voiced a quiet longing from my heart — to see this place restored to its former splendour and brought back to life, just as I once knew it.

I used to frequent this place on weekends, and more than once I shed tears of emotion there, while nurturing my passion for music.

I pointed my camera in that direction to capture the details of that building — one that seems cursed, for it has already fallen prey to the flames once before. No — correction, it’s happened twice now. The first time was in 1977, and according to historical sources, it was the result of sabotage that left the building in ruins and closed for decades… More recently, this March, another fire was reported — swiftly extinguished by the fire brigade, but it rekindled the debate about the neglect of the country’s cultural heritage. The Amadeo Roldán Auditorium Theatre is a sorrowful melody in Havana today… I thought, as I leafed through some magazines. It’s been in this state for so long that I can no longer say when it closed its doors.

Reading the name Georg Friedrich Händel triggered, in my mind, the voice of Farinelli from the well-known film about the life of this castrato. I was once again moved to tears — just as I was that very first time I heard Lascia ch’io pianga. And so I opened the YouTube app to watch the video once more.

YouTube

😭

Lascia ch’io pianga” — which translates as “Let me weep” — is a deeply emotive aria from the opera Rinaldo (1711) by Georg Friedrich Händel. It is sung by the character Almirena, a young woman who has been abducted and is held captive in an enchanted garden. In this scene, she gives voice to her sorrow and longing for freedom. _Wikipedia

I won’t include the lyrics’ translation here… it’s quite simple and can be found in the Wikipedia link I shared, as well as on many other websites.

In case you’re not familiar with it, Farinelli: Il Castrato is a historical drama film that premiered in 1994. To recreate the unique timbre of a castrato, the voices of a countertenor (Derek Lee Ragin) and a soprano (Ewa Mallas-Godlewska) were digitally combined.

Synopsis
Farinelli, is the artistic name of Carlo Broschi, a young singer in Handel's time. He was castrated in his childhood in order to preserve his voice. During his life he becomes to be a very famous opera singer, managed by his mediocre brother (Riccardo).
_Filmaffinity

Returning to the theme of this post — the grids of events and of time itself… I don’t know if you see it, perhaps you think I’m making it up, but I was asleep and found myself thinking once again of Händel and Farinelli. I told myself I had to write, because this melody won’t leave my head. Though now, I do feel a bit better…

So I leave you now with more images capturing details of the theatre — photos I took just before buying two small bunches of basil, which I brought home and placed in water so they could take root, and later be planted.

The vendor handed them to me fresh, wrapped in newspaper, and I placed them atop my backpack, neatly secured with one of those plastic ties. Cycling home with the scent of basil in the air was exquisite, and you know to some extent, I always feel free on two wheels.