By mixing up historical documents donated by friends and recent works, I conceived this project as a revival of the Soviet era in Cuba. This is an exhibition imagined and played by a child from his own memories. The loss of his mother —a former Russian professor— is the leitmotiv of the journey. At the same time, she becomes a metaphor of the Cuban history. From the living room to the bedroom, each part of the house tells a different chapter of this tale. First, an innocent blackboard shows a large list of when I grow up…, all of them painfully unaccomplished. The snow and the mother’s letters preside the second room: distance and nostalgia. A candle on the floor and a melancholic song emerged from the bathroom. Finally, the boy’s bedroom. Everything here is suspended in time: toys scattered on the floor, the school uniform on his bed, pencils, notebooks, and the persistent smell of his mother’s perfume, Krasnaya Moskva. A video plays on the TV and an empty school desk lies in the center of the room. On the desk rest a framed picture of the mother —the only one in the whole exhibition—, and a piece of paper where this child has written his last and painful wish: When I grow up, I want to take my mother’s ashes to the Soviet Union and spread them on the roots of a Birch tree.