I believe our personal history doesn’t start when we are born. It begins much sooner, with our parents, our parents’ parents and so on. Our family history define us, whether we like it or not. But I’m supposed to be brief, so here it goes.
My parents grew up in a small town that, according to their personal histories, seemed a lot like a Fellini movie to me. If you spend some time with my dad and let him digress, you’ll hear lots of amazing childhood stories. Over the years, after living in said town myself, I think of it as just another biased small town where everyone cares way too much about each other’s lives. It’s not all Fellini. There’s a bit of Charles Dickens here and there, a pinch of happy moments and lots of drama. All in all, it is at the end of the day incredibly boring, even though I had my happy moments there as a teenager.
I was born in a somewhat big town which used to be quite pleasant when I was little. People used to call it ‘the Brazilian California’. Nowadays it is still a somewhat big town, but not as pleasant. I personally like to call it Helland mostly because of the awful hot weather (way to go, global warming), but also because of its idiotic people. But then again, idiots are everywhere.
I was a happy creative child. I wrote a poetry book when I was 6 or 7. It was not about a rabbit, like JK Rowling’s, and to be honest I don’t remember at all what it was about, but I do remember the mention of a chair. I played a lot. I drew. I read so many books. My imagination knew no limits, except those of a child’s – which are always awesome. I was also quite sociable as a child.
As a teenager, my life was typically full of teenage drama. I was chubby, insecure, shy. I had my first kiss when I was 14, and my first boyfriend – if I can call him that – when I was 16. I was still creative, though. I wrote a lot of poetry in those days – mostly about how life sucked. Some were political. I used to dream of Che Guevara. I had good friends.
Adulthood proved to be a lot more challenging. My insecurities grew. I got depressed, started having anxiety attacks, lost my friends… Became a scary little animal whose room was my whole world. I questioned every bit of my life. I questioned myself and my purpose in the world. But why am I using past simple? I still do that. From a happy child with a promising future to an insecure fucked-up adult. Way to go, Al. The roads which led me to this path… Well, that’s for another chapter. For what it’s worth, I am still here.
I wasn’t even born or was too young to fully appreciate some of the biggest political changes in my country and around the world, such as our slow progress from a military government to a democracy, or the fall of the Berlin Wall. But I still remember fondly when Lula won his first election, even if his party was a huge let down afterwards. I remember some really awful moments in History, no matter how brief my personal history has been so far. Human beings never cease to amaze, for better or worse.
I had ideals. I read Marx, and Freud. I believed we were ready for socialism. Ha ha ha.
What keeps me going are those moments I believed I could be great and face the world and create my own world. Hopefully with this project I can embrace that little girl I used to be.
My goal for this new year that has just begun is to unlock my imagination and put it on paper – or computer. And fly as high as I can.