I’d like to take you for a walk (in my shoes).

It’s now been 10 years that I’ve made the personal choice of moving to the USA. Being that I am 41 years old, you can easily do the math to figure that I was 31 years old when I moved. That is 31 years full of life, lived in my home country Brazil, more specifically by the borderline between São Paulo and the Minas Gerais States, but also with strong influences of São Paulo’s south shoreline, and São Paulo city (all of those places easily Googled). Actually, for full disclosure purposes, four years I spent in Ribeirão Preto, also São Paulo state, and almost a full one in a city known as Campinas.

I came to the USA because of love. I came so my guy and I could be together for real. I didn’t come here looking for a better life. I didn’t come here running away from violence, oppression, or famine. I walked through the front door, fluent in English, with diplomas in hand, books in my suitcase, and savings to rely on. I am here because I chose to live with the person I love, to whom I respect, and am committed to. And to who I have sworn loyalty to as a partner and companion.

Back in Brazil, I left my parents, my three siblings, and the others they brought into my life. Which includes three nieces and one nephew. Three born while I was already in America, and are growing up far from me.

I left my friends, the ones who know me all the way – child Gabi, teenager Gabi, young adult Gabi, drunk Gabi, stoned Gabi, pissed Gabi, heartbroken Gabi, proud Gabi, successful Gabi, etc. Gabi. I left my career. I left my professional and social network. You get it…

But I left it all because I chose to.

As you know, ten years is a long time. And the past 10 for me were dedicated to understand and become to my choices.

It’s almost like switching inside. Think about it.

Before I moved, I was in São Paulo city, a wild and chaotic Brazilian urban beauty, with over 12 million habitants. Now I live in the middle of the woods, in a village with around 2500 habitants.

I once spoke fast pace Portuguese, and didn’t have to think much before saying anything; I also wrote – a lot – without the need of a spelling check tool or much of a grammar correction; now I speak English, I write in English, and sometimes a simple casual conversation can drain my head for hours. Not to mention how long it takes to write and then be confident enough to release it out in public. And, if I’m stressed, all can turn to the worse, because the notion of “think before you speak” just doesn’t happen. I also hate speaking on the telephone.

And lets not even mention the climate. Never ever, in 31 years of life, had I dealt with temperatures lower than 31 degrees. And now, it’s two entire months of my life every year.

“Thanksgiving”.. sorry to break it to you, but it’s an American holiday. And one of the most challenging traditions for me to get into. To be very honest, November and December are still my torture months. It’s psychological warfare in my head. It is all too personal, to family-oriented (when all my family is far away), to commercial, and sometimes almost too fake for me, who’ve had only witnessed a “white Christmas” as a movie prop up till I was 31.

I’ve also never done Halloween. My Summer vacations were during December and January, and spent at the beach, Atlantic ocean kind. Also, the new year, as school and business is concerned, starts in February below the Equador.

Please, don’t see this as a complaint. Because it isn’t. I’m only trying to point out a little of my reality. In case you want to give it a little thought.

In the past 10 years, I built a home with my guy. I became an American resident, and then a Citizen. I gave birth to a boy who, at this point, already reads, writes, rides bicycles, and is bilingual. My skin color changed (due to my much-reduced exposure to the sun). My accent changed, and most meaningful, the way I look, feel, listen, and experience the world expanded immensely.

I once looked to myself as a white girl, the daughter of a Dentist, and from a well known local family; whose parents were (and still are) a strong united force. They provided me with all the love, comfort, and tools to grow into a “put together” adult. I had access to education, health care, food, shelter, even a summer home. But not always, did I get to pick the sneakers I wanted, the brand pair of jeans I dreamed of, or a whole bar of candy. To sum it up, my only job, for my first 20 years of life, was to keep up my grades, not to “screw up.” and follow the rules, the best I could.

Making America my home gave a whole new meaning to my story. And to add to that aspect, the past five years have even changed the way I approach the implications of being female, “privileged,” and “white.”

After all, remember: here, I am an immigrant.

So, I now rely on the internet a lot, as I also rely on my phone, and it’s social apps. Because, well, that’s how I can keep my other country close. It goes beyond just getting in touch with my loved ones. I am still a Journalist, I want better and more in-depth information on stuff that is going on, which – let me break to you again – is more than war, walls, stock market, and new iPhones.

But I won’t lie to you that this very particular fact sometimes can take my sleep away in a manner of “just imagine how would it be if…”

Anyways, there is a word in Portuguese which has no translation in any other language. The word is “Saudade.” Saudade could maybe be translated as the “heartache” we get when something we love, or care, or crave, is far from our reach.

As 10 years went by, I learned to manage my Saudade. But I’m no fool to think it will ever go away. Sometimes it hurts more, sometimes it is just an itch. Sometimes it leaks out of my eyes, and sometimes it brings me a big smile out of the blue.

Saudade can put me in a mood. To avoid it, for a while, I tried to ignore my experiences and beliefs. Another 10-year lesson: it doesn’t work. Because I can’t just change my essence.

What I am trying to say is that I believe we are our experiences, dreams, hopes, disappointments. We are “a bit” of our families, a pinch of the people we get inspiration from, seasoned with the books, movies, and songs we like. And that sometimes makes us very, very different from each other. Like water and oil. Two liquids that will not mix, which doesn’t particularly mean they won’t get along just fine. For example, biphasic body oils.

Alright, so to end this. I am not going to apologize for being me.

I also won’t feel bad because of my choices. I take full responsibility for my life, for being here, for being who I am.

I love my husband, who is also my best friend, my business partner, and my riding buddy. I share parenthood with him. And together, we take full responsibility for our child’s behavior, actions, and nutrition up to when he reaches a certain age.

I save money because life is not just a “Y.O.L.O” kind of thing. I respect the elderly because they lived more than I did. I will always greet people as they come into my home, and I will always say bye when they leave. As a good Brazilian, I’m a hugger, and I speak with my hands. I will never understand boxed mashed potatoes or American carrot cake.

I like parties, but they require a lot of work, and time I don’t have. So, for now, I’m putting energy and savings into the business I just started, and one day, I’ll be making enough money to hire catering services to take care of the work, while I can enjoy as much as my guests.

To finish up: I plan to enjoy every little bit of the short Summers we have in this cold area of the globe. And you are welcome to join, as far as we can both agree to respect our differences.

Cidadã da terra

Em Junho serão dez anos que sai do Brasil. Enfim, agora eu sou também Americana. UAU. Essa parte da minha exploração de vida foi território desconhecido, e putz…. foi dificil de assimilar.

Entenda, para mim, essa questão de outra cidadania era mais profunda que estudar, passar na prova, ir ali e fazer um juramento. Sou uma pessoa leal, e embora esteja triste e desapontada com os rumos que o Brasil vem tomando – mais sob o ponto de vista social, porque politicamente eu desisti há 12 anos -, tenho orgulho e um amor tremendo por minha terra verde e amarela. Dai a colocar outro território dentro dentro desse pacote. UAU… foi mentalmente hardcore. 

Mas quer saber: eu fui lá, eu fiz. Sozinha.

E tudo isso, enquanto passava por aquele momento super clichê na vida de uma stay-at-home mãe, que acabou de fazer 40 anos, e que optou super pela vida doméstica. Mas… que agora quer novos propósitos de vida, uma nova carreira talvez, e não sabe bem o que, onde, como, e quando fazer.

Ha! É “sarna pra se coçar” que chama, né? 

Felizmente, quando eu comecei com a “sarna” ou com essa vontade de mudar, que é bem pessoal, dois elementos já me eram bem definidos: por que e por quem a mudança. Fato é: Brasileira ou Americana, meu coração encontrou seu lugar, num canto enfiado numa floresta, próximo do Rio que deságua no mar. Aqui faz frio igual o Alaska, tem pica-pau e urso igual do desenho, ônibus escolar amarelo, Amish, Maple Syrup, foi inspiração para clássicos do Bob Dylan, e tem um espetáculo da natureza chamado Outono.  

Demorou um pouco pra eu entender que meu território desconhecido, na real, estava mais relacionado com um re-posicionamento pessoal e profissional, do que com o fato de passar por todo o processo de naturalização.  Foi como dizer “adeus” para uma parte de mim, para dar espaço ao novo, à nova. Foi como perder para ganhar. My personal Waterloo (ai ai ai… ABBA songs). 

Explico.

Sabe lá no começo, quando eu te falei que tenho um estranho hábito de começar de tras pra frente? Então… Minha história com esse pais começa muito lá atras, antes mesmo de eu saber quem eu era. Tem relação com meu amor por cultura pop, por cinema, por televisão, por rock n’roll, pela arte do storytelling e a revista Rolling Stones; minha admiração por pessoas como Walt Disney, o Hugh Hefner (guilty), a Oprah e a Ellen DeGeneres; a Nora Ephron (suas histórias e personagens); e até minha frustração por não vestir bem um jeans Lewis 501.  

Minha história com os EUA vem da minha admiração por seus preceitos de liberdade e igualdade (mesmo sabendo que a, as vezes, realidade não é bem assim). 

E ai como se não bastasse isso, foi aqui que aprendi pilotar moto, e nasceu aqui aquele com quem minha alma se aquietou. Coisa de amor ninguem explica. Tenho quatro amigas brasileiras aqui. Regulamos em idade e consequentemente geração. Somos felizes consequencias de uma juventude vivida durante os anos 90. Todas nós nesta terra inóspita, de duros invernos. Aqui porque nos apaixonamos por um garoto do North Country. Um amor desses pelo qual vale a pena jurar lealdade.

Então eu deixei meu cabelo crescer. Hibernei com a floresta, e fui entendendo a troca de estações: as cores do Outuno, o silêncio do Inverno, a renovação da Primavera, e a liberdade do Verão. Reconheço os ciclos. Eles se repetem, eles se renovam….

“Cantoflorvivência”

(Tempo, de Orides Fontela).

Esse não foi, e nem é, um caminho fácil. Escolhas tiveram de ser feitas, e consequencias vieram com elas (boas e ruins). Porque a vida é assim mesmo, as vezes a chuva estraga a festa. Mas a gente precisa dela, no matter what.

A vida imita a arte, porque a arte é feita a partir da vida. Não me iludo acreditando que já conheço o fim, o que eu faço é imaginar e criar meu caminho. Se minha alma se aquietou, minha criatividade ganhou o estímulo do novo. Na floresta, aprendi ouvir o silêncio – o “universofluxo”.

 Quero comunidade, quero amor ao próximo, respeito e igualdade. 
Vou com foco, força, e fé.
Você que acompanha o eSTRANGERa.com deixa aqui um comentário. Já pensou em mudar de país? Se sim, por que? O que mais te assusta ao encarar a possibilidade de vida nova?