Reference no: EM133288072

Assignment:

Reading: Excerpted from Learning to Die in Miami: Confessions of a Refugee Boy by Carlos Eire, published by Free Press. 

But that night, as I drift to sleep in my bunk at the Angoneses' house in the Florida City camp, all I care about is the fact that I've escaped from Cuba, which is the same as escaping from hell, and that I'm in a new land with marvelous vending machines.

On the ride from the airport, as we zipped through Miami and out into the Everglades, I was in shock. Here I am. Estoy aquí. All of my life I'd longed to be here in the United States of America because the place had thrust itself upon me through movies, television shows, comic books, and a thousand and one products, from baseball cards to model trains and soft drinks. I'd been seeing images of this place, playing with its toys, and consuming its goods and entertainment since the day I was born. I'd fallen in love with its women on-screen, long before I ever fell in love with a real girl. It was the ideal world, and ours seemed but a pale reflection of it.

Later, when I'd first learn of Plato's allegory of the cave, I'd understand the concept instantly, without any difficulty, because I'd already lived in such a cave and escaped from it. Once Fidel and his crew set out to pulverize everything that was a mirror image of the United States in Cuba- mostly out of sheer bilious envy- they'd make our cave much deeper, and darker. They'd succeeded in blocking the entrance to the cave and destroying our physical contact with the ideal world, but they couldn't take away what was stored in our memories, or at least in my memory. 

In many ways, this new place was home, and perhaps more of a home than my own native land. Or so I thought as I looked out of the van's window. Yet, I recognized nothing. No images of Miami had ever entered my field of vision in Cuba, for America exported very little of Miami, if anything. Back then, Miami was a kitschy tourist trap that didn't figure much in American culture. The cityscape I saw buzzing past me on expressways and highways looked nothing like what I'd imagined. There were no skyscrapers, no mountains, no deserts.

No cowboys, for sure, and no Marilyn Monroe. It looked shockingly familiar, a whole lot like the newest neighborhoods on the outskirts of Havana. But those Havana neighborhoods, which had suddenly stopped growing as soon as Fidel showed up, were already looking shabby and older than they really were. Without paint and constant repair, tropical homes deteriorate very fast. This place was different, all right. Nothing was old here, or shabby. So it seemed, anyway. All the buildings hugged the ground, as if afraid to rise too far from it. And the vegetation seemed very thick and jungle-like. But I really couldn't see much after a while. It was nighttime, and I could make out only whatever was lit by streetlights or the traffic on the road. 

Except for the gas stations, which seemed like widely scattered galaxies that filled the empty space with their own light. There seemed to be a lot more of them here, and they seemed bigger, more brightly lit. It was the first noticeable difference that caught my eye, along with the strange brands of gasoline being sold: Phillips 66, Cities Service, Sunoco, Union 76. Their illuminated signs were practically all I could see once we got past a certain point and there were fewer and fewer buildings. And these oases of light were strung out at great distances from one another, like the bread crumbs in the Hansel and Gretel story, marking a path through the woods. But this was no fairy tale, and there were no witches in sight. 

This was the real world, and I had finally crossed over into it.

I was alive, at last. Really alive. As I saw it then, Cuba had become some other dimension, far from earth: A parallel universe not unlike that of Bizarro World in the Superman comic books, where everything was the opposite of what one might expect on earth. And I couldn't wait to escape from it, no matter what. Losing everything, including my family, seemed like a small price to pay. Or so I thought. 

Being in shock didn't help me gain a sense of perspective. What caught my eye most intensely were the soda-pop vending machines at the gasoline stations, all lit up in colors much more eye-catching than I had seen on any of their Cuban counterparts. Like everything else we'd missed for the past two years, these machines were way ahead into the future. These were space-age models. I wanted to jump out of the van, drop nickels in their sweet, sweet coin slots, fill my arms with their bottles, and sample those drinks I'd never, ever seen or tasted before, such as Bubble Up, and all those familiar ones that had once been available in Cuba, before Che Guevara made them disappear, such as Coke and Pepsi. Nothing seemed more desirable, more worthy of my attention. But I had no money at all, and the van was on a nonstop mission. 

Where I'll end up and what might become of me doesn't trouble me much that night, at least not on the conscious level. I've just died-without knowing it-and am stunned as Lazarus must have been when he emerged from the tomb, entangled in his burial shroud, his hair a total stinking mess. 

Questions: 

1. According to the author, why did Fidel Castro insulate Cuba from the outside world and America in particular? What effect did this have on the author? Explain using evidence from the text.

2. What were some of the most noticeable differences between the Cuban and American landscapes? Cite textual evidence in your response.

3. What does the author mean when he writes, "This was the real world"? Explain citing evidence from the text.

4. The Latin word deterior means "worse." With this information in mind and using context clues from the text, write the best definition of the word deteriorate here.

5. Based on context clues, what do you think the word counterparts means? Write the best definition of counterparts here, and explain how you figured it out.

6. An escaped citizen of what he calls a communist "Bizarro world," The author offers a unique perspective. He is an eager consumer suddenly transported to the capitalist oasis of Miami, Florida. Analyze the author's position as a Cuban immigrant living in the promised land of brightly lit vending machines. How does nationality inform his particular immigration experience? Respond with a minimum of 4 paragraphs, citing specific evidence from the text to support your thinking.