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Today nostalgia came yelling... a painful scream like those ones coming from a child who did not get his Christmas present. In the midst of my year-end cleaning frenzy, a photo laid at the bottom of a drawer made me stop everything and look for the rest. I looked for the reminiscence of a small village with barely one thousand inhabitants that flipped the logic of my whole life and reduced the reality I knew then to dust. "It will work," that was the guiding principle of the brave fishermen who tamed the small, drunken raft in open sea, often spending weeks in search of the meatiest treasure: Camurupim fish, their king of the sea, that weighs 80 kilos and approaches that region just in one season of the year. I missed waking up every day and run to my Cearense mother D. Lidia's kitchen seeking for breakfast: a two-egg sandwich, guava juice with five table spoons of sugar in a 200-ml glass... and so on... God bless my arteries... I miss feeling the most incredible sandy breeze exfoliating my soul, tasting the freshness of the sweetest coconut water in the world, falling in love with the kids eating lobster like it was mango, walking on the beach under the full moon accompanied by herds of cows, hearing the most engaging gossips from town by the river... I miss watching the Auntie Celia's dexterous hand running disorderly over the bilro - a rare weaving technique - and listening to the symphony of the little coconuts bumping against each other amid the absurd silence of the Inside Lake, and watching the birth of her golden lace, twenty days later. I miss watching the sunset while laying on a hammock with Madalena, chatting about the future, about the present, inert in time, about the real problems a paradise. I miss crossing the dunes, for hours, just to harvest manioc for the stew. I miss sucking the cashew pulp from the fruit, by its tree; taking the icy-cold shower after beach time; tutoring a certain smart kid every Sunday; looking at the night sky and noticing that there are more white dots than there are black spaces... But what I miss the most, is, for sure, to hear Toinha laugh the loudest heartfelt laughter as she takes out the warm tapioca from the oven to feed us, as we wrap up the day beneath her olive trees. Thinking about Guajiru makes me feel human, it lights me up, it hurts me. I want to go home!