Those eyes

by Ellen Barreiros (Brazil)

I didn't expect to find Belarus

“(…) They are people without culture, see? Nobody here has an education. ” Misha, my boyfriend and son from this land, snarls against the massive looks of the places amused by my exotic tropical phenotype. I focus my attention on the elements that make up the Stalinist architecture of the victory square in Minsk and on the specificities of the onomatopoeia produced by the Russian language, as an “hi” instead of an “ouch”. In fact, occupying spaces of little miscegenation and cultural diversity and simultaneously appearing as an ethnic minority is generally an uncomfortable process that requires great psychosocial ingenuity. Eastern Europe is the perfect setting for understanding this culture shock mechanic. We then proceeded to a nearby supermarket to buy water and thus relieve the thirst for a first day of walking through the capital of Belarus. The clerk looked me in the head with the typical post-Soviet bad mood. I roll my eyes mentally, returning all the contempt he possibly feels for my foreign presence. Finally, we paid the bill and headed for the exit door, but we didn't, luckily, leave before hearing him utter in English with a Russian accent: “Welcome to Belarus” To assign meaning to one's own human experiences is to rely on a science governed by stunted laws at its core. Never again will my sketch of the world distort the true dimensions, colors and nuances that the next glances can lead me to feel.