He told me to envision a dream that I wanted, an unimaginable reality which I would never have.
He told me to imagine the warm, salty ocean breeze comb through my hair. The layer of salt that coated my body as the water splashed on my face. Feel the small tingle in my feet as it skimmed through the water while the boat sailed away into the darkening sky. He told me to feel the slight whisper that the wind disputed out as it made its way north, pushing and turning the boat.
He jammed words of happiness in my head.
He made me believe something I knew I shouldn't believe.
He gave me a slight amount of hope, hope that I knew would get me in trouble.
He was teasing me. It was mean. It was, horrible. I mean, I want to like the happiness he was trying to pound into my head. I want to make the best of my miserableness, my mindset of realism, of knowing that I will never get out of here, but I can’t. The earth keeps sucking me back down to reality. I was never going to get out this place.
Never.
He took me and placed me in a chair, covered my eyes with his hard hands filled with blisters and cuts. I could feel the taste of loss, the whisper of fear in the sky, the feeling of sadness and hopelessness.
“Imagine” he said, “imagine.”
“No,” I had to force my words. I couldn't suck in another breath of hope. I couldn't put building blocks of hope, and stack them ontop of myself to live a fake life. To have a fake dream. An unimaginable dream. 
“Imagine the adrenaline slowly build up as you slip yourself into the ocean. See yourself being instantly submerged into a world that has not been fully discovered. Feel yourself wiping the salt from your eyelids. Think about your thoughts as sea salt slips into your eyes and gives you a slight burning sensation. As you look down at your hands, you can see your skin spiral in circles as it gets wrinkled from being in the water. Watch as your young hands gain experience. Hold your breathe and feel your heart race as you dive into a beautiful world. Watch as the fish start stacking on top of one another creating a pack. Feel a laugh arise inside of you as seaweed brushes against your ankle, tickling your skin. Quickly swim up for air, take in all of the oxygen as you prepare your lungs for another dive into the ocean.”
“No, stop!” I demanded him to stop making me dream, to stop making me happy. I will never want a happiness that is only a dream. A happiness which I can only see with my eyes closed. I don't want to dream of an unreal smile, an unreal ocean dive. I don't want to watch an unreal water splash on me, or feel the wind whisper in my ear. I want a real ocean dive, a real splash and whisper.
“Imagine,” he said, “imagine.”
“I can’t.” I tried to explain, but my words were no match to my imagination.
“Imagine the sunset dance across the sky as you are dragging one foot behind the other on the sandy beach. Watch the roaring waves swirl around each other in different colors, collapsing one after the other. Look as the sand gets denser and heavier. Watch the ocean suck in all of the small shells, making them clang onto each other, making them brake and tumble. Look back at your foot prints made in the sand. The way the world is so uneven, full of imperfections, yet everything seems just right. Look around, take in one more breath of the salty breeze. Pick up a shell and hear the ocean being contained into one small object. Look back in your mind at all that you accomplished, feel refreshed and content for you are finally free.” Everything then stopped. I wasn't dead, but I was not alive. I was at peace with myself, just for a second. “Now open your eyes.”
Mr.Martinez, a poor, partially successful merchant, took his blistered and cut hands off my eyes and I looked at him. “Nena,” he began to say, “we don't have much, we spare any change possible and sell our art to the tourists here and there.” I nodded. I realized. “We live in a two bedroom home on the first floor of a run down, dirty street. My future is here in Havana. I am too old to start over.” I nodded. “But you, mija, you have your whole life ahead of you, don't let us hold you back.” I started to imagine.
“Papi,” I said, “we are here. I am Cuba. You are Cuba. How can I imagine a life so sweet, when all life is, is bitter?”
“Mijita, the only way life can be bitter, is if you let it be.”
“Papa, por favor. We have nothing, we dress like we have less than nothing while these tourists come here and take pictures of us like we are artifacts, like we are nothing more than a memory they can keep on their new phones. They look at the pictures of us to remember their beautiful five star trip, all we remember is all the things we are missing out on. All the things we will never have that those tourists can pull right out of their pockets!”
“No no, Nena, that is all you remember.” He looked deeper into my eyes. “You remember what you want,” he took a breath. “I will remember this beautiful city we live in, the great food and fiestas. I will never forget all the hard times we went through to get where we are now. However, I will remember all the laughs and smiles we have had. I will remember making the best of all the nothing we had.”
“Papi, how do we make the best of something, when we have nothing?”
“Mija, that is for you to decide. I have done my part to make this life the best it can be. I built our life off of my imaginations, without them, we probably wouldn't live in the best place in the world. We would be in a horrible, dangerous place. I have went through the fire to experience happiness. I’ve done all that I could to help you imagine a better life for us, now it is your turn to turn these imaginations into actions.”
I ended the conversation, gave my papi a hug, then got on the next boat to America. I was ready to make my papi proud. To use all these imaginations and turn them into a reality. I was ready to make our family better, to change our lives.
I turned around, once more.
“Papi.” I said.
“Yes mija?”
“Don't forget to make some new imaginations, because I’m taking all yours with me.” I smiled and waved goodbye as I walked off.