To remember my childhood does not mean just spreading up loose words on blank pages or simply narrating past events and facts. It means stirring up a series of dreams, feelings, emotions, sensations of fear and insecurities… To remember my past is remember playing with my brothers and friends, places, smells, flavors and music of such importance that were recorded in my memory and built what I am today.

I distinctly remember the smells of the foods my mother prepared; garlic in hot oil, the smell of flowers in the yard, people, the morning of Congonhas do Campo city (Minas Gerais), Gurupi city (Goiás State), Porangatu city (Tocantins State) – I loved the smell that came from the morning mist filled the narrow streets of Congonhas city! Smell of simple and happy people! Even today, when I feel those smells, the time comes back in my memory as a big movie screen.

Discontents 

My childhood was very poor, with few new clothes and no “manufactured” toys — except for the carts soapbox car and scooters makeshift by us. Instead, we had the space, my brothers and I played football (soccer) and had so many friends. I also remember my first week at school, which was a lot of crying and drama. I remember spotting my brother who took me to school every day, disappearing into the horizon, and that feeling of abandonment!

The anguish of a child

The suffering that the quarrels of my parents brought me are still spiked into my soul, the constant misunderstanding, intemperate and lack of respect for each other. I thought to myself: ‘how can anyone live like that? After harsh words, and often physical aggression, sleep in the same bed and make love?’

My father was a hard-working man, but so ignorant by the way life had imposed on him terrible experiences, I like to say: he had a primitive spirit. I often think some people are born with a predisposition to be violent and aggressive, and that they were born to be executioners, even with those who love them deeply. Over time I realized that we cannot change people, we just have to love them and accept them as they are and let them go. My parents just did what they knew and acted within the concepts themselves, what they believed to be right. Despite all the violence and abuse, they managed to give me the entire moral and ethical basis I have today.

When I close my eyes, I can hear my father’s voice, telling his tales and stories from when he was young. At some moments of good mood, it was so rare, he could be a sweet person, but in others he was a demon for no reason. He tried to kill all my oldest brothers and sisters. My childhood was like a hell. Sometimes I wanted to die and I thought to myself: ‘I will never want to get married and have a life like my mother has…’

What I want to keep with tenderness in my heart are those delicious memories of childtime, trees and gardens, fruits, Dancing and doing street theater… I remember Monteiro Lobato, his characters that compose the universe of Brazilian culture. I found refuge in literature, from Shakespeare, William Blake, Virginia Wolf, Fernando Pessoa, Alda Merini, Pablo Neruda, Walt Whitman, and others to African authors. And I had my teachers’ support all the time, my parents never wanted me to study, they never checked on my grades. My mother never valued my art, my drawings, etc. When I went to college I had to leave my parents’ house.

In the seventies, there were few people who bought ready-made clothes in stores. At least, it did not happen in my home. And we neither had money for it. At that time, there were few women who worked in companies, or something like that, besides my father would never allow my mother to work outside. I do not remember meeting any mother who had a job. So, almost any garment was sewn by families at home or by dressmakers. For me and my brothers having new clothes were moments of pure happiness, and that happened only once a year, around Christmas time. On weekend, we all went to the downtown, ‘Casas Pernambucanas’ (a traditional store in Brazil) that sold fabrics. There, my mother chose the fabric for shirts, trousers. And for me and my brothers, the fabrics were always the same, although as a girl I dressed like them, including shoes and haircut. My mother was an excellent seamstress; she sewed dresses for parties, sophisticated things or simple pajamas, of course, hidden from my father.

The memories that feed me

Memories kindle inside me like fragments of dreams and desires. They feed me so that I become better than I am, than I was one day. I do believe that all experiences are the sum of what makes us better and especially that the worst poverty is poverty of the soul, the deconstruction of the individual as a person. And from my horrible childhood experience I promised to myself I would never have disharmony in my home, I would fight for peace and love, no matter wherever I go.

We are all made of fragmented stories that follow us throughout life, from an analytical thinking and knowledge we mould and regroup them we become aware of our value as human beings. Living fearless and being happy for no apparent reason may be the key to find happiness and live in peace… ♥