A goodbye convo written on paper.
Pain on paper.
Meant to be published exactly a year ago.
Many goodbyes and hellos after, here we are after it all.
After. Not the usual after party.
But usually goodbyes after parties.
Papers all get lost anyway.
But that one was important.
(Wasn't it?)
Anyway...
We began after the beginning and we rebegin on the way back. Reverse path.
Am I obligated to use only dictionary words if I'm a language teacher?
Am I obligated to anything ever?
Almost one year after the beginning - and many new (re)beginnings - here I am.
Here we are.
Back again.
tracing back the (same?) trail we came from.
(When did this blog become a love life of adventures?!)
And no, I'm not obligated. (I never meant it for YOU to answer that question for me, you know? But u can always answer it for yourself).
When I started the road trip - or should we say a life time of adventures? -, after many solo trips, Jeri / Preá was the final destination. Even though I wasn't sure it was. Or maybe I just didn't wanna say it was.
Just something about that place, you know?
I got there for the first time 2 years ago after being advised by a stranger to go (maybe 3 years before the actual going).
Strangers...they know things. Well, sometimes.
You see,Jeri...Jeri is MAGICAL.
Jeri cures.
Jeri cured my overwhelm without promising it'd cure me. Without even knowing I needed a cure. maybe I didn't even know I was sick.
(Do you know when you're sick, before a doctor gives you a stamp on a piece of paper?)
First time I stepped on Jeri I couldn't leave. Then I came back. I knew I belonged there. I wanted to live there. I wanted it to be my home land.
That's when I found out it's an overpriced land.
Darling, I don't come from no overpriced context. I come from resilience, fight and creating opportunities out of every life experience outside of the TEXTbooks.
You see, I dunno if I've told you this by now, but my mom was a slave. She was an indigenous child, stolen and sold at 3 years olds, slaved in a favela in Vitoria, ES until 15.
She ran away.
I always run away. (Of what's keeping me, holding me. Suffocating me). Sometimes I take
too long to run away. Maybe it's cause I can't run. I should practice more.
My other seed, dad, was born and raised in the favela, then managed his way up - to my moms life - and they build their own mini empire out of dust. Which I had the pleasure to watch - thanks mom for the great photographic memory I've enhrited in my DNA. Here are mom, dad holding Ollie just before we started our nomad lives and the road trip (I hope I look as gorgeous as my mom when I'm 66 like she is here):
Long story cut short - for now - I've felt in love with Jeri, but couldn't afford it's overpriced lands abd therefore landed in Preá, a neighbour.
I'm a fast learner so I learned a lot watching my mom buying cheap lands when no one sees value there and selling them 10 years after for A LOT more than she paid.
That's also how she built our home in Vitoria, ES, in a neighborhood that was just trees and now has become one of the most expensive, green, peaceful and therefore prestigious areas in our city - Feadinhos. She traded a home telephone for the land back in the days - ring ring - now the same land is worth half a million.
So I searched trough Prea like my life depended on it until I found and bought an affordable land, built a beautiful mini house in the tiny piece of land my black-indigenous-independent-female existence could afford and headed back home to hug my seeds, mom & dad (referred above).
On the way back, I've spent more than my classes were ever priced (not worth) to fix the car I drive up and now back, but somehow thankful I could afford it - thanks dad for teaching me DISCIPLINE - and especially thankful me and my kid made it up and down safely and healthy.
2 days after leaving my recently built house (see picture below) here I am again: back in Recife.
Quem não conhece o Recife,
venha que eu vou lhe mostrar
A cidade tem movimento
Quem quiser ver, vamos passear
Song: Movimento da Cidade, Cila do Coco.
Arriving in Recife is enough to feel it's cultural energy. The city breaths forró and frevo, with many museums dedicated to these Brazilian rhythms - make sure you visit Museu do Frevo & Centro Cumtural do Cais do Sertão (also know as Museu de Luiz Gonzaga).
I'll drop Recife & Olinda tips and recommendations in the next blog post, to be sure this one is purely what is it: transition and come backs. Back on the road. Back on the writing.
See you in Recife ✨
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