I am trying to push aside, almost ignore, the presence of feeling like a goddamn lucky European girl who endlessly whines when writing. Is it even my story to tell everything I am seeing? Honestly, I don’t know.
Nonetheless, it might be good to pick up where I left off. I wrote (São Paulo is) …also the place where the thoughts I had been having were given space to be spoken out loud. A place where I felt like there was room for real talk, no nonsense.” I don’t know what impression São Paulo would have left on me, did I not have had the conversations I had. Conversations which made my heart fucking skip a beat. Conversations where it was like ‘Yeah! Fuck yeah! These conversations challenge my mind, set my heart on fire, make me feel the passion.’ Talking politics, talking about Brazil, talking about what is hardly talked about in my circle of people. I felt like a dying fish on shore who was having buckets of water thrown at her, fiercely. Conversations which directly get to the core of things. It felt so needed, it was so extremely needed. They were conversations I will remember forever, conversations I will carry with me forever.
When we left São Paulo, the favelas made me cry. This is fucking reality I thought. The reality being, there are people really living like this. Rich and poor, rich and poor. It is a constant reminder here. Houses on top of houses on top of houses.
In São Paulo we went to an exhibition where paintings of Portinari were shown. Never before was I able to draw so much strength out of paintings. Oh, how painting can be such a tool.
During our bus ride towards Guaratingueta I told myself I need to finish watching ‘Ó paí, ó’ and ‘Cidade de Deus’. Two movies I wasn’t able to finish watching due to my jet-lag. Plus I want to find good Samba music and learn the basic steps ánd eat endless amounts of açai ‘ice cream’ and tapioca before leaving Brazil. We headed for our first Workaway while my mind was spinning and my heart on fire.
Oh, first encounters, you bittersweet thing.