WTF?!

Have you ever watched Friends? The episode where Monica says "I don't have a plan. Phoebe, do you have a plan?" and she replies "I don't even have a pl...". I'm Phoebe. 

All I ever wanted was to work in the Theater, never had a plan B. After 18 years, it ended up not working out. That's ok, that's life. 

Things changed, I moved abroad, life seemed to be finally opening up. My kids came into my life, which is the greatest gift of all times, even if challenging sometimes. The pandemic hit. I got stranded abroad for almost two years with 2 month old twins. I lost my dad to a horrible illness that removed him from our lives before he was physically gone. Pressure from work continued on through out all this. Then, my dad was really gone. I crumbled. I wasn't able to do anything well. I was not functioning at all.

Alone with my, then 23 month-old babies, I did my best to keep up with work, life, house, everything, but the only thing I did well was looking after my kids. I had burned out.

I decided to concentrate all my attention on my kids and get well. I worked hard on getting out of that "stinky" place of anxiety, depression and burnout to be here, present, alive, happy for my kids and my own sake. 

I managed to dig myself up and get back to my happy self and it was time to get back on the job market. I imagined that with my work experience, education, qualifications and referrals, I would be able to find a job relatively fast. Now I see how naive I was. 

My naiveté was not based in the job market, but in the referrals. If I tell someone they can list me as a referral it's because I really believe in them, that means that I would definitely give them a chance if I'm ever in the position to. However, this is not how things have worked out. Those who could have given  me a chance, didn't. 

Frustration, that sums it up. I do not know where things went wrong, why I'm in the spot I am for such a long time. I am educated, capable, intelligent, hard worker, always open to learn (and a fast learner, I may add). Still, doors remain closed.

I never had a long term plan for my life, but I also never expected to be in my late 40's unemployed. I have done everything that's expected of someone in the 21st Century: resume adaptations, job fairs, networking, AI, diversify the field, certifications, recruitment agencies, all the works.

It's come to a point where I will need to reinvent myself, whatever that means. I just have no idea how nor which direction to go. Everything I've tried so far failed. I feel completely lost and I cannot afford to be lost, with two 6 year-old to care for.

I guess, I might be in need of a miracle. If those exist...

To those who could have given me a chance and chose not to, I wish you never go through the situation I am in, but if you do, I hope you're also not giving a chance by those you trusted. Yes, I am angry, I am human after all.

Creating lives - part 2: the confirmation

The nurse's call not only confirmed the positive test result but also reported that the "pregnancy hormone" (hCG) had not doubled in the past 24 hours, but tripled, which was a great sign. Wonderful! She asked me to continue with the intramuscular injections of progesterone until the day of the ultrasound. Now it was time to wait, again, another 6 weeks to do the viability ultrasound.

With the good result, my head started to remember every detail of the whole path that had taken me there. I remembered the sadness I felt when I went to purchase, again, three more "samples" of the donor I had chosen but him wasn't available anymore. That would be insemination number four. Sadly, I ended up buying three copies of the donor I had chosen as a second option, but it was a second option far from the first. The third time I needed to buy the "things" from the donor, I forgot to call to check availability and bought directly from the website. Shortly thereafter, I received a call from the sperm bank telling me that what I had purchased was not available (the second option). Extremely frustrated with everything, I remember telling the woman: "Don't tell me that I will have to choose a third option ?! Do you think that choosing a donor is like choosing papaya at the farmers' market?". The poor woman, who was not to blame for anything, was so embarrassed that she went to look at who had been my first choice and, to my surprise, told me that the donor whom I chose with such affection was again available. Now the treatment was successful and with the donor of my very first choice! It was as if happiness flooded every cell in my body. Now just needed to wait. "Just"...

In the meantime, and with the result of the triple numbers of hCG, a little itch in my mind arose and I went to research on hCG levels in multiple pregnancies. Something inside me suspected that I was carrying twins.

As my parents knew that I had undergone in-vitro fertilization, I told them that this time the treatment had worked, but I still didn't tell anyone else. I decided that I would only tell family and friends after the first 12 weeks if everything went well.

When I was five weeks into the pregnancy, I woke up bleeding. Bleeding a lot. Panic! All hope and happiness looked like it was being drained through a red river that stained pajamas, sheets, mattress. I called the fertility clinic to find out what to do. As always, the call goes on the answering machine of the nurses who return to you as soon as they are available in case of an emergency or up to 48 hours later if it is not urgent. Lying on the couch, tense, I managed to wait two hours before running to the hospital. I called a taxi and went to the emergency room of the college hospital where I did my master's degree, as I knew that there I would be cared for in English, as my French was still not good enough to deal with medical issues. The friendly taxi driver wanting to start a conversation, and I could only shake with fear and think that the path to the hospital seemed endless.

Arriving at the emergency, I stood in the triage line, which didn't take long. When I was called, the nurse asked if the bleeding was filling a large pad in less than an hour, I said no. She registered me, included the description of the bleeding I gave her and sent me back to the waiting room. Six hours passed, the anguish grew, and I had not been called in yet. That's when I got the call from the clinic. They asked the same question about the pad, anticipated my viability ultrasound for the next morning in the early hours, told me to lie down and rest assured that this type of bleeding was normal at the beginning of a pregnancy. Normal... yeah, right... only if it's normal for them! At the hospital, still nothing. I went to the screening nurse and told him that the clinic had called me back, that they would do the ultrasound the next morning, and asked if he had any way of knowing if I would be seen at the hospital right away. He looked at the computer, looked me in the eyes as if apologizing for something he didn't do and said that I'd better go home and do the ultrasound at the clinic in the morning because it would still take too long there and I might have to pass the night in the waiting room. I came home with a lot of anxiety, I couldn't wait for the next morning. That night I didn't close my eyes, there was no way I could do that. The only thing that calmed me down a little was that the bleeding was almost over, but that didn't lessen the fear that my dream was gone in those several millilitres that had faded during the day.

I arrived at the clinic very early in the morning and, again, the wait seemed eternal. When I finally entered the exam room, I ran into the doctor who had given me the treatment and accompanied me during these three years. It was the first time I had an ultrasound with her. Yes, because there at the clinic, you never know who will do your ultrasound and, in almost three years, it had never been with my doctor.

I remember seeing two "dark bubbles "each with a mass inside shaped like a seahorse. She showed me and said it was the embryos, that they hadn’t left in the red flood the day before. Confirmed suspicion: twins! Happiness!!! I took a breath relieved but still tense, because we still needed to know if they were all right. She continued the exam and found a heartbeat in both. Crazy thing to think that two little things of that size already have a heart. Okay, not yet a fully developed heart with its four cavities, but it already beats. Still it is very crazy! Nature is amazing! 

I left the exam, relieved and happy that they were still there, firm and strong, growing cozy inside of me. The clinic scheduled a second ultrasound for when I completed eight weeks to confirm that everything was still fine and the doctor recommended that I continue with intramuscular injections of progesterone until the end of the third month. Okay, what would be another six weeks of measuring the outer upper quadrant of the butt and do the self-application for someone who had been doing it for two months already?! She also said: "that was my fear of implanting two embryos, of you having twins as a single mother". I only replied that, after so many years, after so many unsuccessful attempts and with such tiny chances of a single embryo implanting itself, I did not imagine that the two would implant, but that I was beyond happy with this gift from the universe! She congratulated me and wished a good and "as smooth as possible" pregnancy. She gave me a hug and we said goodbye. I didn't see her after that.

I came home happy as a queen! Apprehensive, afraid of another bleeding and knowing that the verb of the hour was still: "to wait", the difference is that now the wait was full of happiness and love.

(To be continued in chapter 3.)

Creating lives - part 1: how it all began

 Since I can remember, I've always wanted to be a mother. As with almost everyone who aspires this dream, I hoped that life would bring someone to share it with me. Yes, life brought me some relationships, only one seemed to go in that direction but, unfortunately, we ended up following different paths. The years passed and no one else appeared. Then I decided to go on this journey alone.

My first instinct was to inform myself about adoption. There are so many children in the world in need of affection, love and attention, so why not try to give one of them a home? That's when I found out that the adoption process, here on Canadian lands, costs almost the full amount of my annual salary. And that covered only the beginning of the process, apart the bureaucracy in case I decided to adopt a child from a foreign country. Since adoption would not be financially possible, I informed myself about the remaining option: having a biological child.

This second stage brought good news: the provincial government covered the costs of some attempts at artificial insemination, on my part I would only need to pay for the donor's “sample”. Great! With the biological clock ticking, close to entering the "cougar age" - I was 38 then - I started the long path that would be the realization of this dream without any guarantee that it would work.

My first visit to the fertilization clinic was strange. I didn't like the doctor who was assigned to me, and on the second visit I had already switched to a much more friendly doctor. She asked me for several blood, urine, cytology and imaging exams, and even a consultation with the psychologist (mandatory, around here, when opting for assisted fertilization). Until all the exams were ready and a new appointment was made, a few months passed. The doctor and I decided the way forward and another step was taken towards possible motherhood. Now came the fun part of the process: looking for a donor that I liked.

Refining the search on the site by hair color, eyes, skin, ancestry, can even be fun if seeing it as a game, but the refinement of the search does not filter by personality, interests, etc., which are the most important traits in a person. For a week I was looking for the "sample" that I liked best. I was looking for someone with artistic tendencies and some interest in humanities. I found a profile that I immediately liked when I read the essay written by the donor about his reasons to join the sperm bank, and the fact that he was a yoga instructor and played the piano just made him even more attractive.

Having decided on the donor, I bought his "sample" and, following the doctor's advice, I waited the following month to begin the physical process that would culminate in the artificial insemination. Then the hormonal dance began: subcutaneous injections of estrogen to stimulate the maturation of my eggs and, on the exact day marked by the doctor, another injection to start ovulation. 48 hours later, insemination would take place. At home, on my own, I had been taking supplements for months to improve the quality of my eggs and thus try to help the process in a "natural" way.

The insemination itself takes a few seconds, and the whole process takes about ten minutes, but it is a rather strange experience. Everything happens in a medical room just like the ones where we women do our annual exams: only instruments around that table with leg supports that always remind me of those chicken skewers. The doctor enters, checks the patient's name, confirms with the patient the number of the donor and prepares the catheter. In seconds, the "specimen" is already inside the uterus and the doctor asks you to wait 10 minutes in bed, then you can leave and resume normal activities. Everything is very "romantic".

Procedure done, the excruciating two weeks of waiting to see if it worked, if the anxious egg and the thawed sperm met. Ah! And of course, hormones - now progesterone - are continued to prevent the menstrual cycle from continuing and to support an environment conducive to the embryo that, perhaps, started to develop from this encounter that, perhaps, happened, of the egg with the sperm. During these two weeks, progesterone causes effects that simulate a pregnancy: weight gain, nausea and super sensitive smell were my companions in the 14 days of waiting.

The day of the blood test to see if the procedure had been successful arrived and anxiety takes over. Test done, it was time to wait a few more hours to get the result. I left the clinic and went back to work. The day would go on as if nothing had happened. Only as if...

The nurse's call comes a few hours later and the result was negative. The process was not successful and now I would have to wait a few months before I could try again. And, of course, another appointment with the doctor needed to be scheduled.

This ritual was repeated 6 more times. With each procedure done, my reactions changed in the 14 days waiting. After the third attempt, I was not even anxious anymore in those two weeks, it was as if nothing had happened. The only thing that broke this illusion of "nothing happened" was the fact that I had to take hormones every day.

For personal reasons, I followed this path in silence, only two people knew that I was actively pursuing the dream of being a mother. So I decided to avoid any non-constructive criticism, because the process itself is already stressful, anguishing and difficult enough, I definitely didn't need extra stress coming from outside. My intention was to communicate only the good news when, or better said, if everything went well.

I heard from a friend that I needed to relax for things to work out. It's easy to say, difficult to do. When trying to get pregnant with a partner, it is easy to relax because the whole process is fun, even if you don't get pregnant, the "procedure" was enjoyable. In the case of assisted fertilization, there is no way to relax simply because there is no way to forget, there is a time for everything: the exact time of the estrogen injections, the exact time of the injection to stimulate ovulation, the exact time of the insemination itself (not to mention how "romantic and pleasant" it is to be lying down in a cold office for 10 minutes), the exact time to take the progesterone pills, the exact time to do the blood test, etc. To relax? Impossible.

A few days before traveling with my mother, on an adventure we talked about for years and only recently had the opportunity to make it happen, I went through the 7th insemination. While we were visiting the Big Apple, my period came, which meant that the last procedure once again didn't work. That's when I decided to tell my mom about my decision and what was going on.

Her reaction was more neutral than I could ever imagine, which, in fact, did me good, as I expected bad criticism and more bad criticism, but no, she was calm and neutral. Maybe she understood how important that was to me.

Back in Montreal, I decided to try in-vitro fertilization. However, this procedure was not covered by the province and I had to resort to a bank loan to be able to pay for the first attempt.

Unlike insemination, in-vitro fertilization uses heavier drugs for a longer period of time. After a few months had passed for the body to recover and all the necessary blood and physical tests were redone, I started again with subcutaneous injections of estrogen, this time in higher doses. Along with them, I was given aspirin 80mg daily. Supplements to improve eggs continued to be taken every day, without fail.

A few weeks and several injections later, the day to harvest my eggs arrived. That day, I had to go to the clinic with a companion because I would be medicated so as not to feel pain at the time of retrieval, I would need help to return home safely. I took the day off from work, because I knew I wouldn't be able to return. My father, who was visiting in Montreal, accompanied me and stayed by my side until they called me into the operating room. I didn't fall asleep with the medication as they said it could happen. I was awake throughout the procedure but I did not feel any pain. I watched, on a screen inside the operating room, each egg being removed. Each carried a small piece of hope with them. Right there, the doctor gave me the result of the number of eggs retrieved, in my case there were 30. They would call me later to say how many eggs were ripe and then how many had been fertilized.

The next day, I received the call from the clinic: of the 30 eggs, 15 were mature but the "donor specimens" were not swimming enough and the team needed my authorization to do the fertilization manually in a process called ICSI (intracytoplasmic sperm injection), I obviously agreed and, at the end of the day, received the news that the 15 had been successfully fertilized. They also said that they would call in 5 days to inform how many embryos have developed successfully. At the end of that week, news came that 10 out of 15 embryos were developing very well and would be frozen. The last phase was now beginning - or at least that was what I expected.

During the week following the retrieval of the eggs, I felt really ill. Doctors say that you can get back to your normal activities, with the exception of exercising, the day after the harvest, but I couldn't go back to work for a week. I felt bloated, nauseated, had headaches, tired... calling the nurse at the clinic, she asked me to go in and get checked. As it could happen when trying IVF, my ovaries were overstimulated and that was the reason I was feeling so sick all the time. In my case, they were "mildly overstimulated", thank goodness because when they are "highly overstimulated" one has the risk of dying!

A month after the eggs were removed and fertilized, the injections started again to prepare the uterus to receive the embryo, but this time with something new: intramuscular progesterone injections that should be given every day at the same time for a month. And the courage to inject me with something intramuscular? I had to look for super desire and hope, now almost erased. Firm and strong, endowed with an enormous desire to be a mother, every day at 8 pm, there I went to the front of the mirror to calculate the first outer upper quadrant of the butt, take a deep breath and inject myself.

The day of embryo transfer finally arrived. Unlike the insemination that is done in an examination room, the transfer takes place in the same operating room where the eggs were removed. On the screen that I saw the eggs being removed, this time I was presented with the embryo that would be transferred and I was able to follow the entire procedure. Again, I had to lie down for 10 minutes, before I could leave and go on with the day. And, again, the wait to know the result, only this time, it would take only a week.

With this new procedure, I was not able to be as calm as in the others. There was, again, a certain expectation. The day of the blood test came, the hope was there, hidden, timid, already tired of so many frustrations. At the end of the afternoon the news: the procedure was unsuccessful. This time I cried, perhaps more due of the tiredness of so many medications, exams, comings and goings from medical appointments than because of the unfulfilled dream.

In consultation with the doctor, to review the options and the path I would take - whether I would give up or try again - I decided to make one last attempt, as I would no longer be able to afford the costs. If it didn't work, I would have to give up on my biggest dream. After so many years and attempts, I told the doctor that I would like to transfer two embryos and not just one. The chances of one embryo developing are already so small, that transferring two would slightly increase the chance of one staying and triumphing. She agreed, and after a few months, I started all the treatments again, but now, there was no need to remove eggs since 9 embryos, from the previous attempt, were still frozen.

This time, I asked for two days of vacation at work. My plan was to do the procedure and, the next day, relax on a quick trip to New York where I would watch an artist I love, Sasha Velor, on her solo show: Smoke and Mirrors. And, in addition, get a new Art Nouveau tattoo with a German tattoo artist residing in the Big Apple.

On the day of the transfer, oddly enough, I had no expectations. I was taken to the preparation room and, a few minutes later, I was in the surgery room waiting patiently for the doctor to start the procedure.

For the first time since the beginning of this saga, in addition to the consultation with my doctor, the ultrasound exam to see if the uterus was ready and the transfer were all performed by women. I felt protected, supported, understood and blessed. There is a certain bond, an unexplained connection between us women, something that I have never felt before and that I cannot explain, but it is as if there was a complicity because we know exactly what this quest, this desire means, and how much only we, women, really understand, deep down, the delicacy and strength of our bodies. I can't explain it, but the feeling of being cared for by women from the beginning to the end of this last transfer was magical.

In the operating room, that same small television that accompanied the removal of my eggs and the unsuccessful transfer of the previous embryo now showed me two little embryos. I remember finding it interesting that, although both were 5-day embryos from the same harvest, one was very white and the other grey. I also remember thinking "hi little ones, I am your mommy".

Procedure performed, I went home in peace, quiet. Something inside me seemed to have settled down and everything that crossed my mind was "if it works, it worked, otherwise, then it wasn't meant to be". I came home looking forward to the next day's trip.

I went to New York without thinking about transfers, treatments, frustrations, nothing that reminded me of several years of trying. I just thought I would enjoy those three days before going back to reality. No sooner said than done, I arrived in the city that never sleeps and went straight to the studio to meet the tattoo artist. 5 and a half hours later, I left there happy and carrying a new art in me. I looked forward to the performance I would see the next day.

I woke up with an excruciating hunger, which never happens to me in the morning. In general, it takes me about two hours after waking up to feel hungry. I went out for breakfast, walked around town, went back to rest before the show, got ready and went to watch Sasha Velour.

Smoke and Mirrors was a masterpiece that I had the opportunity and the happiness to watch. Sasha makes us laugh, cry, think, reflect ... I haven't seen something so good and powerful in years! The three-day run to "New York, New York" was well worth it. I left the theater hungry again. I ate a large pizza, alone, in the hotel room in just a few minutes. I went to bed exhausted, and the next day, I took one last walk around town before heading home.

Back in Montreal, I just had to wait another 3 days to do the blood test and see if, this time, the transfer had been successful. I continued as I was during the trip: at peace, quiet, without anxiety, without expectation and very hungry.

Blood test done, the end of the day reserved a surprise in the clinic's call: the test was positive. I held on the celebration, as I was supposed to return to the clinic the next day to do a new test and see if the hormones had doubled in volume in the next 24 hours. Until then, no celebration.

I arrived at the clinic with that little bit of hope that insists on showing up even when we don't want it around. Test done, hours of waiting, call from the nurse congratulating me because I was pregnant! Now I had to wait 6 weeks to do the viability ultrasound, but the dream was feeling a bit closer.



(To be continued in the next chapter ...)

When the world stopped

For some time the world has been going through a scenario that seems those of science fiction. Just as the images of the twin towers falling seemed like scenes from Hollywood films, watching, not only on television, but on a daily basis, deserted cities all over the world is something very strange.

The day before yesterday I ventured to the bank branch, as I needed to go to the ATM. Seeing one of the city's main avenues completely empty, without a single soul, reminded me of that Brasilia from 30 years ago when everyone left the city as soon as the school holidays started and, consequently, the city looked like a ghost town.

Visits to the pharmacy and supermarket also seem surreal. At the same time that everyone is in solidarity with each other because of the situation in which we find ourselves, these same sympathetic looks have fear behind them. People greet each other on the streets, remain polite to each other, but their eyes seem to see each other as a potential host for this invisible enemy.

This same bleak scenario creates tragicomic situations. The other day, at the bakery, everyone respected the distance of 2 meters between each customer until an old gentleman came in and coughed once, only once. Immediately everyone, absolutely everyone, jumped back at the same time. If a choreographer had tried to achieve such synchronicity in a rehersal, they would not have succeeded.

It is strange to see the military in special yellow clothes like those in the 1995 film Outbreak disinfecting Brasília's bus station. It is weird to look out the window and see the block completely empty.

Here at home the human population comes down to my mother, me, my little ones, and Maria, our beloved helper. We are lucky to have company. I think of those who are alone at home. I think about what it would be like if I were in Montreal alone with my babies. I would have to go to the supermarket and pharmacy with them and thus expose them even more. At that moment, I think it was good to decide to spend some time of my maternity leave in Brasília with my parents. On the other hand, now that I am close to my friends, it is only possible to meet them virtually as if I were still in Canada. Yes, it is great to have the technology we have to communicate with everyone we love and who are far from us, but virtual contact is not and will never be the same as personal contact. In fact, that's the worst part of it all: not being able to meet, hug and laugh with friends.

When all of this is over, I just hope that we all realize how much time we spend looking at mobile screens and not at a friend's face. How much time we spend looking at social networks on devices that take our whole attention even when we are in the presence of others. I sincerely hope that we will relearn to value personal contact, leave the screens aside and enjoy each other's physical presence.

I must have had very bad luck

These last months of tension, apprehension and fear, made me think a lot about my life, everything I have learned and I continue to learn, and those who have crossed my path. When I was born, my parents didn't know if I would be a boy or a girl, white, black, Indian, Asian. That didn't matter to them. They were there, open-hearted to receive that little one, whoever it was. The same thing happened to the rest of my family: grandparents, grandfathers, great-grandmother, uncles and aunts, all with open arms to welcome me. My parents taught me to respect the life of living beings regardless of Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus or Species. I grew up with friends of all ethnicities and social classes. I studied in public and in private schools, and I never underestimated those that studied in one or the other. I learned from my parents, grandparents and uncles that violence is no solution and only leads to even more violence. They also taught me that knowledge is the greatest and best weapon to: understand where we came from and why things are the way they are today; to analyze and discern paths that will lead to a good future for all and not just for some; not to repeat sad stories of our or other countries; that is, learn from history.

They taught me to respect and appreciate freedom, among them that of coming and going, opinions, being who you are. My parents always made it clear when they don't agree with the decisions I make, but even then, they always stood by me, they've always supported me. Just imagine that with this and other attitudes, my parents taught me to love unconditionally. What an appalling absurd! I was taken to the Scout Movement by my aunt. There I met people from all walks of life. In the movement I learned that we are not alone in the world and that it does not revolve around our bellybutton or our wants, but that we need each other to survive and live. That together we can do more than divided. I grew up learning that differences are not threatening, but enriching. Differences are what make this world amazing. I learned to love people for being people, not for their skin color, for the gender with which they were born, for the country they came from, for sexual orientation, for religion, because that does not define them. No one is better or worse than anyone, we are all the same. What defines a person is their character, not their religion, their ethnicity, their sexual orientation, or gender. They taught me not to be hypocritical and to be honest, and so, I never got carried away by that famous "Brazilian way". I learned that we are all one with the planet and that we need more of him than he does us, so we have to defend him, love him, care for him. I was also taught that the true meaning of family is not in the connection of blood but in the bond of love that we share. Getting out of the closet was easy because I was always sure of their love for me. They never wanted anything but my happiness. They never scorned me for being who I am. To this day my family - without blood ties - never let me down. They were always present, always supportive, always showed unconditional love during each adversity and in every good moment. Yeah... I must have been very unlucky, for it seems that what is lately considered "of good morals" is exactly the opposite of everything they have ever taught me. For if it is so, I prefer to continue being "imoral."

Like a butterfly

In the course of these past six years, I have written and re-written about a variety of things. About being in silence, about loss, about history, about love. Suddenly, the flow of writing stops. It stopped at the same time as life seemed to have stopped too.

For years life seems to have stagnated. The days pass, the lines on the skin grow stronger, birthdays come and go, and still everything seems to be the same.

It's so weird how life changes without us even noticing. After years of feeling numb, deprived of friends and flirts, it seems that the dormant period is finally coming to an end.

Somehow new friends started to come along, laughter and happiness seem to be making themselves present as they haven't been for a long time.

A few things still need to change, but these are practical things, meaningless everyday things. The meaningful ones, the important ones, these are finally starting to show their colors. A new trusted friend, a night of good company and laughter, smiles, a hug, a look.

Like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon , it's good to feel alive again.

The crowd

 Every day, on my way to work, I see all those people on the bus, in the subway and I feel like a number. Just another number. A sad number. Just another one in a group of people that repeat the same day over and over: wake up at the same time, have the same (or almost the same) breakfast, get dressed, and head to work where the same endless tasks will be repeated hour after hour while dreaming of the time they get to go home again and of the weekend ahead unaware that each and every one of those tediously unhappy days is a day in life that will never come back.

I’m part of this crowd with tired and sad eyes on a Monday morning, but my mind never stops wondering about how can people go on repeating endlessly something that doesn’t make them happy? How and what can I do to change my days and not fall into this same sad path my entire life? 

Source: BBC

The crowd moves slowly, in the same pace, even their breaths seem to follow the same anxious and hopeless rhythm. No smiles board the morning train, only serious sleepy faces staring into the void. I don't want to follow the crowd.

We grow up being told to do what we love, but what if what we love doesn’t open doors? What if all the time, effort, tears and joy you put on your dreams, didn't unlock any doors? Eventually you end up in the crowd, this sad Monday crowd. 

How did we get here? How and when did society become this pleasure-less repetition of boring tasks? When did we forget to enjoy ourselves? To enjoy each day? But most importantly, how do we get out of this meaningless existence?

The longer we stay in a job position, the harder it is to get out of it. Not because we don’t want to, but because others will only see the last and longest experience we had. What do to do when you fall into a field you never even thought of, in a job that for you is meaningless? It pays the bills, ok, but is that what life is all about? I, for one, refuse to accept that. But how to change it when you don't know what to do, where to go and how to get there? When you feel completely lost knowing that your career dreams can no longer be? How to change directions when all connections you've been making in this field don't know your potential, don't know your background or even your level of education to be able to refer you to something else, to something better suited to you? 

Source: DeviantArt - Amandine Van Ray

If anyone out there knows the answer for these questions, don't feel shy to come forward, to give tips, to pass along your knowledge on how we can change things. Everyone deserves the chance to wake up to a life that they love, to work in something that fulfills them, to be happy. Sometimes all we need is an outside look to see different perspectives, different paths. It's never too late to climb that mountain and sometimes, all we need is a little push.

When life makes no sense

 

I have no idea where my life went wrong. I grew up being encouraged to do what I love, to follow my heart and be happy. And so I did.

I kept looking for "normal" jobs and either never heard back from sending resumes, or got interviews where the reason not to be hired was "oh, but you're over qualified for this job". That's what bad paying jobs used to give as an excuse not to hire me. Funny enough, those positions with a reasonable pay used to say "oh, but you don't have experience". How in hell is someone expected to gain experience if they're never given a chance to start with? Tragic funny, but it was like that since my first interview when I was 17 years old. 

Meanwhile, for 18 years I pursued acting, my biggest passion, the only thing I ever wanted to do in life career wise. As for the great majority of actors out there, it didn't come out as expected. One of the worse decisions in my life was when it finally sank in that I would need a plan B.

A plan B. I never had a plan B. So I studied to be a tour guide. What could be more interesting than to have together history and traveling, two of my biggest interests? Got a job as soon as I graduated from the course and did pretty well as an international tour guide specialized in the Orlando amusement parks. The only downside, it didn't pay enough and the work was seasonal. So, no chances of paying my bills there.

So, in my early thirties I went to college, got a degree in History, which is something I really enjoy (and made my father super happy).

At this point in my life I was dating the most incredible person I have met so far. We had a pretty good relationship that had some down moments and, for some reason that even today I can't really understand, I didn't fight for the relationship and gave in to my darkest thoughts and we broke up. So, yeah, another feeling of failure when "the one" got away and it was all my fault. 

I got so lost after the breakup that I spent months being someone completely different. I would go out and get wasted (and I was never a big drinker), went out partying from Monday to Monday and I even smoke cigarettes (which I hate!). I was feeling completely lost, as if the ground had fallen under my feet. I knew the rational reasons for the breakup but couldn't understand why I didn't fight to stay together. To this day I regret it, but well, time passes, people move on, and I remained alone.

Feeling lost and a loser, I finally graduated from college at 34. Now I had a degree and was sure that no one would use that as an excuse not to hire me. Again came the "you don't have experience" crap when the competition was 18 and didn't even have life experience.

Already in my mid thirties and freaking out as I was still unable to pay my bills and my father was still supporting me 100%. I have had always the will to get out of his shoulders and did my best to, but somehow it never worked out. I always had temporary or sporadic jobs, which always paid badly and weren't even enough to support one month of bills. At this point, my feeling of failure in life was already high.

Speaking two languages fluently and a third one in advanced stage of learning, I decided to give life abroad a try. I learned a new language, enough to get by but not enough to work. Followed my heart and went to live near the person I thought I had fallen for but in the end, it was just a physical representation of a dream that I had: meeting a foreigner, getting married and start a family abroad. Needless to say that it not only didn't work out, but it turned out to be a nightmare. A nightmare that took me over two years to recuperate from. The things I went through with that person were so heavy that left very deep scars.

I moved away again to pursue a Masters of Arts in History in a very well regarded university. But I was still dark inside. During those two dark years, I closed myself up. I didn't want to meet anyone, I was scared. I had social anxiety. I forced myself to go to McGill gathers to make friends and open up, see if I stopped feeling so lonely. Needless to say that it didn't work out very well. Thank goodness I made two good friends there with whom I keep in touch and it's always so great when we can get together. Here I also learned another language, my fifth, not yet fluent but working on improving it.

After the Masters I finally got a job. The only job that hired me even though I sent tons of cover letters and resumes. I'm way over qualified for this job, that's for sure. It pays really badly, but for the first time in my life even with a low wage job, I've managed to pay my bills without needing to ask my father for help. That makes me extremely happy! The other good thing that this job brought was the colleagues. Every single person that works there is so nice, warm and loving, and they are the sole reason to stay there. It took me a while to open up to them too, I admit. I was still trying to get out of the dark place I was in.

When I'm finally opening up and going out with people from work, having fun with them and trying to make deeper connections, Petruchio (my furry baby) is diagnosed with an incurable disease and his health declines very quickly. For over 4 years Petruchio and Sophia have been my only company, and now he's on his way to become a little star.

However, as life insists in make no sense, since 2012 I've been alone (when it comes to human company). During these past 4 (almost 5) years, I have seen basically 99,9% of my friends getting married and starting families. I see my nieces and nephews growing up. See "the one" happily married (and how she deserves to be happy!). And I look in the mirror and only see lines in my face getting stronger, grey hair appearing, the passing of time in its most recognizable way. And I remember that I did not make a pact with life to grow old alone.

I see my cousin with the life I always dreamed of. I see friends with successful careers and well structured lives where everything seems to come into place without so much effort or so much pain. And I can't help but think that there must be something wrong with me. I'm a good person, with a big heart and so much love to give, but I'm knocking on 40's door and still alone. Completely alone for over 4 years right at the age when everyone is getting married or already have their families. I'm extremely capable, I learn fast and every job I had all my superiors only had good things to say about me, I speak 2 languages fluently and can make myself understood in other 3, I'm intelligent, I have the socially requested university degrees, and yet, I don't get a decent paying job nor a not-so-decent-paying-job in my areas of biggest interest.

It is very hard not to feel as a loser, not to think that I'm a failure and a disappointment to those around me. It's been so many years that I started losing hope of someday things working out well. It is extremely hard to accept that the most romantic of all the cousins, I'm the one still single, childless and alone.

I still follow my heart and I've been trying to find meaning in all of it, trying to understand, but nothing makes sense. It makes no sense why I haven't achieved any sort of financial stability at 39, it makes no sense that I'm alone for so long when I have and still am putting myself out there. And as Murphy seems to have taken me for his bride, when I need them the most, my furry baby is going through his last weeks of life.

Definitely life makes absolutely no sense.

Singletonshire after 30

Navigating the streets of Singletonshire is not an easy task. Doing that for years, to be honest, is tiring and boring. Everybody knows that love does not wait in every corner and as we grow older, we realize that things need more effort to work out well. What no one ever tells us is how much more effort it takes! I've always had the impression that in our Balzac-years it would be easier to find someone since one of the good things of growing older is knowing exactly what we don't want in a relationship. But I've never thought that we would construct so many barriers: be it age, tiny appearance details, finances, kids from previous relationships, geographic distance, you name it.

I was never someone who connects easily with others. Few people have interested me and I find really hard to find someone with whom to connect in a deeper level, someone that I can talk about anything, who makes me laugh, who's got a witty (and sometimes sarcastic) kind of humor. When someone like that finally appears, I do not measure efforts to be with that person. In my mind and heart there are no obstacles to keep me from being with that hard to come by special person.

Being an old fashioned romantic, I'm predisposed to overcome lots of seemingly difficult obstacles in the name of love and I have no problem in being the only one making the effort when the other person is incapable of for whatever reason. Sometimes it does not come out as planned, but other times it is better than expected. All I know is that I'm willing to take the next step, to put myself out there and make all the effort necessary for things to work out for the best. I have always been self-giving with my friends, it's no wonder I would go even further out for that special someone.

Love life for a single women in her late thirties is already difficult, for a gay woman it seems to be even harder. The stereotype of a lesbian relationship is that the women involved move in together on the second date. Of course, just like all stereotypes it's not that accurate, but in this case it's also not so far from the truth. What I mean is: as a group we women tend to want long term relationships and we dream of marriage/living together. So, it's only natural that when two women come together, that next step is taken a bit faster than with a guy. What makes things even trickier for a single lesbian in her late 30's is that most women in this age group are already in a committed relationship. But why am I saying all this? It's just another way of illustrating the difficulties of "Singletonshire" for women over 30.

It is very easy to start wondering if you're the last single person on Earth when all your friends are either married or in long-term relationships. Of course, it doesn't make things easier to have friends and family asking those dreadful questions such as "how's love life?", or making those even worse comparisons "you know Jane Doe was in the same situation as you and found her other half in the supermarket aisle". What about those comments about "a friend" who's in her late thirties and haven't got married yet that come with the sentence (and it's variations) "she's our age but she's still single, there must be something wrong with her." With pressure from family and friends who have already found their "someone", you might even get caught up in the terrible thought that something may be wrong with you when you know, in fact, that there isn't. It's just life.

As I navigate these waters, I find that the size of the difficulties are just as big as we make them. For some the geographic distance seems impossible, a huge deal, for others it can be an exciting challenge. But these "difficulties" are only as big and heavy as the size and weight we put on them. If you finally found someone with whom you feel good with, shouldn't you just take the next step and allow yourself to experience what could be the relationship you were always looking for?

Remember teenage years? It used to be so easy to find someone and let that new person in, but life was much simpler. We were still figuring out who we were. Near my forties, I feel like the older we get, the more of a world we become with our ways, likes and dislikes. It's difficult to open up completely to someone and let them into our world, our private space, so we focus on small "setbacks" instead of looking to the big picture. Seriously, take time to really think about the big picture and you will see that these "difficulties" are, actually, tiny.

Finding someone with whom to really connect is hard enough and we shouldn't create even more obstacles in our minds when we finally meet the person who will interest both our mind and heart. We shouldn't create even more difficulties to keep us from being with that special someone. In our late thirties we all have had good and bad experiences, easy and difficult closures, we all have scars, anxieties, fears. All things that can block us from finding happiness with someone new. But we also have lots of love, tenderness, and kindness to share with that one person who will bring a smile to our days, who will make our days even better. We are all longing for a chance to love and to be loved. So, why do we create stupid obstacles? We are not teenagers anymore which means that only physical attraction does not suffice, sometimes it comes after you got to know someone better instead of being the first thing that pops out when meet them.

Bottom line is: why don't we just allow ourselves to follow our hearts, take all those self-created obstacles out of the way and embrace the opportunity to be happy? What are we waiting for? Life rarely (if ever!) brings us exactly what we are looking for, so why do we keep on looking for someone who will fit perfectly the image we made of our ideal partner? Remember, none of us is perfect and we never will be. As hard as it is for a single woman approaching forty, I still have the strength to face the prejudice and the hardship of being alone in an age group where everyone else seems to come in pairs, and I will keep navigating the streets of Singletonshire with an open heart, ready to follow it as soon as butterflies start to tickle my stomach.

Bridget Jones' Diary - Universal Studios 2001

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PS: To all those "happily married/living together/in a long-term relationship reading this, do us singles a favor and stop asking when we will settle down  with someone. These things do not depend on only one person. If one doesn't want it, two don't get together, or have you forgotten all your years of being single just because you found someone earlier than we did? ;)

Why do we fear change?

Do you ever get the feeling that we are afraid of life? Lately I have been thinking a lot about how we humans are so scared of the unknown. Doesn't matter if it's in our professional or personal lives, changes have scared us since the dawn of time. Just take a look back in History: not everyone would sail the ocean looking for a new world, but all have enjoyed what the new lands brought; not everyone would go and protest on the streets against war, but everyone is happy when a war is over.

"We attract what we are ready for." Sometimes I think that this is one of the most correct sayings I've ever heard. What bugs me the most, though, is that when something or someone new comes our way, we always find excuses to get out of it, to fight the change. Suddenly, that job you never liked "develops" many positive sides; that person who broke your heart doesn't seem so bad; the noisy neighborhood you live in is nothing but "lively". We tend to hold on to how things used to be and come up with all kinds of excuses not to face the fact that life is bringing us something new, another experience to help us grow. How many times have we faced a change, which we didn't want at first, but then it turned out to be one of the best times of our lives? So, why are we still afraid of it?

We tend to disguise our fears as a search for perfection. "Oh, that house is nice, but there's no garden." "That girl/guy is attractive, intelligent and successful, but doesn't have blue eyes." "The job is good, salary is great, but it'll take 20 minutes longer to get there everyday." Just a few (and very silly) examples, but we can all relate to something like that. That other job could be much more fulfilling; that small garden could be just perfect; that new person could turn out to be the love of your life. But instead of going for it, we keep looking for perfection when, in fact, we are completely afraid of changing the life to which we have become accustomed to.

I've heard so many times "you're so brave, you leave everything behind and go for what you're dreaming of. You follow your heart." To be honest, I don't think that has anything to do with being brave, just with being happy, with going after what makes my heart smile. Yes, I have acted impulsively and have faced good and not so good consequences, but would I do it again? Hell, yeah! Life is too short not to be lived. Too short not to follow our hearts and be stuck in the illogical fear of "what ifs". Do I have any regrets of all my decisions? No, none. And that's how I plan on continuing living life: following my heart. After all, what really matters in life isn't it love?

So, stop rationalizing, get out of your comfort zone and don't be afraid of what life brings. Be an explorer and discover a new world! If you were not ready to receive that promotion, to change places, to start a new relationship, life would not have delivered these possibilities to you.

That's my Christmas wish for all of you: open your inner gate and life will be much brighter.

Thomas Kinkade - The Open Gate

Closure

Closure:
the state of experiencing an emotional conclusion to a difficult life event.

Have you ever heard of people that have unfinished emotions in relationships? Well, I have, many times. Not only have I heard, but experienced it.

Sometimes what we feel for someone is so strong, or deeply rooted inside that it's difficult to completely let go of it. If the experience lived was somehow hard and complicated, some people are able to move on right away, others will feel as if their hearts were closed. It can take time to heal. Hours become days, days become months, and maybe, months will turn into years.

We never really know what's going to make us have the feeling of closure because usually we don't even realize that we need it. Since we keep on going with life, working, having coffee with friends, running the everyday errands, most of the time we can't see that our hearts are still closed. The brain might say otherwise, but it doesn't control our hearts and if our hearts feel closed, they need their own time to re-open.

Time heals everything, that's true, but sometimes it takes too long. Little by little your heart starts to open again and light is finally allowed in. Other times, this process is already taking place but very slowly and then, suddenly, you feel lighter and happier. It could have been from a dream that gave you the sense of closure, it could be from writing down all your deepest feelings, it could be from a friendship born from the love that once existed between the two people involved.

The fact is that, when your heart finally gets the closure it was waiting for, you feel lighter, happier, and free. Life's colors become more vivid, daily tasks are easier, nature's splendor is restored to its full beauty, and you're finally able to get completely rid of the bad memories and keep only the good ones. Life is once again, complete.

Let's welcome this feeling, embrace it, and feel lighter knowing that happiness has, once again, opened its doors to us.

Image: Shawshank Redemption - Castle Rock Entertainment - 1994

Life is but a cycle

My grandfather used to say that life is but a cycle, with nothing before or after, only the here and now. He was a very practical and wise person. Maybe he was right or perhaps he was wrong and we'll see each other again someday. That's what I believe in.

Last Thursday it was my Grandma's time to meet those loved ones who already crossed the road.

My grandmother was an amazing woman. She challenged the conventions of her youth's time sneaking out to go play volleyball hidden from my grandfather. But she was also a strong example of her generation. She loved her two daughters with all her heart. She struggled to give them the best education. She loved her four granddaughters with the same strength and devotion. She became a great-grandmother with the same dedication, even from afar. She took care of everyone around her. Whenever someone came to her for help, there she was with arms (and doors) open. There was no lack of love. Never. It was possible to see it in her eyes.

My grandmother was fragrant. She left the bathroom and the whole house stayed perfumed. Her skin held the scent so strongly like I never saw in anyone else. And her amazing perfume hung in the air for hours.

She loved gardening, knitted the most beautiful sweaters and jackets, made the best "streusel cakes".

Whenever we went to spend the summer with her, we were greeted with the most genuine smile and a house full of delights: chocolate bars, pasta, cookies, lasagnas, pies biscuits, and a freezer full of ice cream, everything made by her . Her delights were so disputed that, at dessert time, due to the fight over the size of the slices, my grandfather got annoyed and said to "bring the measuring tape," so that there wouldn't be any difference between the slices.

In winter, when we it was only the two of us and we were already cozy in our warm beds, she used to ask me with a mischievous look: "How about some pudding?", And went down stairs to prepare the delight in the cold kitchen.

The mischievous look was always there when it came to desserts or gifts she was preparing to someone. As well as biting the tip of her tongue. Trademarks of my grandma.

She didn't like watermelons. She grew up with stories that watermelon kills people, and so she didn't eat it. After years married to a German guy who loved watermelons, and seeing all of us eating it in the backyard during the hot summer afternoons, she was still unwilling to even try. She didn't like melted ice cream. If it was just beginning to melt, she already thought it was too soft.

She loved coffee with milk and bread. She reveled in a slice of bread with butter and honey, and a cup of coffee with hot milk. Yes, it had to be very hot. She had a very sweet tooth: she loved pies, desserts, chocolate bars (which she ate gnawing like a bunny).

On cold winter mornings, she would open the windows and let the cold air in to ventilate the house. She put pillows and blankets in the sun and went down stairs to prepare breakfast. Only after everything was ready she would come to wake me up. When I said that she didn't need to pamper me like that, she replied that grandmas are made to pamper their grandchildren and said, "I am your mom made of sugar."

When, on my fifteenth birthday, I came back from a trip bringing in the suitcase a stuffed dog wearing an overall, she liked it so much that I ended up giving the dog to her as a gift. Until then, I had never seen her take an interest in stuffed animals. Many years later, she would have several.

She was always singing. One of her greatest passions: music. She had a beautiful voice that graced all who had the privilege of listening to her. She loved Pavarotti and got emotional with his interpretations.

She loved the Italian characters interpreted by the actor Raul Cortez.

Later in life she had her precious memories stolen, taken against her will. She went back to being a child: she loved dolls and stuffed animals. She continued to revel in desserts and coffee with milk for some time. Her passion, the music, was the last thing to leave her. She didn't know the lyrics anymore, but for some time she still recognized the melodies. Gradually everything went away. She didn't deserve it. She was endearing to the end, even in her world without memories. But forgetting us or not, I know very well who she was and she'll always remain in my heart. She deserved all the affection, love and respect with which she treated all who crossed her path.

Now she's free. Freed from the fetters of time, from oblivion, from pain. She can finally rest from her years in "blank".

Here remain her lessons of life, kindness, love. With her I learned to appreciate the little things in life, the delicacy of nature, to see happiness in small things. I learned the true meaning of joy every day, of support and respect for others.

During her stay in this world, she made it better, prettier, cozier. The cycle is closed. And what a wonderful cycle it was.

Thank you, grandma, for all the love you gave. For all the warmth that you always showed. For all the care you had with those you loved. Your love made all of us better people.

Now fly, fly free and happy. Meet again your German, your brothers and friends, your parents. You shall always be present in our hearts

Be at peace, my mommy made of sugar, be at peace.

The "Bridget Jones' moments" saga

Bridget Jones Diary - Universal Pictures, 2001

"Why is that so many unmarried women in their 30s these days, Bridget?"   

     Lately I have been living many "Bridget Jones" moments, with the difference that I'm already older than she is in the first book, which only makes these moments even  more awkward. One of these days, someone who recently met me (and with whom I never had any conversation about my private life) suddenly asked: "so, the reason you're single is because you only met bad people in your life?". Let's be clear: the question was solely based on the fact that I'm 37years old, single and without kids (because in the person's way of thinking, somehow, having kids means you found someone "good" at some point. Aham...). Without giving much consideration to the reply since I was caught off guard and I couldn't believe my ears, my immediate response was "no, that's not it". Was this this question for real?

     The days passed and I kept wondering why do people assume that if you're single is because you only met jerks? It made me think about the few people in my life with whom I had a relationship and I'm glad to say that I have been, basically, "jerk free". I haven't had many relationships in life: only two short lived and two that lasted for some years. Of course all of them had their ups and downs, but all of them left good memories, even the most difficult of them had good moments and those are the ones worth cherishing.

     Everyone has their own issues, I certainly have mine. Relationships have their own issues, and it's only natural to try to work them out. Some are easier, some are harder; over time, some can become easier, others more difficult, that's just how life is. I would never blame the other part for being single in my late 30s. 

     I had two wonderful relationships, if none of them progress further and end up in marriage is because it was not the right moment, but it never meant that it was because the other person was bad. Relationships are two way streets and I was lucky to meet some incredible and unforgettable people that will be forever in my heart. 

     So, my answer for that weird question is: I'm single because I am. Life doesn't always happens according to our plans, more often than not it's exactly the opposite, but that doesn't mean I'm not happy. My happiness is not conditioned to being in a relationship, but in being in peace with who I am. And, if someday, someone comes along and the relationship progresses to marriage and family, yes, it will be nice, but it will not be "the" sole factor of happiness in my life, it will simply be an addition to what is already good.

 

Bridget Jones Edge of Reason - Universal Pictures, 2004

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xqcdfv_smug-married-couples-from-bridget-jones-s-diary-2001_shortfilms

Christmas

     Say what you want, but I love Christmas traditions. Decorations in every corner of the house, special menu and the happiness of assembling the pine tree. Yes, I love it all!
   

 As a child Christmas was at Grandma's house in southern Brazil. For me it was more than Christmas, it was magic. The tree in the corner of the room seemed the biggest and most beautiful that existed! And although we did not have that traditional supper, the night's menu was different. Delights especially made ​​for the occasion spread across the table. It was so nice to see the face of my grandpa lit by the candles on the pine tree and the love he felt for the women in his life: my grandmother, mother, aunt , and we, the four granddaughters. It was a special day: we played in the street with the other neighborhood children, a day to sleep late (or at least later than usual), the expectation about the beautifully wrapped packets awaiting us. Not even the heat of summer nights in Rio Grande do Sul took away the magic of what was, for me, the best night of the year.

A special menu even if just for one.

     My whole life I dreamed that one day I would have my whole house decorated, like in a movie, and, if possible, snow outside the window. Yes, always dreamed of those movie kind of Christmas. This year I will have the first white Christmas of my life. Very white! On the balcony of the bedroom there's more than 60cm of snow and even if no more falls over until the 24th, it won't melt, Christmas will be white, white!
     The house is not yet fully decorated like in my dreams, not for lack of wanting... but the tree is here, making me smile. On the day I left to buy a pine tree, I was going back home bringing in the cart a living small tree when snow started to fall. The first snow of this winter. A smile spread across my face. I can not even explain the satisfaction of carrying the greatest symbol of Christmas (at least for me) under the beautiful snow fall. It seemed that it made all the ​​sense in the world!
     I know it may sound silly to many, but each of us have our own dreams and their importance is personal. My dream Christmas is still a little heat inside the house, with many smiles and hugs, a table full of special treats made ​​for a special day, a house fully decorated, a big beautiful Christmas tree and a very white world  outside the windows.

Winter preparations

Coming from a tropical country, I had no idea that people prepared for winter. As you all know, I spent a year in Berlin, a city that is said to have a terrible winter for tropical standards. But there the season was less intense and definitely less white.

A few weeks ago I began to notice differences in the landscape of Montreal. People were getting ready for the snow that will inevitably come at some point. I have not seen such preparations in Berlin. Maybe because the incidence of snow is lower, but the fact is that the only difference I saw there was people changing normal tires for winter tires and fountains being covered by wooden fences. Here in Montreal is different.
I live in a good residential area with many houses and buildings with only three apartments. Maybe that's why it was easier to observe people's behavior during the change from summer to autumn, and now for the winter. One day, walking down the street, I realized that a house had a kind of a white tent coming out of the driveway. Later I learned it's called a temporary winter garage. I found it strange. On the following weekend almost all houses and buildings had these same garages. The funny things are the basement apartments, the apartment entrance is surrounded by a tent and it seems that you are entering into a scenario of movies like "Outbreak ". Plants are protected, stairs receive rubber flooring, handrails and floors of balconies are exchanged and where they didn't exist, placed.
     When the snow finally shows up, it's possible to perceives other things. In buildings, each person is responsible for snow removal on their own balcony and in the public areas the responsibility lays on the person in charge of the building (i.e. the landlord). In houses, of course, each one deals with snow as they like. In front of my bedroom window there's a beautiful house where an old couple lives. Everyday that snows a red car arrives around 9:00, and from it comes out a guy "armed" with shovel, broom and a type of wheelbarrow made ​​especially for snow. He cleans the house entrance, the path to the sidewalk, the garage, shakes the top of the temporary winter garage and cleans the exit from the garage to the street. Then he drives away.
I never saw him talking to the home owners, I think he is a person hired to do this service for those who are tired of doing it for many years.
      So far I have not seen a difference in the behavior of Montrealers simply because the season has changed, as it's visible in Berlin. Here, there is no seasonal bipolarity. I keep seeing the smiles on the streets, happy people tidying up gardens, doors and windows for Christmas, and kids jumping at each and every mound of snow that appears on their way. Neighbors greet each other, play, laugh out loud and share coffee while removing snow from the front of their homes. On the streets, pedestrians look at each other and laugh because they are only with their faces uncovered (and many times only their eyes). Strangers cross your way and say with a smile on their faces: " froid , huh?". And me? Simply loving it all.

Tschüß, Berlin!

     Exactly 368 days ago I arrived in Berlin and today I finish my days in this city that hosted me for a year .
     No. I won't miss the sad days, the difficulty to make friends, the emotional weight that has hurted in different ways and at various levels. I also will not miss the "bipolarity" that affects the population when the seasons change. Or the obligation that others impose to you to go to out on the streets simply because it's sunny .

     No. I will not miss the many tears shed and the pain that grieved my heart and tormented my thoughts for months. I will not also miss the darkness that came over me and the weight I carried on my shoulders for so long.
     But yes, I cry . I weep for what I wish it had been, what I wished I had lived, but that could not be.
     I understand the cycles of the universe and I believe that, just as in nature, in life also after winter comes spring. And my inner soil is fertile ground for its arrival. It was a long and dark winter.
    Berlin was a place where I learned a lot, especially about myself. Many strange things happened here, in every way. But also extremely good things. So... yes, will miss it.


     I will miss the silence of the city, the colored leaves covering the sidewalks during autumn, the slippery paths full of "stracciatella icecream" in winter. Yes, I will miss spring. The most exuberant, colorful and fragrant spring I have ever seen.
     I'll miss the tulips that sprout in unexpected places, dandelions covering every bit of green grass and turning everything into a yellow carpet, the thousands of wildflowers in a variety of colors and the most amazing perfumes. I'll miss the clouds of seeds being blown away, and the less fortunate seeds that instead of land to settle, cling into cotton and wool of the clothes of people passing by. The flowering balconies. The fresh wind when cutting short the way home through the many city parks and the many shades of green found in the trees, ivy and shrubs.
     I'll miss the sweet, soft and fragrant strawberries that melt in the mouth like little pieces of paradise . Raspberries and their exact measurement between sweet and tart . The dark and giant cherries. The "flat peaches" and their perfume.
   

     But what Berlin brought me that  was most important and special, was the opportunity to spend incredible days alongside more than important people in my life.


Berlin provided a historic reunion with two people who have a permanent place in my heart .






To be here, my mother overcame extremely difficult moments for her, and finally came up to the old "divided city" to rescue her German half. And tt was here that we met once again our soul brother.





I received more visits from my father than I expected.







Here a dear friend gave me the pleasure of seeing her a few times.



I had the privilege to introduce the city to the most amazing niece and goddaughter someone could have ask heaven for.








     Here I made a very good friend that, although we don't have a picture together, will always remain in my heart. And some friends with whom I had the pleasure to share funny Brazilian stories.

     So I finish one more cycle of life and from it let only the good times remain. Thanks to the nature and incredible lucky I am to have such wonderful people in my life, I'll take those memories with me, and when I think of the time spent here, these are the moments that will come to mind. For the photographs of the heart, are the ones that really count. And now it's time for a new chapter.


(Text written in August 21st, 2013.)