The Journey/The Arrival

Dear Blog,

"He came by car, then by plane." A person desiring to begin an account of my journey from Brookings to Brazil could easily enough start with that phrase; and since I share key traits with such a person that compel me to follow suit, I have elected to do so. But before that account begins in earnest, it would perhaps better facilitate the telling of the tale to divulge some of the background tht precedes my trek. The relevant detail of divulgence is that this stay in Brazil represents in my subconscious life a seminal crossing to independence, and one of my highest goals to achieve as an adult is a strong spirituality. Now as I was wheeling my way across Minnesota (partly in a tow truck, it might be noted, due to our van's transmission's inability to take the pain of bearing me off to some foreign land), I felt confident in attaining that goal, but as I left my parents standing in line to board their flight to Rome, I felt the rush of independence come upon my, along with a certain duress applied by the responsibilities of my circumstances. I felt a dull heavy stress slowly laying over me, pushing away calm and playfulness and replacing them with intense potential energy--a readiness to handle difficulies that most seek and admire, but I fear and shun. I tried reading my book on Kabbalism to regain the sense of spirituality I was so terrified of losing, but I could get no lasting solace.

It came time to board the plane and I felt a new worry--ever since I experienced a panic attack on a plane last summer, I grow nercous when preparing to fly and feel I must steele my nerves thoroughly. This amounted to a rather unhappy state in teh minutes before takeoff. But as the engines grew loud and the plane's momentum was birthed, I heard some voice of a past self, a self experiencing flight for the first time, begin a chant: faster, faster, faster. And I felt a rush of thrill and hedonism and release as the plane lifted off. It was quite a catharsis and I felt whole again. Throughout the rest of the flight, the plane acted as a sort of incubation chamber for a new self that was merging two soft and vulnerable selves into one. I think the plane was a very significant setting for this, because, having flown since a very young age, I have many pastoral memories from planes, but they are also paradoxically, a cultural symbol of adulthood. But whatever the cause, I disembarked into Houston having successfully comprimised independence and spirituality. But that comprimise would soon appear inconsequential.

My second flight (from Houston to Sao Paulo) was marked mostly by 1) the laborious filling out of customs and health forms, and 2) the moral conflict of whether I should stay up and watch the episodes of House that were so very tantalizing at this time or to prepare for what was sure to be a tasking first day by getting a good 7 hours of sleep. And as I sit here nodding off at 12:30 with a grand total of 4.5 hours of sleep, I am of the contented conviction that that guilty pleasure was as necessary as it was indulgent. But returning to the cut of the jib, as I was getting on the flight, I was, for the first time, surrounded by Brazilian people, and my individual mountain-climbing was immediately dwarfed by this summit which had so suddenly and sneakily presented itself. As I got off the flight, mind entirely numbed by sleep-deprivation and food from hell, I realized that I must prepare myself to spend a considerable amount of time for the next few weeks practicing my role of the village mute.

But as the day progressed, and how slowly it seemed to do so, my family, who are wonderful beyond description by the way (beyond description, that is, to a pseudo-inebriated person such as me, but wonderful despite), proved to be a very inclusive force, and I greatly relished those delightfully awkward moments when, following a minute or so of conversation and glances in my direction and giggles (depending on the converser), Leonardo, my brother and English-speaker extroaordinaire, would say something beginning with "Um, they wondering..." At a birthday party we attended, I would even often find myself the center of attention (I was even given the first piece of cake, which was apparently most significant because everyone cheered and clapped as I received it), and my family would prove to be some the the warmest people I've met. The language barrier doesn't keep me from enjoying their company; it actually makes them more interesting when they're speaking all these word-type things that I can only sit back and absorb. I think if I can muster the energy to pay attention, I will be able to figure out this language deal before long. But I'm afraid I won't be able to do even that if I don't end this... post... of sorts, before long, so with that I must bid you all a happy clicking as you quit your browser/tab and go back to the productivity you wrongfully abandoned for this. Boa noite, tchau!