They say that memory has its own hallways, and that just a smell, a lost phrase, or the sound of an imaginary bell is enough to bring us back to them without warning. This morning, as I walked past a high school, I heard the murmur of a classroom in full swing. It was like opening a window to the past: the echo of shoes against the waxed floor, the hurried line for the morning assembly, the teachers’ voices calling us by our last names, the sun filtering through the metal blinds. Suddenly, without intending to, I was a student again.
In that sudden journey, scenes appeared that seemed stored in an old notebook; like the chaotic dash to recess when the bell rang; the “Gossip Notebook” that everyone wanted to read; the teacher who asked for “two minutes of silence” that we could never manage to uphold; the Chemistry experiment that ended up splattering the entire lab. They were minimal episodes, almost silly, but filled with that energy that only adolescence has and that marks you without you even noticing.
Being a student in Cuba is a mix of routine and discovery, of discipline and beautiful disorder. It’s waking up early, even when it hurts; it’s running after the bus with your uniform still not properly adjusted. It’s copying homework at full speed, feeling the tremor in your legs before an exam that seemed impossible, and the immense joy when “Good” or “Excellent” comes home smelling of chalk. But it’s also about learning to share, to defend ideas, to repair notebooks with a piece of cardboard, to take care of each other when life outside gets tough.
This experience is not just personal memory; it’s an entire country that continues to form itself every morning. For the 2025-2026 school year, nearly 1 million 530 thousand students entered all levels of education, from primary to university. They fill the classrooms of more than 10,700 schools distributed throughout the island.
Within the walls of each of these institutions, the same cycles repeat year after year, and at the center of this process are the teachers, who manage to support entire groups amidst shortages while teaching that being a student is much more than just passing grades. We also return to them every November 17th.
And so, even though we abandon the colors of our uniforms and heavy backpacks, even as the years accumulate in gray hairs, responsibilities, and strict schedules, one never stops being a student because learning remains a daily necessity, a personal urgency, and a way of looking at the world.
That’s why, when International Student Day arrives, many of us feel that gentle pang of nostalgia. Celebrating this date is, after all, remembering that all of Cuba has been, and continues to be, a great school where every experience marks, teaches, and transforms.
