May 1st, 1994.
it was 13 years ago. it was Sunday. And on that morning something happened that would change my world. As well and the world of thousands of fellow Brazilians.
Our hero, Ayrton Senna died.
I can still re-live the moments of that tragic Sunday.
It was my first year living in Feira de Santana. I was at aunt Inaja's house. Getting ready for church with mom and my brother.
Like any other Sunday morning in which Senna had a race, i would get dressed in front of the TV.
And as I got dressed i saw the fatal crash.
I got upset. it hadn't been a good season for Senna so far. I remember announcing, "let's hope that Allan Proste crashes too."
But then a funny uncomfortable feeling began to spread within.
"Guys, why is there so much blood on the ground? Where are the doctors? Why is he not moving? Mom, he's not moving."
The doctors finally came; and then it was time to leave for church.
Well, I thought the doctors woudl take care of it, though I did think it was something serious by then, something that would probably ruin that year season.
Back at home for the whole afternoon we watched for newsflashes.
It was at around 5 pm that we heard a broken-hearted Globo TV reporter say "Ayrton Senna da Silva is dead - news I wish I never had to give - Ayrton Senna da Silva is dead."
And we cried.
That was it. The dream was over. Our hero, our myth, our idol was dead. If someone ever asks me for a landmark, this is it: "Ayrton Senna da Silva [the man who was proud of Brazil and made Brazil proud of him] is dead." And a whole way of organizing the world ended right there. My childhood ended right there. it was the beginning of a new chapter in my life. A chapter with a few less dreams, and few more thoughts that life was not so magic or eternal after all. Now there was also death - and death was real.
13 years ago today. Sunday. We will never forget.