Introduction:
Let’s get real for a second: the things we can’t live without tend to say as much about us as our dating profiles—or even what we order at brunch (if you’re Team Avocado Toast, we see you). They’re a window into who we are: our culture, our quirks, the things that make us tick. And if you’re like me—a guy with one foot in Cuban traditions and the other stomping to an 80s rock anthem—you know the essentials aren’t just random. They’re stitched together with all the stuff that’s shaped you, loved you, and occasionally spilled cafecito on your shirt.

So, here are my non-negotiables: the stuff I’d rescue in a fire, protect during a breakup, or, yes, dramatically argue about on a second date.

1. My Abuela’s Cafetera (Because Some Things Are Worth More than Gold)

Hear me out—this isn’t your department-store espresso machine. This stove-top gem made its way from Cuba with my abuelo in 1980, nestled into his carry-on like it was the family crown jewels. It’s weathered decades of breakfasts, celebrations, and, let’s be honest, a few loud García-debate dinners.

Why does it matter so much? It’s not just the coffee, though that tiny cup of jet fuel can power me through anything from writer’s block to a bad day. It’s the ritual. The way the aroma fills the room, signaling to everyone in earshot that life slows down for a few minutes. (Side note: If you ever date someone from a Cuban family, don’t underestimate the power of offering to make the cafecito. Bonus points if you know how to whip that sugar espuma. Trust me, you’ll win hearts faster than a Marc Anthony ballad.)

2. My Vinyl Collection: Sinatra Meets Celia Cruz

Growing up, music wasn’t background noise—it was family therapy. My mom’s Saturday salsa cleans? Epic. My dad belting out Carlos Varela in his off-key glory? Hilarious. Over the years, music became both soundtrack and lifeline. My record collection is a smorgasbord of cultural contradictions: Sinatra crooning about strangers in the night sits next to Celia Cruz reminding us that life is a carnival.

But here’s where it gets interesting. Vinyl, like relationships, demands something other formats don’t: patience. You've got to listen to every crackle, flip the side, and accept that a scratch here or there doesn’t ruin the whole. Dating could learn a thing or two. Your playlist might be digital, but love? That’s analog magic, baby.

3. My Notebooks: Because Ghosting Can’t Happen on Paper

Ah, the humble notebook. You might call me old-fashioned, but there’s something grounding about putting pen to paper. I’ve got pages full of stories my grandparents told me, snarky one-liners I’ll never say aloud, and half-formed love letters to crushes so fleeting I don’t even remember their last names.

Dating these days has this swipe-left urgency, but my notebooks? They remind me to slow down. To reflect. To play with the idea of love, even if the latest “situationship” fizzles after three text messages. And let’s be real, a notebook never leaves you on “read.”

4. My Dad’s Guayabera: Fits Every Occasion, Including Heartbreak

A guayabera is more than just a shirt—it’s a uniform for every key moment in a Cuban household. Weddings? Throw on a white one. A first date with someone your mom’s already suspicious of? Try black. The shirt holds family history: how my dad wore his at every major family reunion, always insisting that “real men wear linen.”

Emotionally? It’s my armor. When I face big moments—like pitching a novel, meeting someone’s impossibly cool friends, or surviving a holiday party solo—it’s my reminder of where I come from and the people who’ve had my back longer than any dating streak.

5. Abuela’s Sherry Glasses (Not Just for Drinking)

Ever heard of drinking sherry at 3 p.m. while gossiping over telenovelas? My abuela swore by it, raising her little glass like it was liquid courage for life itself. She used to say, “Take life serio, pero no demasiado,” which sort of translates to, “Take life seriously, but not too much.”

These glasses have cracked edges now, but they’re in my apartment next to stacks of books and wayward socks. They’ve become a reminder: life is richer when shared. Whether it’s a deep conversation over wine or a flirty banter with someone new, connection can happen over a little glass of sherry—or any other excuse you make to sit down and listen.

6. My Old-School Domino Set: Uno Who?

Look, family game nights at my house didn’t involve board games with colorful pawns or decks of cards. It was dominos—slamming tiles on the table so hard the neighbors probably felt the vibration. For Latin families, dominos isn’t just a game; it’s verbal sparring disguised as strategy.

Why it matters? It taught me that relationships—be they romantic or platonic—are built on paying attention. Watching someone’s moves, anticipating the next step, getting comfortable with the unpredictability of it all. And, let’s be honest, there are few things sexier than a partner who can keep up with your banter over a game of dominos.

7. A Box of Letters: Proof That Love Exists in Ink

Here’s the thing about digital messages: they disappear. Get a new phone? Poof. Forgotten password? Gone. But letters? They’re tactile proof of love, heartbreak, and everything in between.

I’ve got a box of them under my bed—notes scribbled by my high school friends, postcards my dad sent while working extra shifts, a love letter or two… or three. If I’m feeling sentimental (or need a reminder that my 20s were peak drama), I’ll sift through. It’s grounding to see how love evolved in my life—how it isn’t always neat, but it’s always worth documenting.

Conclusion:
The things we can’t live without aren’t just objects—they’re pieces of the stories we’ve lived, the bonds we’ve built, and the futures we’re piecing together tile by tile, cup by cup, note by note. They shape how we connect with others, how we love, and—most importantly—how we show up as our authentic selves.

So, what’s your “can’t live without”? Whatever it is, hold it close. Because it’s not just stuff. It’s you. And whether you’re courting a new flame or rekindling your relationship with yourself, the essentials you carry will always—with a little luck—carry you right back.