I keep talking about books

But in fact… I’m terrified.

Fifteen years ago, I exited Cuba running away. I suffered from stalking and harassment from the military government my whole life. From the age of eleven, my home phone was tapped, and I had a uniformed man following me everywhere. I couldn’t trust my friends or my neighbors. I couldn’t go to therapy and pour my fears on someone’s desk because that could make things worse at home.

My Island

I left my island. Yes, it is mine; my blood is there, my ancestors are buried there, the dust of Cuba is my blood. The sea around Cuba is my tears. The island’s voice is my voice. Still, I had to go because the regime was drowning me. I wasn’t protesting or campaigning like many of those I left behind were. Instead, I was creating art: acting, making music, writing poetry. But the regime didn’t even want me to do that. They closed every door I knocked on. They tried to silence my voice.

Leaving Cuba, for me, was escaping harassment and death. They destroyed my family’s reputation. And they truncated my life.

In the fifteen years I have lived in exile, I had to silence my voice, fearing that I would be denied the right to return to my island. Yes, my island.

And now… watching the forces of the U.S. government smashing brown people’s lives, I’m in a state of perplexity and shock. This was my safe haven. This is supposed to be my refuge. I’m scared of traveling, and I’m scared of going to big cities or small rural towns. I’m watching my community hiding, considering exile to another country. I would run away too, but where?

Writing until the end

Instead of all this craziness, let me talk about books. Let me laugh; let me live while I’m alive; while the viruses let me breathe; while the Yellowstone volcano lets me walk the Earth; and while meteorites allow me to experience gravity. Let me write some books, and let me paint joy on every blank page I find. Let me smile out of my mind until my diaphragm collapses. Let me just do that, because that’s better than watching greedy old men slicing this world, as if it were an apple pie, and stuffing it down their throats in a gluttonous act.

“What would I do differently?” was my last blog post, a reflection on my self-publishing journey. My question for you is: What would you do differently in 2026? As promised, I will be talking about the intricate world of self-publishing. My goal is to help others make their dreams as authors come true without the hazards of the world. This post was first published in Substack, but I want to share it here, as this is my site.

Follow me for more. In the meantime, you can find my books here. Also, check out this book I published for the phantom writer.

Anechy Padron