Sunday, March 03, 2024

Scars

I’ve always been prone to accidents, part of it is me being impatient and wanting to do things too fast and all at once, and part of it is genuinely dangerously bad spatial awareness. As child I skinned my knees so often that they never got to heal… and even now, they are full of scars. One time I was so eager to get my easter eggs that I climbed on top of my bedroom cabinet… that was not properly secured and came tumbling down on top of me. I still have little dip on the left side of my head from where it hit me. When I was 9, I fell down the swing and broke my arm (surprisingly the only thing I ever broke), I had to wear a cast for weeks, in the heat of the summer… Once I finally took it off, I stumbled down the slide on a pedal boat, and I got a huge scar on the upper part of my arm that stayed for years. Years later, when I lived in Poland, I miscalculated the distance between the fridge and the wall when I was turning around, and I hit my head so hard against the wall that my roommate started crying because she was afraid I was going to pass out. Even now, as a full-grown woman, I find myself bumping into door frames, furniture, and random walls more often than I would care to admit.

For all the reasons above, my physical scars never bother me, I understood them, I knew where they came from, they had a story. What always got to me were the emotional ones.

For someone with, for most standards, such a stable, uneventful upbringing, I sure managed to hoard my fair share of emotional scars. And what bugged me for the longest time was not finding a reason for it, not feeling that they were justified, like I was too privileged to feel any sort of negative emotion. I also wanted to take ownership of my issues and felt that finding the root cause of my emotional issues meant blaming others for it. The thing is emotional scars, just like the physical ones, appear for a reason, they have a background, and denying them doesn’t benefit anyone. Identifying the causes of your emotional scars is not about placing blame. Understanding where they come from doesn’t mean you are blaming someone else, just like knowing what led to the damaged skin of your knee doesn’t mean you blame the asphalt you fell on.

(Feb 6th 2024)

Wednesday, February 14, 2024

What if I wasn’t here?

Sitting at the table, in the small cafeteria of her primary school, surrounded by children and teachers, laughter and noises, she closed her eyes and repeated to herself: “What if I wasn’t here? What if I wasn’t here? What if I wasn’t here?”. This happened frequently, not this question in particular, just fluttering thoughts, random questions, that played in her mind over and over again, obsessively. No-one noticed what she was doing, not even the child sitting right across from her, but in that moment, she couldn’t stop her restless mind “What if I had never been born? Would the world be any different?”.

She couldn’t be more than 8 at the time. Life was good. She wasn’t sad or worried, the questions didn’t come from a place of fear, rather than genuine curiosity for the impact one could have in the world. She was well taken care of, she didn’t have to worry about much, and overall, she was seen in a good light, but what did that even mean in the bigger scope of things? If someone were to come and just erase her existence, what difference would it make?

She wasn’t thinking about disappearance or death or anything tragic. Losing someone you once knew… certainly that would affect people. She meant, what if simply she had never existed. What would that change? If anything…  

(Feb 4th 2024)

Sunday, February 11, 2024

This old house

I’m not one for big financial dreams, I don’t play the lottery and though I’m quite good at saving, I’m also quite good at working for free, so I don’t expect to ever build a fortune… but there’s this big old house I sometimes dare to fantasise about what I would do with if I’d ever have that kind of money.

It’s an ancient house, high ceilings, big windows, and tall doors. It’s a two-floor building, though the last time I went inside, probably over 18 years ago, it was already so deteriorated that you could only walk the main floor.

Even back then, when it was still full of life, it was too damaged for anybody’s safety.

Apart from the main house, there were a few annexes on the back, where I once danced, and painted, and cooked… those probably the ones that have suffered the most over time.

As a tiny 7-year-old girl I loved running around those long halls, up and down the stairs, all the way to the back, exploring every single room, chatting with every single person there. Back when I was still bubbly, outspoken and… free. I lost track of the afternoons I spent there afterschool, waiting for my mother to finish working, the school breaks I enjoyed making arts and crafts and learning about disabilities and inclusion without even knowing.

It might have been inside those walls that I first started learning about thinking out of the box and alternative teaching methods. It was certainly there that I started learning about people who were different than me, people who had not been as lucky as me, people who faced unspeakable challenges and conditions and yet were pure and kind and always always welcoming.

It was also there that I took my first steps into the volunteering world, something that up to this day is such a huge part of my life.

After decades of serving its purpose, and being a home for so many, eventually people had to move on to a place with better conditions. Since then, almost two decades ago, it’s been abandoned.

The white and yellow paint on the outside walls has mostly peeled off. It didn’t take long for the windows to be stolen, and for brick to be put in their place. Nurtured by the winter rain, weeds quickly started growing taller than humans and taking up most of the front yard. The annexes in the black seem to have lost most their walls, and after so many years, who knows what’s going on inside and what kind of creatures live there now.

I now live a short 10min walk from this old house… And every time I pass by it, I stop and take a long glance at it. If I squint my eyes, I can still see how it was before, when it was still old and damaged, but not destroyed. I don’t need a house that big. I wouldn’t know what to do with so much space. I certainly will never have enough money to fix it, in fact, I doubt that fixing it is even an option… most likely anyone who gets it would just have to tear it down, and yet… if I could, I would take that old house and make it mine. (19th Sep 2020)            


Thursday, July 06, 2023

Eulogy / Eulogia

 Nota: Versão portuguesa mais abaixo


What a long, full, brilliant and happy life you had!

It’s hard to know where to start when you have touched so many lives. Lives beyond our family… and we are so many!

I lost count how many times I’ve crossed paths with people, who I didn’t even know had met you, who admired you from afar. Once, in a concert, I was in charge of bringing you out to the parking lot in your wheelchair, it took us ages, because so many people stopped us to say hi, all of them had something to say about how you had touched their lives. You didn’t know who half of them were, but they knew you well.

Maybe that was one of your best qualities, the total ignorance of how legendary you were.

For the longest time I didn’t know “normal” grandmas didn’t have industrial sized fridges or pots the size of the ones in a school canteen, I didn’t know it wasn’t normal to organize a summer camp just for cousins or to have to do shifts to have a place at the table on Christmas Eve.

Our normalcy was always a bit different, but even though we were many there was attention to detail…

In the Summer, in Lagos, you’d wake up early and immediately start making sandwiches… you always remembered who liked ham, who preferred cheese, who would like butter, or who would rather have it plain… at the beach your humongous canteen allowed each of us a small cup of juice, Vasco would sometimes steal an extra one, but you would try to keep it fair…

At your place we all loved the little tin box filled with gummy bears you would hide in your bedroom closet and from which you would give us a prize if we were good. I heard that Ivan and Susana robbed it once, but that’s a story for another day…

And of course, everyone remembers being sent straight to bed when you were losing when we played cards.

You never said no to a challenge, so one day, despite your old age and weak leg, you agreed to let me and Miri put you on an electric bike and chase you around the streets of Altura, trusting that we’d be able to catch you, should anything go wrong.

The stories are endless… everyone here would have numerous to tell, but what we will never forget is your smile, the door that was always open, the caipirinhas and the music that always filled your house.

In your own way, and without even knowing it, you lived an Hakuna Matata kind of life… you put every trouble behind you… maybe we should learn that from you, because the reality is that in these last few years, whether you were asleep or spacing out with open eyes, we would always find you smiling, because all your memories were good.

The only thing that you worried about until your last moments was if the children were fed, if they were cold or had run away.

Someone told me once that our family is led by women, I had never thought about it before, but it makes sense, because it all starts with you.

It was a privilege getting even closer to you these past few years, and it will be an even greater privilege to keep your legacy alive. A legacy that is far from perfect, but is real, the legacy of a home where there’s always room for one more, where the door is open to those in need, where family is who you love, regardless of blood or how your paths crossed.

A legacy that makes it so that today, we gather here not only your 13 children, 28 grandchildren and 17 greatgrandchildren, but also so many others for whom you were also a mother, an aunt or a grandmother.

Always.




Eulogia


Que vida longa, cheia, brilhante e feliz tiveste!

É difícil saber por onde começar quando tocaste tantas vidas, vidas para além da nossa família… e nós somos muitos!

Perdi a conta às vezes que pessoas se cruzaram no meu caminho, que eu nem sabia que te conheciam, e que te admiravam à distância.

Uma vez, num concerto dos Xutos no coliseu, fiquei encarregue de te levar na cadeira de rodas até ao carro… demorámos imenso tempo, tal a quantidade de pessoas que fizeram questão de nos parar para te cumprimentar, todas elas tinham algo a contar de como tinhas marcado a sua vida. Tu não sabias quem metade delas eram, mas elas conheciam-te bem.

Talvez essa fosse uma das tuas melhores qualidades - a total ignorância da lenda que eras.

Durante muito tempo não tinha noção que as avós “normais” não tinham frigoríficos industriais, nem panelas do tamanho das da cantina da escola, não sabia que era estranho organizarmos um campo de férias só para primos, ter de fazer turnos para ter lugar à mesa na consoada, ou cantar o Trem das 11h na noite de Natal. (Se bem que nunca percebi porque é que aqueles 13 gostavam tanto de cantar Sou Filho Único… ).

A nossa normalidade sempre foi um bocadinho diferente, mas não era por sermos muitos que não havia atenção aos detalhes…

Nas férias, em Lagos, acordavas bem cedo e logo começavas a fazer as sandes… sabias quem queria sandes de fiambre ou de queijo, quem gostava de manteiga ou apenas de planta… na praia, o teu enorme cantil dava direito a um copinho de Tang de laranja a cada um, o Vasco às vezes lá roubava mais um, mas tu tentavas controlar…

No Restelo todos adorávamos a latinha de ursinhos goma que tinhas escondida no armário do teu quarto, de onde nos davas um prémio quando nos portávamos bem. Ouvi dizer que o Ivan e a Susana uma vez a assaltaram, mas isso é outra história…

Havia quem chegasse a tua casa e perguntasse “Vovó estás lá em cima ou estás lá em baixo?” E quem te implorasse para não ficar com o rabo às ondinhas…. 

E claro, toda a gente se lembra de ser mandado para a cama quando começavas a perder ao buraco.

Nunca dizias que não a um desafio e por isso, um dia, apesar da tua já longa idade e da tua fraca perna, deixaste que eu e a Miri te pusemos numa bicicleta elétrica e que fossemos a correr atrás de ti pela rua fora em Altura, confiando que te conseguíssemos amparar caso aquilo desse para o torto.

As histórias são infinitas… todos aqui teriam imensas para partilhar, mas o que fica a todos é o teu sorriso, a porta aberta, as caipirinhas e a música sempre no ar.

À tua maneira, e sem saber, seguias o lema Hakuna Matata… punhas tudo o que era problemas para trás das costas… e talvez devêssemos aprender isso contigo, porque a verdade é que nestes últimos tempos, fosse a dormir ou a divagar de olhos abertos, encontrávamos-te sempre com um sorriso tranquilo, pois todas as tuas memórias eram boas.

A única coisa que te preocupou até ao último momento foi saber se as crianças já tinham comido, se não tinham frio, e se nenhuma tinha fugido.

Um dia disseram-me que os Ferreiras são uma família liderada por mulheres, nunca tinha pensado nisso assim, mas faz sentido, porque tudo começa em ti.

Foi um privilégio poder passar estes últimos anos ainda mais perto de ti e será um privilégio ainda maior dar continuidade ao teu legado. Não um legado imaculado, mas um legado real, de uma casa onde há sempre lugar para mais um, onde se abre a porta a quem precisa, onde a família é quem tu amas, independentemente do sangue ou da forma como se cruzaram no teu caminho.

Um legado que faz com que hoje, para além dos 13 filhos, 28 netos e 17 bisnetos oficiais que aqui tens, tenhas também tantos outros para quem também eras mãe, tia ou avó.

Para Sempre.

Friday, December 30, 2022

The beauty of traveling / A beleza de viajar

Nota: Versão portuguesa mais abaixo


When I first had the chance to travel abroad, I was too young to realize how privileged I was, even if, from the very beginning, I fell in love with it.

It was by the age of 12, after traveling without my family for the first time, that I knew for sure traveling was something I wanted to continue doing. I got lost on my very first day, I didn’t speak English, and yet it was such an incredible experience, that it gave me a purpose to work towards to.

Timing might have had something to do with it, that trip happened right before my personality changed, back when I was still fearless and brighter, and so I managed to take full advantage of the experience, I met a lot of people, I tried new things, I had a lot of fun.

When I finally saved enough to travelled again, I was eager to see everything and do everything. I’d go to every museum, every thematic park and attraction, just rush from one thing to another. I wanted to visit every country.  I did visit quite a few, and there hasn’t been a place that I regret visiting, but as I grew older and collected more experiences the more I realized that what I really enjoyed was spending time getting to know the culture, observing people, asking questions, trying to learn the customs. I noticed that when I was not traveling what I really missed were the people.

I recently had the opportunity to be abroad for almost a full month, and while doing so I spent time with 4 different, multicultural, families. These were all people that I knew fairly well, but maybe because of the mindset I’m now, or because I wasn’t rushing anywhere, it was such an enriching experience.

Having the opportunity to observe and have long, deep, conversations with these people, women in particular, all in different stages of their life, was so enlightening for me that I have been trying to put it in words for the past few weeks without any success.

The women I spent time with, who all have different backgrounds, who all came into my life in a very specific and unique way, who all choose very different paths in life, aged between the late 40’s and early 70’s and despite the age gap between us, there was such much we could relate to.

It was so interesting to see how despite cultural differences so much is expected from women across the board. So interesting to see how we are so conditioned by society to take on so much that often we are the ones, unconsciously, refusing any help regardless how overwhelmed we are. But perhaps what was most interesting to see, is that everyone is on their own journey. I used to long for the time, the age, when all my life would be settle and I’d have everything figured out, but as I grow older, I realize the people I’m drawn to, the people I find more inspiring are the ones who don’t settle, the ones who keep evolving, the ones who have doubts and struggles, but keep showing up and being kind and doing something good for others.

In the rush of everyday life we’re so often on autopilot that we don’t have the time to properly talk to those around you, we live side by side with people we love and yet there’s so much we don’t know about what goes inside them (and vice-versa). This trip was probably the one where I visited less things, where I spent more time at home, and yet, it was one of the best I had. I enjoyed each walk where we had long talks about the future, each sat down where we shared experiences about personality changes and anxiety, the late evenings talking about parenthood, the inspiration I took from each families’ traditions, and even the nights I spent in silence sitting next to the friend who (hopefully) momentarily has lost her spark. Just being there with these people, soaking up their knowledge, learning from their journeys, feeling their love…

The world is often a scary place, but traveling is a good reminder that good people are everywhere. They come in different shapes and forms, they live all kinds of different lives and go through different obstacles, but they are real.

I used to think I was privileged because I got to see the world, now I know I’m privileged because I get to go to places where I meet people like these.

 

 A beleza de viajar 


Quando tive oportunidade de viajar pela primeira vez para o estrangeiro, era demasiado miúda para perceber o privilégio que isso era, apesar de, desde o primeiro momento me ter apaixonado por viagens.

Foi aos 12 anos, depois de viajar pela primeira vez sem a minha família, que tive a certeza que queria continuar a fazê-lo. Nessa viagem perdi-me no primeiro dia, não sabia falar nada de inglês, e ainda assim foi uma experiência tão incrível que se tornou um objetivo a alcançar.

O timing também terá sido importante, essa viagem aconteceu exatamente antes da minha mudança de personalidade, quando ainda era destemida e solta, e por isso consegui aproveitá-la em pleno – conheci imensas pessoas, experimentei coisas novas e diverti-me muito.

Quando finalmente consegui juntar dinheiro para viajar novamente estava ansiosa para ver e fazer tudo. Ia a todos os museus, visitava todos os partes temáticos, todas as atrações, numa correria estonteante. Queria visitar todos os países do munto. Visitei bastantes, e não me arrependo de nenhum, mas à medida que o tempo foi passando, e que fui colecionando mais experiências fui percebendo que o que realmente me preenchia nas viagens era passar tempo a conhecer a cultura, a observar as pessoas, a fazer perguntas a perceber os costumes. Percebi que o que sentia falta quando não estava a viajar, era das pessoas.

Recentemente tive a oportunidade de viajar para o estrangeiro durante cerca de um mês, e durante essa viagem passar tempo com 4 famílias, todas elas muito diferentes e multiculturais. Era tudo pessoas que eu já conhecia, mas talvez por ir com uma atitude diferente, ou por não estar a correr, foi uma experiência super enriquecedora.

Ter a oportunidade de observar e ter longas e profundas conversas com estas pessoas, mulheres em particular, todas em diferentes fases das suas vidas, foi tão esclarecedor para mim, que desde que cheguei que tenho tentado, sem sucesso, pôr em palavras o que vivi.

As mulheres com quem estive, que apareceram na minha vida de forma única, todas com passados muito diferentes, que seguiram caminhos muito distintos, estavam entre os 40 e muitos e os 70 anos de idade, e apesar da diferença de idades, havia tanto em comum entre nós.

Foi muito interessante perceber como, apesar das diferenças culturais, de forma geral tanto é exigido das mulheres. Foi muito interessante perceber que somos tão condicionadas pela sociedade para assumir tudo que muitas vezes somos nós, de forma inconsciente, a recusar a ajuda que tanto precisamos. Mas talvez o mais interessante de perceber é que toda a gente está a fazer o seu próprio caminho. Costumava ansiar pela idade e que a minha vida estivesse resolvida e orientada, mas à medida que envelheço percebo que as pessoas que me atraem, que mais me inspiram são as que não se acomodam, as que continuam a evoluir, as que têm dúvidas e lutas internas, mas ainda assim continuam a tentar, a ser gentis, a fazer algo em prol dos outros.

Na corrida do dia-a-dia estamos tantas vezes em piloto automático que não temos tempo para conversar devidamente com as pessoas à nossa volta. Vivemos lado a lado com as pessoas que amamos, sem muitas vezes sabermos o que se passa dentro das suas cabeças (e vice-versa). Esta viagem foi provavelmente aquela em que visitei menos coisas, em que passei mais tempo em casa, e ainda assim foi uma das melhores que já fiz. Adorei cada longo passeio em que falámos do futuro, os momentos em que partilhámos mudanças de personalidade e ansiedade, as noites tardias a discutir parentalidade, a inspiração que retirei de cada tradição familiar, e até as noites passadas em silêncio junto daquela pessoa que (esperamos que) momentaneamente perdeu o seu brilho. Estar lá, presente, partilhar o mesmo espaço com estas pessoas, absorver a sua sabedoria, aprender com as suas histórias de vida, sentir o seu amor…

O mundo é muitas vezes um lugar assustador, mas viajar pode ser uma forma de nos lembrarmos que existem pessoas boas em todo o lado. Vêm em diferentes formas e tamanhos, vivem diferentes estilos de vida, e ultrapassam diferentes obstáculos, mas são reais.

Pensava que era privilegiada por poder conhecer o mundo, agora sei que sou privilegiada por ir a sítios onde encontro pessoas assim.

Sunday, October 23, 2022

Gratitude / Gratidão

 Nota: Versão portuguesa mais abaixo


At the beginning of the month, I saw that September’s Letters challenge for the month of October was to write about Gratitude. Maybe because of that, or because this is also the month I celebrate my birthday, and that’s inevitably a time for introspection, that topic has been on my mind.

Despite all my inner issues – with anxiety, depression, and high sensitivity – I’ve always been aware of how privileged my life has been. So painfully aware, that one of the reasons why it took me so long to acknowledge my depressive state in my youth, was because I didn’t feel that I had the right to be depressed when I had so much to be grateful for.

Nowadays I know better, now I know that gratitude, and sadness, and ambition and fear, and so many others can co-exist and be valid. That there’s a place for all of them in our lives.

Perhaps because the dark thoughts come more naturally to me, I’ve always tried to make a conscious effort to notice the good and be grateful for it. One of the things that lately has sparked joy in my life and effortlessly remind me to be grateful is my job.

There are no perfect jobs, perfect projects, perfect teams, or circumstances, and ours is not even close to it, but there’s something to be said about going to work with a bounce in your step and coming back home after a long day longing to go back there. And so, I find myself day after day, feeling immensely grateful to be able to do something that energizes me, motivates me, challenges me, and overall has such an incredible impact in my life.

However, as much as I’m grateful for where I am now, I’m equally grateful for the journey that led me here.

I was so certain I wanted to work in preschool education for such a young age that when I look back, part of me wonders how I strayed so much, but if I stop and look at it, I realize I haven’t strayed at all.

It’s ironic how things you once dreaded become less scary overtime, how weaknesses turn into strengths.

I always knew I could easily connect with young children, but I never imagined I’d be any good working with older children or teens.

I remember in college, professors talking about the importance of working with the families and knowing instantly I wouldn’t be good at it.

In college, on my last internship, I showed interest in doing it at an orphanage/working with vulnerable children, at the time my professor advised me against it because she feared I might be too fragile to deal with it.

And I’ll never forget the panic attack I had once, during my 3rd year internship, when all the sudden I felt I was wrong, that maybe this thing I’d always loved and thought was my path, wasn’t for me at all. That maybe I sucked at the only thing I had ever imagined myself doing.

The thing about these episodes is that, as much as it might have felt at the time, they weren’t defining at all.

Funny enough, since leaving college I mostly worked with older kids and teens, and I love it.

More and more, I find that families trust me, and I find myself even enjoying that part of the job.

And although my high sensitivity takes a toll at me sometimes, it also makes me that much approachable and available to the vulnerable kids.

And this is not to say that my initial thoughts were misplaced, or that my professor was wrong in dissuading me from that internship all those years ago, it just means that we are ever evolving beings and that with the right guidance, effort, and opportunities, we are capable of much more than we ever dreamed of.

But this journey is not made alone, and so going back to gratitude, part of the process, is trying to identify the people and the moments that help us grow. Because it’s the sum of those experiences, good and bad, and how we choose to look at them, that define who we become.

For many, it may seem like a waste of time to have spent 4 years in college studying preschool education to then go on to work with a completely different target group, but the reality is that, almost every single day at work I’m grateful for something that I learned in college and for the professors I had there, because so much of what they thought me transcends preschool education.

So much of what I’ve learned there allows me to approach my work, and my kids, with a softness, empathy and understanding that our society often neglects.

For that, I’m grateful for the professors who forced me to work with less than perfect colleagues, because “there are no perfect teams, and you don’t get to choose your colleagues in real life.”

I’m grateful to have had a higher education that instead of indoctrinating me, encouraged critical thinking.

I’m grateful to have had professors who made me aware of how easy (and wrong) is to stereotype and label both children and their families.

I’m grateful to have gone through 4 years of college where us students were more than just numbers, where we were seen and reminded the role human connections play in human development.

I’m grateful to have had a professor who could read my silences and see beyond my cautious nature and introvert character. Someone who unknowingly, just a few days after that panic attack, told me she saw a lot of her young self in me, and just with that unassuming comment restored my faith in my dream and in myself.

For better and worse, the lengths that what we say and what we do have on other people’s lives is immeasurable. I’m forever grateful to have had people who touched my life in a way that positively shaped my journey, and I’m equally grateful to now have the chance to attempt to do the same.

It is very easy to get lost in the everyday hustle and the problems and the challenges we face, so easy to forget where we came from and why we do what we do, but in the long run there’s so much to be grateful for.

And the best part of it all, is that it all comes back to you. As if feeling grateful wasn’t a good enough feeling, I find that when you are grateful you do things with such a natural bliss that people feel it, and in return they feel grateful for you too.


Gratidão


No início do mês vi que o desafio das September’s Letters para o mês de Outubro era escrever sobre gratidão. Talvez por isso, ou por este ser o mês do meu aniversário, o que só por si leva a alguma introspeção, essa temática tem estado no meu pensamento.

Apesar dos meus problemas internos – com ansiedade, depressão, hipersensibilidade – sempre fui muito consciente da vida privilegiada que tenho tido. Tão dolorosamente consciente, que uma das razões pela qual demorei tanto tempo a identificar o meu estado depressivo na juventude, foi por achar que não tinha direito a estar deprimida quando tinha tanto para ser grata.

Atualmente sei que a gratidão, a tristeza, a ambição, o medo, e tantas outras emoções podem coexistir e ser válidas. Que há espaço para todas elas na nossa vida.

Talvez por os pensamentos negativos me surgirem mais naturalmente, sempre tentei fazer um esforço consciente para reparar nas coisas boas e sentir-me grata por elas. Recentemente, uma das coisas que tem espertado alegria na minha vida é o meu trabalho.

Não há trabalhos perfeitos, projetos perfeitos, equipas perfeitas ou circunstâncias perfeitas, e o meu está longe disso, mas há algo a dizer sobre o facto de irmos para o trabalho com alegria, e de voltarmos a casa após um longo dia com o desejo de regressar. E por isso, dia após dia, dou por mim a sentir-me imensamente grata por ter oportunidade de fazer algo que me energiza, que me motiva, que me desafia e que tem um impacto tão incrível na minha vida.

Ainda assim, por muito que seja grata por esta fase da minha vida, sou igualmente grata pelo caminho que me trouxe até aqui.

Desde pequena que tinha tanta certeza que queria ser Educadora de Infância, que às vezes, quando olho para trás, me pergunto como é que me desviei tanto do meu caminho, mas a verdade é que se parar para pensar depressa percebo que na verdade não me desviei de todo.

É irónico, como as coisas que antes temíamos, aos poucos se vão tornando menos assustadoras, como as fragilidades podem ser transformadas em pontos fortes.

Sempre soube que tinha facilidade em lidar com crianças pequenas, mas nunca imaginei que tivesse jeito para os miúdos mais velhos ou adolescentes.

Lembro-me, na faculdade, das professoras se focarem muito na importância do trabalho com as famílias, e de eu imediatamente saber que não seria boa nisso.

Ainda na faculdade, no último estágio, mostrei interesse em fazê-lo numa casa de acolhimento para crianças, na altura a minha professora desaconselhou-me por temer que eu fosse demasiado frágil para lidar com a situação.

E nunca me vou esquecer do ataque de pânico que tive durante o estágio de 3º ano da faculdade, quando de repente senti que estava errada, que se calhar esta vocação que eu achava que tinha, que era o meu caminho, afinal não era para mim. Que se calhar eu não tinha o que era preciso para fazer o único trabalho que alguma vez imaginara ter.

O que estes episódios têm em comum é que, por muito que tenha parecido na altura, não foram momentos definitivos na minha vida.

Curiosamente, desde que saí da faculdade praticamente só trabalhei com miúdos mais crescidos e adolescentes, e adoro.

Cada vez mais, sinto que as famílias confiam em mim, e até dou por mim a gostar dessa parte do trabalho.

E, apesar da minha hipersensibilidade às vezes me deixar exausta, também me torna muito mais acessível e disponível para as crianças mais vulneráveis.

Não quer dizer com isto que os meus pensamentos iniciais estivessem errados, ou que a minha professora não tivesse razão em não me aconselhar aquele estágio há tantos anos, simplesmente mostra que somos seres em constante evolução e que com o devido apoio, esforço e oportunidades, somos capazes de muito mais do que alguma vez imaginámos.

Mas este caminho não se faz sozinho, e voltando à gratidão, parte do processo é tentar identificar as pessoas e os momentos que nos ajudaram a crescer. Porque é a soma dessas experiências, boas e más, e a forma como escolhemos olhar para elas, que define quem somos.

Para muitos pode parecer um desperdício de tempo ter estudado 4 anos de Educação de Infância para depois fazer carreira a trabalhar com um público-alvo totalmente diferente, mas a verdade é que todos os dias, quando estou no trabalho, me sinto grata por coisas que aprendi na faculdade e pelos professores que por lá conheci, porque tanto do que eles me ensinaram vai para além da Educação de Infância.

Tanto do que lá aprendi permite-me abordar o meu trabalho e os meus miúdos com uma proximidade, empatia e compreensão que tantas vezes a nossa sociedade tende a negligenciar.

Por isso, sou grata pelas professoras que me obrigaram a trabalhar com colegas menos que perfeitos, porque “não há equipas perfeitas, e não escolhes os teus colegas no mundo real.”

Sou grata por ter tido acesso a um ensino superior que em vez de me doutrinar, encorajava o pensamento crítico.

Sou grata por ter tido professores que me mostraram o quão fácil (e errado) é estereotipar tanto as crianças como as suas famílias.

Sou grata por ter tido 4 anos de faculdade onde os alunos eram mais do que meros números, onde éramos vistos pela nossa individualidade e relembrados da importância que as relações humanas tem no nosso desenvolvimento.

Sou grata por ter tido uma professora que soube ler os meus silêncios e ver para lá da minha natureza cautelosa e introvertida. Alguém que, sem ter ideia, uns dias depois daquele ataque de pânico, me disse ver tanto de si quando era jovem em mim, e com um mero comentário restaurou a confiança no meu sonho e em mim mesma.

Para o melhor e para o pior, o que dizemos e o que fazemos tem um impacto imensurável na vida dos outros. Sou extremamente grata por ter tido pessoas que tocaram a minha vida e que de forma positiva determinaram o meu caminho, e sou igualmente grata por estar agora numa posição onde posso tentar fazer o mesmo.

É muito fácil cairmos na rotina, nos problemas e desafios que enfrentamos no dia-a-dia, tão fácil esquecermos de onde viemos e porque fazemos o que fazemos, mas a longo prazo há para estarmos gratos.

E a melhor parte é que isso é recíproco. Como se a gratidão não fosse um sentimento bom o suficiente, sinto que quando estamos gratos fazemos as coisas com outra alegria, e as pessoas sentem-no, o que faz com que sejam gratas por nós também.

 


Monday, August 15, 2022

Nana is 90 / 0s 90 da Vóvó

Nota: Versão portuguesa mais abaixo.


To Grandma Lélé who turns 90 today!

Written on 2nd January 2022

 

As soon as I arrived this afternoon you greeted me with your widest grin.

I can’t complain, to be fair, even in your crankier days you seem to always save a smile for me.

I kissed your forehead and gave you the news - Mom and dad are away, so I’m staying for a few days. You let me settle next you before you questioned me seriously – “What do you propose we do with our time?” Your question caught me off guard and I couldn’t stop a chuckle. I didn’t see that coming…

It’s always unpredictable nowadays – some days you are quite talkative, others you just don’t seem to have the energy to really be present. It’s been a while since your body, and your mind, have allowed you to do much, but I do love that you expect me to have plans for the both of us.

Later, when we’re taking you too bed, you stop me for a moment and ask if I know how to change your diaper. I’ve done it countless times before, but always under the supervision of mom, so maybe that’s why you want to check. I assure you that I can, and you trust me.

Already in bed, I feed you and make sure you take your medicine. You tell me not to worry so much and tell me I can take your blanket if I get cold.

Before she leaves, your caretaker tells me that earlier you were refusing to eat lunch, but that she convinced you by promising you that I was on my way.

I never felt at ease with grown-ups, and elderly people always seemed to be extra hard for me, but for some reason with you that isn’t true. And one may think that’s because you’re my grandma, that that’s because I grew up close to you and so it feels natural, but it’s not that…

See, I’m the 11th of 28th grandchildren. By the time I came around you had already raised 13th children of your own and helped raised some of the grandkids. I was too young to remember if you were already too tired or if mom just wanted to give you a rest, but even though I have a lot of childhood memories with you, I know there are a lot of other grandkids who grew up much closer to you. And yet here we are.

Maybe it’s because mom never made a big fuss about it, and just let it happen, maybe it’s because you just made everything feel so natural...

I remember the first time I had to help you to the bathroom, back when you could still move, but needed assistance. I was on my own, cleaning the kitchen, you were in the living room with three of your children, and when the moment came, you called me. You said it with such certainty, that I was the one to help you, that all the weirdness of the moment vanished right away.

A few months ago, one of my aunts (your child) called me aside and told me I shouldn’t help so much with you. She told me it wasn’t my place or my burden to carry, that you had sons and daughters (plenty), that in time I would have to do that for my own parents, but that it was too soon for me to worry about this stuff. I get where she was coming from, I do, but the thing is… you seem so happy every time I’m around. I’m clearly the least experience person to “handle” you and yet when it’s me you never complain, you’re nothing but smiles. So maybe I’m just selfish, maybe I just enjoy the validation or the feeling of being needed…

The other day, after I put you to bed, you called for me. I think you were having a moment of clarity and you wanted to thank me. You thank me often, but there was something different about this time. You said you wanted to thank while you still remembered. I said it was okay, that it was payback from the times you took care of me when I was little. You replied “no, I remember you were one of the good ones, you never gave me any trouble.” Despite the dementia, you always recognize me, but often conversations don’t make sense, generations get mixed up, but in that moment, you were fully present, you knew exactly what you were saying to me, it carried a different weight. It meant everything to me.

Twelve years ago, when I was about to move out of the country for the first time, out of everything that was about to change, I had only one concern… What if something were to happen to you and I was an ocean away? The thought surprised me, like I said, I loved you already, of course I did, but back then we didn’t have this everyday presence in each other’s lives. I never used to think about that stuff, my naïve mind wasn’t used to have those kinds of thoughts, but after being confronted with the unpredictability of death for the first time 2 years before, it sure was on my mind.

I’m glad nothing happened then, nor the other different times I traveling was around the world. And I’m so very glad I got to spend the past years by your side. I used to think I’d want to keep the memories of someone in their prime, but in this case, I want to keep all of them.

Your iconic, some might call you legendary. And I think that’s why despite loving you, some people don’t visit often. They want to keep that image of you. I don’t live in the illusion. I know your dark sides, I know how spoiled and stubborn and even hurtful you can be… I know being your child wasn’t easy, how could be, when there were 12 other children… but you’re the core of what we are. The ideal of family that I have… not of a legacy, or perfect marriage or financial stability, but one where there’s always room for someone else, where you take people in, where family are the ones you love regardless how they came about… that comes from growing up in your aura.

People that are often in awe of our family, don’t quite realize how a bunch of dysfunctional, disturbed, rough people we are… But they do see how we love each other, even if that love is tough, they do see how we take care of those we love, they do see that behind all the toughness there are soft hearts. And I guess that’s just who you are.

There’re so many of us, and I do believe that each of us has a role in this clan, but as my therapist once pointed out cleverly, there’s no doubt that this family is ran by women… and it all starts with you.

So now I’m sitting in bed, watching you sleep in the baby monitor (creepy I know!), wondering how “awake” you will be tomorrow.

 

P.S – It’s 4:33am... I had just closed the laptop after writing this to fall asleep when I heard your voice. At first I thought you were dreaming, but then I realized you were calling for me. I went to check on you, I asked – “What's wrong? Do you need something?” - You were wide awake with a huge smile splat in your face... And replied - “I'm good... But what about you?

 


Para a vóvó Lelé, que hoje faz 90 anos.

Escrito a 2 de Janeiro 2022

 

Assim que cheguei esta tarde cumprimentaste-me com um largo sorriso.

Não me posso queixar, na verdade, mesmo nos teus dias mais rabugentos, pareces guardar sempre um sorriso para mim.

Dou-te um beijo na testa e relembro-te as notícias – a minha mãe e o meu pai foram passar o fim-de-semana fora por isso vou ficar contigo por uns dias. Deixas-me sentar antes de me perguntares com cara séria – “O que propões fazermos?” – a pergunta apanha-me desprevenida e não consigo disfarçar o riso.

Hoje em dia é sempre imprevisível – tens dias em que estás bastante conversadora, outros em que parece que nem tens energia para estares presente. Há muito que o teu corpo e o teu cérebro não te permitem a liberdade de outrora, mas adoro o facto de estares à espera de planos para passarmos o tempo.

Mais tarde, quando te vou deitar, paras para me perguntar se sei mudar a tua fralda. Já perdi a conta às vezes que o fiz, mas sempre com a mãe presente, talvez por isso queiras confirmar. Asseguro-te que sim, e tu confias em mim.

Já deitada, dou-te o jantar e asseguro-me que engoles os remédios. Tu dizes-me para não me preocupar tanto e que posso tirar o teu cobertor se sentir frio durante noite.

Antes de sair, a rapariga que toma conta de ti durante o dia conta-me que não querias almoçar, e que só te conseguiu convencer a comer com a promessa de que eu já estava a caminho.

Nunca me senti confortável com adultos, e lidar com pessoas idosas sempre me pareceu extra difícil, mas por alguma razão contigo é diferente. E é natural pensar que é por seres minha avó, por ter crescido contigo, mas não é isso…

Sou a 11ª de 28 netos, quando eu apareci já tu tinhas criado 13 filhos e ajudado a criar a maioria dos netos. Era muito nova para me lembrar se já estavas cansada, ou se a mãe te queria dar descanso, mas apesar de ter muitas memórias de infância contigo, sei que os outros netos mais velhos tinham uma relação muito mais próxima contigo. Mas agora aqui estamos…

Se calhar é porque a mãe nunca fez muito drama com o assunto e as coisas foram acontecendo, se calhar é porque tu fizeste com que tudo parece tão natural…

Lembro-me da primeira vez que tive de te acompanhar à casa-de-banho, quando ainda conseguias andar, mas precisavas de apoio. Eu estava sozinha na cozinha, a arrumar a loiça, tu estavas na sala com 3 dos teus filhos. Quando o momento chegou tu chamaste-me a mim. Disseste com tanta certeza que era eu que te ia ajudar que toda a estranheza da situação se desvaneceu num momento.

Há uns meses, uma das minhas tias (tua filha) chamou-me para me dizer que eu não devia assumir tanta responsabilidade contigo, que não era o meu papel, que não era o meu “fardo”, que tu tens filhos e filhas (muitos), que chegará o momento onde eu terei de assumir esse papel com os meus próprios pais, mas que era muito cedo para ter de me preocupar com estas coisas. E eu percebo o seu ponto de vista, mas tu ficas tão contente quando eu estou por perto. Eu sou claramente a pessoa menos experiente a tratar de ti, e no entanto, comigo tu nunca te queixas, comigo é só sorrisos. Por isso talvez seja egoísmo da minha parte, talvez precise dessa validação, de saber que sou útil…

No outro dia, depois de te deitar, chamaste-me. Estavas a ter um momento consciente e querias agradecer-me. Agradeces-me com frequência, mas desta vez foi diferente. Disseste-me que querias agradecer-me enquanto te lembravas. Eu disse-te que estava tudo bem, que era pagamento pelas vezes que tinhas cuidado de mim quando eu era pequena. Tu respondeste “Não, eu lembro-me que tu eras boazinha, nunca me deste trabalho nenhum.” Apesar da demência tu continuas sempre a reconhecer-me, mas muitas vezes as conversas não fazem sentido, as décadas misturam-se na tua cabeça, mas naquele momento tu estavas consciente, sabias exactamente o que me estavas a dizer. Teve um peso diferente.

Há 13 anos, quando fui viver para fora do país pela primeira vez, de tudo o que estava prestes a acontecer, eu só tinha uma preocupação – e se te acontecesse alguma coisa e eu estivesse a um oceano de distância? Esse pensamento surpreendeu-me, claro que já gostava de ti, mas nessa altura não tínhamos esta presença constante na vida uma da outra. Nunca costumava pensar sobre esse tipo de coisas, a minha mente inocente não costumava ter esses pensamentos, mas depois de ter sido confrontada com a imprevisibilidade da morte 2 anos antes, esses pensamentos começaram a estar presentes.

Felizmente nada aconteceu na altura, nem nas outras vezes que andei pelo mundo. E estou muito contente por ter o privilégio de passar estes anos junto de ti. Costumava pensar que preferiria manter as memórias de alguém no ponto alto da sua vida, mas neste caso, quero mantê-las todas.

És icónica, muitos dirão legendária. Acho que é por isso que tantos não te visitam com mais frequência. Querem manter essa imagem de ti. Eu não vivo na ilusão. Conheço o teu lado negro, sei o quão mimada, teimosa e até cruel podes ser… Sei que ser teu filho/a não foi sempre fácil, como poderia ser quando havia outros 12… mas tu és a essência daquilo que somos. O ideal de família que tenho… não um legado imaculado, um casamento perfeito ou estabilidade financeira, mas uma casa onde há sempre lugar para mais um, onde abres a porta a quem precisa, onde a família é quem tu amas, independentemente de como se cruzaram no teu caminho… esse ideal que tenho, vem de ter crescido na tua aura.

As pessoas que admiram a nossa família geralmente não fazem ideia o quão perturbados, disfuncionais e duros somos… Mas conseguem ver que nos amamos, mesmo quando esse amor é duro, conseguem ver que tomamos conta uns dos outros, conseguem ver que por baixo dessa fachada dura estão um monte de corações moles. E é isso que tu és.

Somos tantos, e acredito que cada um de nós tem o seu papel neste clã, mas como a minha psicóloga me disse sabiamente, não há dúvida que esta família é liderada por mulheres… e tudo começa em ti.

Por isso hoje aqui estou, sentada na cama a ver-te dormir pelo intercomunicador (esquisito eu sei), a imaginar o quão “acordada” estarás amanhã.

 

P.S – São 4:33 da madrugada. Tinha acabado de fechar o computador depois de escrever isto quanto ouvi a tua voz. Primeiro pensei que estivesses a sonhar, mas depois percebi que estavas a chamar por mim. Fui ao teu quarto ver o que se passava e perguntei – “O que se passa? Precisas de alguma coisa?” – Tu estavas acordadíssima com um sorriso enorme e respondeste “Eu estou bem… Mas e tu, como estás?”