I see her writing late at night, when she does. Finding the cracks within her schedule to make that connection. It is a real fight for her. She is stuck in the rat race of New York City. Producing, making. So that Cuba inhabits her dream space. It is floating like a cloud in the furthest reaches of her brain. So some of these images are more concrete, but I am drawn to the shimmery feel of her memories and lonely considerations of her past and far away present.
It really is work for her to connect. But when she does it is through a unique telepathy that she has with her country. Oh, they may need socks, so she sends them. Maybe she was wearing those same socks and thought of them - in her moment of curling up in her couch. That may be how it connects to Aubrey's picture of the woman laying on sofa. Those are the moments of thought. When the world is away from her. Perhaps the problem with not connecting may be that the guys are always present. There is no time for that space she needs to really think. They are always doing something. There is no siesta.