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The Cuban Change


            One day during winter recess my family and I traveled to Cuba. During my stay I would roam and explore Havana's streets with my cousin Adrian, who unfortunately lives there. As we walked through the improperly constructed streets, I would notice that we were the only ones properly insulated with thick jackets. The news reported temperatures as low as 55 degrees, which is extremely cold compared to the usual Cuban days. Outside the sun was hiding behind the gray clouds, making the streets unusually mysterious. In also, I saw kids walking around wearing nothing but ripped cotton shorts and mud-covered tank tops. It gave off a very depressing feeling. I asked my cousin various questions to calm my confusion because I had never seen such poverty in my short nine years. He would reply to most of my questions with the simple phrase, "That's life!". .
             Not even Miami's poor class could compare to the poverty I saw in Cuba. I shifted all my questions to answers and began to imagine several solutions for the economical problems in Cuba. As I walked down the narrow shady street, the only responses, I could come up with seemed either political or aimed toward the stars. The thoughts about influencing the Cuban government into a new and improved system or organizing a fund raiser in order to provide all the Cubans with money didn't seem possible and got old. .
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             Being the realistic person I am, I quit aiming toward the stars and decided to land on the moon. Exiting my mental spaceship, I realized that instead of changing everyone's life in that small island, I would start by helping out one person. After finding my night's purpose, another question arose; who's life, should I change!? . I turned my cheek to the left and viewed three small kids with blank faces sitting on a bench made out of sturdy tree branches and dark bulky stones. Shifting my vision to my right I noticed a fragile old woman.


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