The minute I step off the plane, there's a feeling of relief paired with unease. It is instantly familiar and it is also no longer a place that holds my daily life, my routine, my habits, and my adult life. It has been nearly eight years since I left my home in Brazil, and I have made New York into my new home. New York has the lifestyle I like to live by, it has my career, my friends, my yoga practice, my dreams, and my ambition.
Brazil has my roots. I can stay away for a year or just a few months, I can forget what it's like to be Brazilian, I can even stop thinking, writing, and overall communicating in Portuguese if I so wish. But as soon as I land, it sucks me in, grasping me by my feet and grounding me.
This is where you began. I can change my life as many times as I want to and I can choose who I want to be, but I can not change where it all started. And it all started right here.
I had not intended to fly alone. It is not customary for me to come home more than once a year anymore.
When I bought my ticket, this was a trip planned for two. It was a meet-my-whole-family-and-see-where-I-come-from ordeal. It was a get-away-from-New-York-winter-together thing. It was that much-awaited-first-extended-vacation-with-you event. It was a lot of things that involved
someone else.
The relationship ended, though, as you may have gathered from previous posts. And so this trip so full of
togetherness with someone I was no longer with loomed before me. Changing the ticket would have been a little expensive, but not impossible. Did I want to go on this trip alone now? It is home, after all. That means: mom, dad, all my family, my old room, my bed, a really good shower, mom, a pool, warm weather, amazing food, coffee, mom, nothing to think about, beach time, cheap and perfect manicures, a car, coconut water, and did I mention mom? But it also meant there was a possibility I would do nothing but think of him and what we'd be doing together if he were with me. That could be very depressing.
As the days went on though, New York started to become unbearable. The reminders were everywhere.
I could feel his presence in the things we used to do together, and, perhaps more saddening, I could feel his absence. To top it off, the weather kind of sucked. One warm-spring-like day was followed by freezing temperatures, which set the whole city off into a spiral of disappointment. I was tired of wearing my gloves, hat, scarves, layers, and boots. I wanted to wear a dress and flip flops. I wanted-
needed- to get away. I kept my ticket as it was.
Yesterday afternoon, I got in a cab to the airport. The cab driver asked me where I was going.
"Home. To my mom." He smiled. The hours at the airports and in the airplanes were interminable. It was a long, draining trip. I sat next to a very nice old man for 9 hours, though, who was very chatty. Under normal circumstances, I would have hated that. But when I got off the plane, I realized I hadn't spent my whole plane ride sulking and moping, and I was grateful to have had that nice man distracting me with his stories.
I've been home for all of twelve hours now. I am jet-lagged, pmsing, tired, and full of thoughts. But I had an amazing cup of coffee today, and coconut water, and steak, and fruits. I took a long shower in my pink bathroom that, after living in new york spaces for years, feels like the largest, most luxurious bathroom ever. I can't believe I showered in this bathroom every day for most of my life and took it completely for granted. After my shower, when my bathroom was all foggy, I was reminded of how I used to write the names of the boys I had crushes on on my fogged mirror as a teenager. And how I curled up, so many times, on the pink tiled floor and cried. These memories warmed my heart.
I have survived so many things. I can survive this. Yes, I have thought of him. Of course I have. I've thought about how I'd show him my house, how I'd explain its rooms and their particular memories, how I'd let him see pictures of me in high-school when I was awkward and not-so-pretty, how I'd show him my neighborhood, how I'd introduce him to all the people who have been in my life since the beginning. I'm hit with pangs of regret and guilt and sadness which, though temporary, are very painful. I tell myself,
It's okay. I can have these thoughts. I have to mourn what I've lost, and what I'll miss, in order to move past it.
It isn't easy, but I had to come here. I've lost touch with a lot of parts of myself- parts I like, parts I don't like, parts I repress, parts I celebrate- and I need to attend to myself, bit by bit. I don't want to ignore myself or my feelings anymore. I've learned that can have a very high cost, and I'm not willing to pay for it again. A little while ago, I wandered into my mom's room and, mid-conversation about a totally unrelated topic, I burst into tears. My mom didn't ask any questions or give me any cheering talks. She hugged me, the way only a mother can, and I knew that this was why I had to come here.
I needed to remember that there are people in my life who believe in the best of me and love me, for better or for worse, unconditionally. Whatever wrongs I have done, I am always worthy of forgiveness and love in their eyes, even if I think otherwise. This is a place where I am safe to be Larissa; good, bad, nice, mean, pretty, ugly, mature, childish, happy, sad, accomplished, failed, and everything-in-between Larissa. This is a special place. This is my home.
