I really didn't know anything in Connecticut. Windsor was the only place I'd heard of, and I knew that was too far. I really relied on [my roommate's] family because I assumed, being from Ridgefield, they would be more familiar with the state.

They lost it for two months. Then they had no fuel to get it out. I got there on Aug. 23. It didn't come until October. I was living out of suitcases until then.

We looked at one place in the center of West Hartford. It was a little cheaper, but the rooms were really, really small. Its claim to fame was that we could walk to Farmington Avenue. The kitchen was almost nonexistent.

I liked the setup and the hardwood floors. I knew it was acceptable to me, and the price was something I could afford. I thought it was pretty secure.

It seems disrespectful to my parents who left... to hear their story over and over again which always ends with... 'and I'll never go back as long as anyone in the Castro family is in power.' Well, what happens if you can go back? Would you want to see things?

I remember being so homesick and realizing that where I came from was not something that existed in the cultural imagination outside the city. People used to think Miami was just partying in South Beach all the time.