I am back to the place where, a year ago, I began this blog. I came to Brazil at the end of last year to recover and heal. My heart had been broken, twice over, in that past year, and I was in pieces. I had just gone through my first semester out of school, ever, and it had been traumatically difficult to adjust. I had not acted in months, I did not have a job, and I did not see any future for my acting career. My soul was famished. I was sick of New York, sick of winter, sick of myself, and sick of pain. I came home to my parent's house in Sao Paulo and did not know if I would return to New York.
On the day that I arrived, I started going to an acting workshop. Even though the class was nothing extraordinary, I was thrilled to be among actors, and I felt life moving through me again. I was at my parent's home, eating fresh food and being taken care of. My mind, cluttered with negativity and sadness, had the space to calm down.
Being at home in such a vulnerable state led to an overflow of memories and nostalgia, which in turn gave me an appreciation for what I've been through, what I've survived, and who I am now. In an effort to work through the jumble of past joys and traumas, I started this blog.
It seemed like a small thing to do, sharing some personal things in a public forum, but it provided me with an analytical narrative of my own life, which otherwise existed only in the pages of countless diaries. Sitting in my childhood room was a nest of inspiration and the blog posts seemed to happen involuntarily, almost effortlessly. I saw the time-line of my life, I wrote about it, and I started to heal.
Some people wrote to me to tell me they were reading my blog, and that they really appreciated it, which fueled me to keep it going. I made friends and reconnected with long lost friends because of the blog. I suddenly had pen-pals and a new connection to fellow bloggers. My world was growing.
Two months later, with a strengthened soul, body, and heart, I returned to New York. It greeted me with its brutal February winter and stubborn sameness. There was no acting career waiting for me when I walked into my apartment. The men who had hurt me still had the power to affect me. My surroundings were no different than I had left them, but I was changed.
Things were not suddenly easier, but I carried with me the invaluable realization that I was not easily defeated. This past year hasn't been easy either, but I have to acknowledge my achievements and growth. I acted in four plays. Although I hungered for more, those were all undeniably fulfilling experiences in their own way. One of them was my very own production, a first of its kind, and it was a big success. I discovered that in addition to acting, I also love directing and producing. I found a job where I got to write, and even though I was mostly miserable in it, I learned a lot about myself. My heart recovered, I started dating again, and I met someone really special. He has filled me with warmth, and I'm smiling again.
Here I am now, at the end of another year, and I am still recovering and healing. There are still reasons to doubt that dreams can come true and that love is always worth the risk. My body is still complaining, my heart hesitant, and my soul searching for its life force.
But that, I have started to accept, is life. Dreaming, wanting, hoping, falling, breaking, healing, standing, fighting, believing, doubting, knowing, searching, and, when I get chance, just being.
That's the muck that makes the masterpiece.
I look at this blog, a year later, and I see it for what it is:
This is my life. These are my stories, and I am lucky to have them.
Thank you to all who follow, and happy holidays, from a grateful Little Larissa.
