I came back, but stayed there

by Victor Lages (Brazil)

A leap into the unknown Brazil

This story is not just one, but the result of several stories. Hundreds of exchange adventures could be written here that would make it possible to assemble an entire travel book or try to move with fears, hope and learnings lived in Coimbra-Portugal, but what would it be worth? For what really changes, in the six months away from family and friends, is to be back to the unknown. When someone leaves, they definitely make their leap into the unexpected and their mind prepares to expect everything and nothing at the same time. When that person returns home, he realizes that everything is the same, he is the only one who has changed. The arms have been in unknown hugs, the tears have fallen in places that the eyes never imagined to shine and he learns that missing someone is like watching a grass grow, without being cut completely. When I returned to my starting point, I realized that there was no price for the absent maternal embrace or the lack of a fatherly affection when I felt alone, forced to be strong and independent when I was looked at differently because I did not belong there. When I returned to my house full of affection, I remembered that I almost gave up on the plane to leave and that I cried a lot when I arrived in the city where I would live for fear of what I would experience. I will never forget that I went several times to the two margins of the Mondego River to watch the movement of the waters take my tears, and that, in all these times, I promised to remind myself of how much bigger than a country I was, alone but sovereign to my destiny. I remembered the happiness of the first beer at the Aqui Base Tango Bar with those young people who would become my best friends in the city, the first photo taken at a hot day picnic in Ruins Park, the silly and invigorating dance at the top of Penedo da Saudade and also the first hangover after a party with people whose accent was totally incomprehensible to me. I, singular, saw myself as plural. And, when I was back, I reconstructed the image of the day of return: those who received me asked if the trip had been good and a million good adjectives swirled like a whirlwind in my mind, without knowing the order that they should come out of my mouth; showing pictures of the friends who accompanied me on the journey and those people had no meaning to anyone who saw them; that the River, the Park and the Bar were merely beautiful landscapes out of context. I was back, knowing that not quite. My body was at home, but I left eternal parts of my soul behind. It seems like something mystical, but now my heart was divided and left in an infinity of places I had visited. Stored under a bench in Republic’s Plaza, on the chairs of the Gil Vicente Theatre, on the steps in front of the Church of Santiago and, of course, on both Mondego’s margins. I don't want to pick up those pieces and paste them back with super glue. I prefer to continue dividing my heart and spreading it in the wind with every step I take. Currently, I live in another city, in a third house for over a year. And, being completely honest, I'm terrified of going back to my hometown, because to return is to cross the same door that leads to the unknown, but in the opposite direction. It’s easy to prepare to leave, but no one talks about the pain inside the love of the return.