Tchau

On a smooth black road lined with white, I make my way away from green plains, sugarcanes and bright blue skies. I pass by white cows feeding on pasture and lovers talking under the shade of a scenic tree.  Countless Chevrolets drive by, proof of the boom in Brazilian economy, and every now and then, a fancy car, like the Range Rover carrying my friends and I. I look at every detail with eyes that are told to remember it all, capture every single detail- the man by the side of the road selling pamonha and rapadura, typical in this side of the country, and the little houses topped with red tiles and TV antennas.

I’m going to miss all this green, this fertile land that still feels like home, even after 13 years away.  I’m going to miss kissing everyone on the cheek and saying words that only make sense in Portuguese, like saudade. I’m aware that there are some parts of me that I will never understand. But this side of me that is so unabashedly Brazilian I understand clearly, in all its facets and colors.

Kissing goodbye to my country, my lover, my home. But it’s not our last kiss.

I’ll be counting the days, stars and moons until we’re together again, my dear and imperfect Brazil.

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