Do they have busy lives and jobs and families now? Or are his photographs the last testament of their existence?
"For me, this is a very difficult photographic record," Castellanos said. "Maybe I have the only, or maybe the last, picture of that person."
Especially, he wondered about the girl.
Cuba's communist economy was in crisis in August 1994. The Soviet Union had collapsed, and the only way to get supplies was on the black market. He had just two rolls of black and white film left. But when he saw his neighbors carrying a raft to the sea, he rushed home to grab his Nikon F-3.
"I told myself, 'I have to make pictures of this,'" he recalled. "I have to make a document."
He captured a group of young men wading into the water on inner tubes covered in tarps. Childhood friends and neighbors building boats with thin slabs of wood and nails. Men and women carrying their boats out to sea on the tops of old Chevrolets, or balanced on outstretched arms above their heads.
And then the girl — staring back unflinchingly from a large raft of wooden planks.
He thought of his daughter, the long hours they would spend staring at each other when she was a baby, how she looked curiously into his eyes and at his camera.
They exchanged no words. He felt like he was intruding.
He took the photo and left.
For two months, Castellanos could only see the negatives. Printing paper was too expensive. A friend at a cartography institute later scrounged up some material. He dropped the paper into the developing tray, and the images appeared.