GOD! AND ME?

Just like in Cuba, we went as a family to Catholic mass every Sunday. My parents were both strong believers who took great pride in practising 24/7 what they believed in. To me, religion represented a story you tell children at bedtime. I knew the story was made up from scratch by very imaginative men, and most characters were fictional. Nevertheless, I felt that a deep spiritual message laid under the tissue of lies. When I sang or said prayers, my voice and those of other people around me rising to the vaulted roof above our sinners' heads, I always wondered: what is the meaning of living a miserable life on Earth for a wonderful life in Heaven? Surely, God had played a joke on us and we had all fallen into it like idiots. Inevitably, living miserably to better die wonderfully was just a charade. By rearranging the words in all possible combinations, maybe I could find the right answer.

Live wonderfully to better die miserably in Heaven. Nope!

Live in Heaven the better to die wonderfully miserable. Nope!

Live better miserably to die marvellously in Heaven. Ah, this one is quite good, but probably not.

Die in Heaven to live wonderfully miserable. Umm! Nope!

To better live miserably, die marvellously. Not that one either!

I was very quickly forced to forfeit the Good Lord and his puzzle. Obviously, his sense of humour appeared to be much more elaborate than ours.

You must probably wonder how a young man in the prime of his life with an orientation like mine was able to survive under the strict rules of the Roman Catholic religion. Well, just like everyone else, pretty much everywhere else: by playing along, faking it, chewing on guilt and shame every single day. The latter consisted of my daily sinful meals. My father seemed delighted every time I brought home a girlfriend. The sun and the women of Cuba had made me charming and normal.

By pretending for so long, I even managed to convince myself that I had indeed changed, exorcised by the power of time. But all it took was a yellow skirt, an immigrant woman with brown skin to throw me back into Feliz's arms in an instant. I sometimes still ask myself if my girlfriends noticed. I was there with them without being there. I was a living dead hanging on these beautiful women's arms like a piece of linen on a coat rack.