Anyone I’ve ever known who’s gone to Cuba says that there’s something indescribable about the way you feel when you’re there. It's true, and there's not much more I can say about that; it really is beyond words.

But there's also something about the way you feel when you’re leaving and you're gone that I think I might be able to describe.

When I leave Cuba, I have a strange sense of longing for this place to which I don’t really belong, to which I have no real claim, and which, if I’m honest, I usually find harder to understand with each visit, not easier. I want to stay and yet I can't wait to go. The transition out of Havana is always longer than the runway at Jose Marti Airport; I spend days immersing myself in el cubaneo: music (from folky Carlos Varela to the hip hoppin' Orishas and Hoyo Colorao), books, news, and movies.

Last night, I went to the video store in my Mexico City neighborhood, fully intending to rent a Mexican movie, a kind of Cuba detox. Instead, I ended up with "Cerca del Corazon," a Cuban movie.

Opening shot? The Capitolio. I had my picture taken there last week by a photographer who shoots with a camera from 1901. The black and white wallet sized photo is ghostly, but for some reason, I've tacked it to a kitchen cabinet.

Opening sounds? The distinct Spanish of habaneros: the dropping of hard "d's" at the end of words like "cuidado," the tendency of girls and women to call each other "nina" regardless of their age, and of course, my favorite word, the shortened version of "cono."

It’s the Havana I know and love, but it’s also not my Havana at all. The kids in the movie are dressed in their familiar pionero school uniforms—a red skirt or shorts for elementary school kids, a white button down shirt and a neckerchief--but the colors are an eye-popping Technicolor bright. The kids carry new backpacks. Everyone’s shoes are shiny and new. Everyone sleeps in their own bed in a big apartment with fresh paint and doodads hanging on the wall. The kids have piggy banks and the moms have telephones. Most unlikely, they have big claw foot bathtubs, full to the brim with water—and bubbles! It's a movie version of Havana, Havana idealized, Havana transformed through the magic of technology. Technicolor dyes the faded spaces bright and shiny.

It's beautiful. But transformations in real life, of course, aren't so easy. The real color….sometimes you have to just imagine it.