I came from a place called Cuba

I came to the United States from a place called Cuba. My parents brought me here on a Freedom Flight on July 23rd, 1971, and never returned there since. I was eight years old then. On that day, we became exiles from our homeland. Many people here and there, at the time, believed that the Castro regime would be something temporary. We were all wrong.

When I turned 18 years old, I went to the local Immigration office in the town I lived and applied to become a United States citizen. Shortly after, I became one. I came from a place called Cuba, but that place no longer seems to exist.

Yes, I came from a place called Cuba, but that place no longer seems to exist. Why do I say this? Well, I don't really seem to recognize the people who claim to come from a place called Cuba. They are very different than the people I knew there. They speak different and act different. They don't even come here as exiles, and usually go back to visit that place as soon as they are able. This is mind boggling, because many claim they were oppressed and treated harshly by the government there. This is puzzling. Why would anyone return a state that makes citizens victims? Perhaps, they should have never left.

If that place from where I came called Cuba still exists, I don't think the people seem to immigrate anymore. Seemingly, all of us who left just stayed here a long time ago. Many of us have already died here, and every day there are less of us. It is very lonely to have come from a place called Cuba that no longer seems to exist. It almost feels like we came from nowhere.