great-britain trip photo-log part 3: Liverpool and the Lake District

Day 5 - August 3, 2011, Wednesday

It's been really hard to understand people here. Irish people have an accent that is really hard to understand. Hoase for house, dewn for down and other words I could not identify.

Well, it's midnight and we are spending the night at this Days Inn at a rest spot. They have internet here, but it's so late that it's hard to do anything on it at all with a clear mind. I am lucky if I am able to utter intelligible words after midnight.

Ok, by the time we are done with our vacation, I will want to stay away from rotaries, narrow streets, and speed cameras. They have been driving me crazy.

Dean says he does not mind the rotaries so much. Well, if you think about it, it's not really a terrible thing. But I do think they overuse it here. Gee, these people do not know what an intersection is, do they?

oh, another thing that's wierd! There was absolutely nothing telling us that we had entered N. Ireland or Ireland. And while they stamped our passport on the way in to Ireland, they did not do it on the way back into England. I don't get it!

Oh, any way! Let's get to the news of the day:

Today we spent the day in Liverpool. We drove to George Harrison, Paul McCartney and John Lennon's childhood homes. Then we walked to St. Peter's Church, where Paul and John first met. I think John was 15, or Paul was...

We walked to Strawberry Fields and drove through Penny Lane. We wanted to see Ringo's childhood home, or the schools they went to bc it was getting late and I wanted to make it to the Cavern Club.

Before The Cavern though we visited the Beatles Story Museum and took the tour. I did it more for Dean than for me, since I pretty much know everything about the Beatles history. When we were done, just outside the Museum we found those Range Rovers playing in the water.


I enjoyed being in Liverpool, being able to imagine what it was like for Paul, John, George and Ringo to grow up there, walking in those very same streets we were.

I am not the kind of person that thinks it's this magical thing to step on the same place SO-AND-SO stepped. I see nothing special about touching the same objects SO-AND-SO touched. It's not magical or special. If I cared about that I would be collecting objects touched by Paul McCartney and be excited just because I was in the same building he was when I tried to get into SNL. But no, I don't care about that. I might tell you that if I shake hands with Paul, I will never wash my hands again, but you bet I am joking.

But I love history and I love thinking about how history happened just because it happened. I love being in places that are historical. I love imagining that so many years ago this Paul I really like was a little boy in those same streets and lived his life there not having a clue that we would care so much about him someday. There is something magical about being in a place of historical value and trying to feel the weight of that history, trying to imagine those lives that once were there.

Paul really walked along Penny Lane. That street was so influential in his life he wrote a song about it. John really used to go to Strawberry Field as a little boy, and he recalled it so well that he wrote a song about it. About 55 years ago those two boys met in that St.Peter's Church backyard and they had no idea how important that meeting was.

To me it was magical being there, in the same places where history happened. Unfortunately I had to keep reminding myself of what was really happening, because I could not grasp it just yet. Maybe when I get home I will. Maybe I will kick myself for not having understood what this meant today.

After the Beatles Story (where I bought a Beatles T and a lunch pale, while Dean used the internet at Starbucks), we headed to Cavern Club and accidentally found The Grapes, the club where the young Beatles would hide from their fans and have a drink (since the Cavern was not allowed to sell alcohol). I took a picture of a picture that was taken in a corner there, but I could not sit in the corner myself, because this fat old man was sitting there taking his sweet time. I was so mad!!!!!

At the Cavern I found out that Paul McCartney went there a few years ago and the place held 300 lucky fans. And I also found a shirt singed by.... PELÉ!!!!

The street Cavern and Grapes are on is called Matthew Street. Everything on Matthew Street breathes Beatles. They really market it.
We had lunch/dinner at a pub in that street, called the Irish Pub and then headed to the Lake District.


Dean really wanted to see small cities in the Lake District, because some of the cities there were listed as the top ten most charming cities in England. So we picked one that was in the heart of the Lake District and GPS'ed it. The city name was Keswick. Unfortunatelly it was getting dark already, but there was enough light to enjoy some of the beauty of that quaint little place. The Lake District is a great place to spend a holiday if you live in England. Just rent a house there or go camping.

I think my grandma would love it there. The houses are made of some sort of greyish stone and they have flowers hanging form windows. The whole place just looks elegantly old-fashioned. A must-do for anyone who loves charming places. I can't quite figure out what to do during the day though. Do you go swimming?

Today we drank Red Bull in order to make it to the motel. We've been on Red Bull since Ireland, in order to be able to arrive places in one piece.

Oh, this morning we had an issue with the car rental.
See, when we left Liverpool to go to Ireland, the rental place was closed and so we just left the keys in the car, right?
They thought we simply had not returned the keys. Well, when we said what we did, the guy was horrified at us. Would you do that if it were your car? As a matter of fact I do that all the time when I leave my car at the mechanic, replied my husband.
Anyway, so they give us again, what we did not ask for - a Corsa. But we ordered a micro! Oh, but we are all out of micros, sorry!

Can I tell you that the experience at the Hertz rental place in Ireland was one bugillion times better than both Alamo experiences so far? I am so pissed at Alamo, it's not even funny! And he was lecturing us on where to leave the keys, when they gave us no instruction as to what to do with them!!!!! And he looked at us and said that a compact car and a micro car get the same mileage bc it's got the same engine!!! Well, congratulations on your amazing thinking! It's a larger car, so the engine has to work harder, but it does not matter, does it!

At Hertz, in Ireland, we were helped by a trainee who told us every little thing we could possibly need to know including what to do about tolls and how to return the car!!!!!

Oh, the fact that we paid for a micro and got a compact was not the only problem! Nor the terrible knowledge of the teller about mileage, or the fact that he lectured us.

The freaking Corsa's gear box is busted. Tomorrow morning we are driving right into Edinburgh's airport, and, before we go anywhere, we are getting a new car from Alamo.

my b-day in Brazil

The Fam








The BLV - BFFs since 1994











church gang








Me and my baby brother











Me and my nana

BLV singing Cheirinho de Nordeste

great-britain trip photo-log part 2: Ireland, small cars and graves

Day 3 - August 1, 2011, Monday

Today I took a wrong decision, I mean, a couple of wrong decisions that cost us precious time. First of all, I decided we should go find stuff on Dean's ancestors in the afternoon. However, instead of checking the schedule properly yesterday and let the lady know we needed breakfast by 7, I told her 8. Well, in order to fit everything in, we had to leave by 7:30.

We left by 9 and we took the scenic route as the guy who sold us Turkish Delight at St. George's Market had advised. We went through pretty old villages and saw beautiful views of the ocean as we reached the town he had mentioned we should choose as a spot to start our scenic route.

That added an extra hour and half to our trip. A pleasant hour and half, but one I was not counting on in order to fit everything in and be back to Cookstown before city hall was closed.

We went to the Carrick-a-rede Rope Bridge, which is a cool rope bridge that was used by fisherman to get to this other island. We went to the Giant's Causeway soon after that, just a short drive from there.


On the way to the Causeway, Dean found this very cute village lost at the bottom of a hill. We had to go check it out. So we figured out how to get there and took some pictures.Here is Dean on he driveway that leads to it:









The Giant's Causeway is another cool place. A wonder of nature! It's a bunch of stone pillars in the shape of hexagons.

We can climb on them, since many of them make natural stairs. The legend says it was a bridge made by giants that led all the way to Mull of Kyntire. Dean is pointing to Mull of Kintyre in this pic.









After pics and games we had at this cutsie restaurant they had.

It was already 4 pm and we knew we would not be able to make it to the city hall. We would also have to skip the walled city of Londonderry. I wanted to go there so bad. But there was still hope that we could make it to the church graveyards.

That's when I took my second wrong decision - I punched in the GPS Presbyterian Curches near Cookstown. Well, the stupid GPS took us to Belfast!!!! A whole our out of our way!!!!

Now we are not making to Londonderry, cityhall or any freaking place at all for that matter.
ok, let's stick back to the plan and go to Corkill Rd. We assumed that was the Corkill his family lived back in the 1900s.

We got there and it was already 8 pm. On the way there we saw a pub called McCartney's. We decided we would get back there to eat. However, when we got to Corkill Rd and asked a boy that was outside his house he told us to go talk to a couple at the end of the street. We did. They invited us in and talked and talked and did not want us to leave.
It was finally close to 10pm when we were able to work our way out the door. Oh, don't take me wrong! it was a lovely time! And I feel like I have been getting better at understanding their accents. However, we wanted to eat. And I wanted to eat at McCartney's.
We looked for McCartney's till 11pm and decided it was time to give up since there would be no pub open at that time anymore. We ended up having dinner downtown Cookstown, at a McDonald's where we were finally able to use the internet and I called home or the first time!

One thing that has been pretty impressive here is the freakishly huge amount of rotaries. Here they are not called rotaries, they are called roundabouts. Whatever they are called, they are everywhere! They don't have intersections here, they have roundabouts!!!

Another thing they have a lot of here are sheep! Sheep are everywhere! Everyone in this country might own sheep. I hope we find some sheep crossing the road!

Dean is enjoying driving on the roads. They are just like we saw on Rick Steves - very narrow and we have to constantly make way for cars coming the other way. It hasn't been real bad, but it's been a little pain in the back.
Tomorrow we are hitting some church graveyards.

Day 4 - August 1, 2011, Tuesday

We traveled back to Liverpool today at 10 pm. This morning we went over to some church graveyards near Cookstown. We talked to people who told us the best places to go and we were impressed!
These guys that were just selling fruits next to a parking lot, when we told them the name of the family we were looking for, they said, don't go to the church grave yard up this street, go to the graveyard of New Church. And as we tried to imagine how many hundreds of years old the New Church was likely to be, we also asked, Why not the church up the street? It's a Roman Catholic church! From then we proceeded to try to imagine how on Earth did they know that!!!!

We hit 1 presbyterian and one church of Ireland churches. We took pictures of the graves that carried the last name Watt. I cried like a baby every time I saw a grave of a baby. It just Think babies and gravestones should never occupy the same space. SOmething has gone terribly wrong. Young people, they should live to be old folks.

Seeing grave stones is a very humbly experience. There it is! The end of us all! Some gravestones were hard to read. Time and nature have taken their tolls on the man-made inscription that some day meant so much to someone, but now it lays there, almost completely gone, on a piece of stone that marks the spot of the final rest of someone that no one remembers anymore. No one cares. Some one who lived on this Earth of God, just like me and you. Someone who was a baby, a child, a young teenager, and an adult. Some who lived and loved and dreamed. Like you and me. Some one no one knows anymore. Like you and me will be someday.

That's it, my friends. That's the end. Fifty, a hundred years after you die, unless you were ubber famous like shakespeare, who will know who you were? Who will visit your grave and lay flowers and make sure the inscription that contains those two important dates of birth and death, and the name by which you are now called doesn't get erased by time? And that grass does not grow all around and make your gravestone almost unnoticed? Who will even care?

Well at least in Brazil the cemeteries get taken care of and gravestones don't get eaten up by grass. But who visits the dead of the dead? Who will visit my great-grandma's grave when my brother and I are gone? Who will know who she is?

Now in Brazil we don't usually bury people in graveyards. We bury them in cemeteries. It's a very weird concept for me to think of churches as a place where normal people get buried.

We went over to belfast and saw the place where the Titanic was built, Harland and Wolff Shipyard. And there, another humbling experience - the size of the thing. I think it's called a dock - the actual place the ship was kept - is ridiculously long and deep. The Titanic was a monster!!!! I shot a video of it and the card ran out before I could finish it. The video is about 40 seconds long. I was shooting is as I went alongside the length of it. I was not even halfway through with it when the video stopped.

We bought a couple of magnets and key chains there in order to get free parking. Great bargain, we figured.

We then headed to Dublin, back to our final Irish destination. On the way back I tried to take pictures of the loyalists and the republicans neighborhoods. On the way up we noticed how the flags changed as we entered N.Ireland. But on the way back we did not find them anymore, so I could not get pictures of the change. On the way up it did not occur to me that pics of those things would be interesting.

But even in N.Ireland you can find places that use the tri-color flag. Those people are called republicans. The ones that use the unionist flag are a called loyalists.
here is an example of a loyalist neighborhood.
At first Dean thought maybe people here were really patriotic like in America, bc they display the flags in their yards and stuff, but we came to a conclusion that this displaying of flags is more a political statement than a display of patriotism.



Dublin on a Tuesday is a much different experience than on a Sunday. There is traffic and paid parking. We went to St.Michan's church to see the mummies of St. Michan's. It was a paid tour, but worth every penny. Our guide was fantastic, he even knew I could only be Corinthians or Palmeiras when I told him I was from Brazil. He was a Beatles fan who claims the Beatles were actually Irish. The mummies were amazingly well kept. We got to shake hands with one of them and see some other graves in the crypt. Some of them were lit, because they were officially inactive. Some were in the dark bc they still might be used by the families that own them, even though they have not be used for over 100 years, they are technically still active and can be used by the families at anytime they wish to do so. So we can't get in or keep them lit, as it is illegal to do so.

We tried to make it to the Book of Kells but we were 20 minutes too late. Finally time to eat though. at 5:30 pm, lolol!!!! We went to the Brazen head, The oldest pub in Ireland, dating from 1198...I finally got to try Guinness. Did not like it!!!! But I tried it!




We brought back from Ireland the phone number of a Watt to give to Dean's aunt who is doing to the family line research.

Back to Liverpool and to our Holiday Inn for a nice reasonable night of sleep. Tomorrow, it's the Beatles Trail.

great-britain trip photo-log

I wonder how anyone can write a travel log on a daily basis.
I can't, I most absolutely can't. Why not? Well, our days usually start at 7 am or earlier, and go well into 10 pm. So this is being written in chunks. I will try to be as faithful as possible and I might come back to ass stuff I missed.

Day 0 - July 29, 2011, Friday

My greatest fear for the past couple of weeks came true. The itinerary is not ready on Friday morning.
We were supposed to leave at 2 pm and I was frantically printing everything I had ready, packing last minute stuff, and trying to not be a bitch to my husband.
He left to go get the UK money we had ordered from the bank and did not realize the car needed gas and air.
So we left late, as usual, and we still had to go get gas and pump air in the tires.
At the train station, the booth lady at the parking lot was begging to be strangulated by an enraged me. Why? Ok, check this out: The booth lady at the parking lot can't freaking count!!!! We told her the days we'd be picking up the car and she said she had no idea how to figure out how long that was!!!!
Well, I had to do it! And, if you know me, you know much I love doing Math under pressure. My mood started to boil. I figured 16 days. 16 x 6.75 ... ... DECIMALS??? Truck!!! (this is my new swear word. I ran all the way inside the station to get cash out of the ATM machine, which cost us 5 bucks. When I came back, the freak of nature suddenly had learned how to multiply and all of a sudden we were a few cents short, because of an extra fee. Then she started complaining that we were 0.75 short, even though Dean explained to her that we were short .75. So I went back into the station get more money, which cost us an extra 5 bucks, just to come back and find out that the lady had decided to waive the .75.
Yes! Thank you for giving me the heads up before I left to get the .75 you were freaking out about!
Our flight left two hours late. That was good news and bad news, since we were about one hour late but our first day in England was jam packed and it had to start at 7:30 am!

Day 1 - July 30, 2011, Saturday. Sherwood Forest and York

The first day of the trip was a forecast on the tone of the whole thing - late for everything, missing stuff planed so carefully, but awestruck by everything we did see.

I had taken sleeping pills the night before, and I'd be lying if I told you I remember the plane taking off.


We got to Heathrow 2 hrs late. Enough trouble? No! At the car rental place we waited 45 minutes in line to get a car that had been paid for about a month ago!!! They did not have the car we had requested. They gave us an automatic 2 categories larger.

Our GPS however, smart little guy, re-routed us when we hit a nasty traffic in the motorway. We were pretty impressed.
Our first stop was the city of Nottingham. Since we were going to Sherwood,

we figured going through Nottingham made sense. We finally made it to Sherwood, aone hour after we should have left. It is a nice park. We saw the great Oak, the tree that is said to be Robin and his band's hideaway, but the great Oak was but a sapling during Robin's time. If there ever was a Robin.We learned that is is very likely that there has never been a Robin Hood, and that there might have been many different people nicknamed Robin Hood. Rob was a very common name at the time, and many outlaws used the forest as a hiding place. Which ever the case might be, by the 13th century there were already many legends about Robin Hood and we really will never know the truth.

Man, I want a time machine!

However standing there, a few meters away from that ancient tree, was a humbling experience. I could not help but think that she has been there for all those years, and maybe will be there long after we've gone.

We headed to York when we should have been arriving there, so about 2 hours late. York has about 1900 hundred years of history. We got there at 6, when we had planned to be there at 4. The York Minster Cathedral we had wanted to visit was already closed. We took pictures of the outside and walked along streets that are older than the ages of both our countries combined.

The York Minster saw the proclamation Constantine Roman Emperor. We ate fish and chips in a place called Hole in The Wall and got free drinks with a coupon I got online from Marston's Inn.

It was hard to leave, since we met a group of fun people that told us some interesting stuff about York and England. The great-great-grand father of one of them was part of the team that fixed up the city walls, and because of the that he was grated an honor title that was passed down to the descendants. We also met a girl who gets her hairs done with the same guy who does Princess Kate!!!!

We don't have history that dates that far back in one same place. We don't have honor titles given to us by our great great great grand fathers. Dean is lucky enough to know the name of one of them. I don't even have that to go by.

We wanted to walk on the city walls, but it was getting late. The pain of leaving is great but it was time to go. Liverpool and a 3 hour drive was ahead of us. We had to make it there, drop off the car and pack our hand luggage. We had to be at the John Lennon airport at 5 the next day to get to Ireland - our second country. And in Northern Ireland we would go visit a completely walled city. So we could handle leaving that one alone.

Good-bye York. Good-bye Sherwood. Maybe we will see you again someday.... maybe ... someday...

Dean, my wonderful husband dove right into the driving on the left thing and was worn out. Speed cameras are everywhere and we were trying to be careful not to speed. But I will not be surprised if Alamo charges us for a speeding ticket. I am, I must confess, I little bit scared that that might happen.

We could not by any means figure out what to do with the car keys, since there was no drop-off box, so we kept the car for that night. While Dean fell asleep (he needed his sleep, since he is the driver), I packed our hand luggage for the flight. I might have slept half an hour that night, since when I was finally done packing, I could not find my sleep. When I finally started having dreams, the alarms, all of them, went off mercilessly!!!!

Day 2 - July 31, 2011, Sunday

We arrived in Ireland today after waking up at an ungodly hour in the morning to catch the flight from Liverpool. We landed in Dublin, capital of Ireland and got our new rental car - a cutie-petiltie Pegeot 107, silver, stick-shift.

Since it was Sunday, we drove right into Dublin. I figured it being Sunday, we would not get much for traffic. We parked on an otherwise paid parking spot, and went to St. Patrick's church for Eucharist at 8:30 in the morning.

Interesting thing about Eucharist: the liturgy at St. Patrick's. They are part of the Church of Ireland, which is an Anglican Church (reformed). They have a very clean liturgy, with prayer, confession of sins, communion, reading of the creed and reading of the Word. They do not however have any preaching of the Word. We wonder how exactly people learn about the truths of sin, and redemption by grace alone, without effective and careful preaching of the word.

Dean enjoyed so much the inside of the church, that he decided it was worth paying for a more thorough visit. And we did, and during our visit we met a couple from - what do you know!!!! - Chicopee, Mass. Yes, believe it or not, we had neighbors in the very same part of the word we were at!

Because St.Patrick's longer tour was not part of the itinerary, we got delayed and could not make it to the Book of Kells. We walked around, saw the Dublin Castle, Christ Church and bought a couple of souvenirs.

Then we drove to Northern Ireland, straight to its capital Belfast, in order to make it to the St. George's Market, a weekly market, much like the Big E, with food and handcrafted stuff for sale. We had a yummy lunch there and walked around the city after that before we headed to our B&B.

Our trip back to the B&B should have included a drive through streets that have the famous murals. We did see a couple, but it started raining heavily, so we skipped the final 3 streets.

I am trying to be conscious that, during this trip, Dean, the official driver, is putting up with a lot. Driving on the left, according to him, is go against everything he has been trained for since childhood. It's a constant re-thinking about the act of driving. Something that, for an experienced driver like him, comes already so naturally, an automated process like walking or thinking in your own language, is now being part of the non-automated processes such as paying attention to cars around you.

Now, when I asked him, how is it driving on the left? He said, the toughest part is to re-adjust the car limits. What does that mean? The lines around the car - we are used to having the left line right next to us and the right one to the far right end of the car. Well, now things are different. The line that must be put to the far end is the one on the left. According to Dean, getting used to these new limits was the hardest part.

I am trying to be conscious of my driver's extreme conditions, because this is his vacation as much as mine. I want him to enjoy it, and not to be constantly worn out and dreading every new day.

He has asked me to drive through small towns so I am getting out GPS to avoid highways when possible. Of course, that was not possible on the way from Dublin to Belfast, but on the way to the B& B we sure did. we drove through farm land and took lots of pictures. Maily pictures of sheep. Sheep, sheep, everywhere!!!!! Sheep graze free in every freaking road here in Ireland.

And the roads! The roads are narrow, so narrow that our tiny car feels big for them. They are also surrounded by walls, walls made of either tall bushes, or trees, or stones. They are interesting, and Dean is enjoying driving on them, but they scare me.How can roads be that narrow. When other cars come towards us, one of us has to allow for the other to go by first. Why would anyone want to drive like that?

Our B&B is in a town called Cookstown, where Dean's great-great-great-grandparents are probably from. Tomorrow we will go try to find some of them.

Today we just want to enjoy being in a bed with actual time to sleep. There is a TV in our room, but we are not going to be watching it. We just want to sleep.

We left for dinner at a hotel in Cookstown, and came back to just crash.

Oh, btw!!! I got to move the car today!!!! I am not allowed to drive it on the road, bc of the rental contract, but I did get to move it from one parking spot to the other!!! I was so excited!

Well, tomorrow is another day!

gotta love roller coasters

Ok, so who in their right state of mind doesn't love roller coasters?
I mean, what's not to love?
The growing expectation on the slow way up, the freedom of the first and most deadly fall...
and the funny feeling in your stomach.

Are you sitting there thinking, "does she spend the whole winter dreaming of roller coasters?"

Yes!!! Yes, you got it!!! I spend the whole winter waiting for Six Flags to open and when it does, I am there! I am right there! First one in line for the Bizarro, and then the Scream, my two favorite rides.

Actually I think Scream might be even better than Bizarro. Why do I say such a heresy, you ask?

Very simple, my friend, very very simple - It's a scream on the way up, and another on the way down. It shoots you up, it holds up for a second, then it drops you down.

Follow the sequence with me: Scream first shoots you up in the sky, just like that, while you are just there, going ladi-lada-laaaah, not expecting anything out of the ordinary. It just catches you by surprise and shoots ya up in the air. Your voice? Ha! Your voice's gone bye bye! Your stomach? You wonder if you left it down at ground level, because it feels like your insides hold nothing but cold air. Then the thing holds you up there for a few seconds, just enough time for you to realize how freakishly high that thing is. Yeah, look around, my love! Good view of the park, ain't it? As you are beginning to enjoy the view though, it drops you down. And then you think maybe your stomach is playing catch with you, because now you wonder if it stayed up there.

Ok, it's terrifying! Which in my language means, "It's freaking awesome!"

Life is hard ... for those who are soft

No, I do not have time to write on my blog today. I don't. And that's just it.
I have too much homework to do, and I have a doctor's appointment at 3. However, I am a procrastinator by nature, and when ideas come to my mind I must write them down, so everything gets pushed for later - well, not everything, usually homework.

Homework is so so boring, that I honestly feel for my students every time I send homework their way. But, hey, it's life. And life is hard, said a friend of mine, to those who are soft. Better get that homework done.

But before that, let's write on this blog. So life is hard, eh. So times are tough. So what? So maybe this is the end of the world. The end the Bible talks about. And maybe it is. Everything seems to be crumbling, everything seems to be falling apart.

(You're wondering if I believe all of that fairy tale about the end of the world and the second coming of Christ. Well, if you still don't know that I am a Biblical Christian, then the answer is yes, I believe that fairy tale story. So if you'd like you can stop reading right now and miss out on the rest of the fun.)

But what if it is not the end of the world? I mean, 2000 years later! Seems like the perfect timing, right? Yeah, right. From a human point of view, duh. Just don't forget we are talking about a universe created by a being that is not human. And His logic is not ours.

Times a tough? You think they have never been tougher? So tell me about the time in which Christians were fed to lions. Or about the time in which the plague almost decimated the European population. Or look at African history and how their prisoners of war were sold into slavery and brought to the Americas in the slave ships. Could things get any worse?

Times are hard for us who became soft thanks to the comforts of modern life. Yes, it could be much worse. And yes, we could come around.

Could this be the end? Yes, it could. But it could be just another cycle. In the end only God knows.

More on John Lennon

It is really hard to convince people who know I am a Beatles fan, that I did not marry Dean because he looks like a Beatle. Really really hard.

The other day, at Ocean State, the cashier called him John Lennon. She said she's been wanting to say that for a long time, every time she sees him at the store. And we go there a lot.

A few weeks ago, when my car broke down and Dean went to pick me up at work, my co-workers were like, “Can I have an autograph?”

Seriously, it is hard to make people believe that this is not intentional. I did not marry Dean because I thought he looked like a Beatle, even though I thought he was cute. I married him because he was a nice boyfriend, so I figured he'd make a nice husband.

One reason why I am awesome

Do you need a reason to believe I am awesome other than the simple fact that I am Vika Winters? Well, my only fault is to have a hard time acknowledging my own faults.

But if you still need a reason why I am the best thing since sliced bread, listen to that – I pretty much succeed at every freaking thing I do.

I went and took that MTEL History test, mostly American history, without having studied, and I passed.

And do you really think I will not pass the General Curriculum MTEL just because a large amount of people take that test one bugillion times? Think again? I will pass – first try.

How do I know I will pass? Simple. Because I am Vika. And I am a Souza. And everyone in the Souza Family is good at what they do. Period.

Young girl kissing Old man in the six o'clock novela Araguaia! Ewww!!!!!!

How does a young girl like Aspásia, waiting for Prince Charming, ends up kissing Genão!!! Disgusting!!! She's in her early twenties!!! He's like 60 or 70!!! Oh! Gee! I don't want an old man kissing me!!! Not me! Not me! Not me!

When I said that to Dean, he giggled, “But you'd want to kiss Paul McCartney!”

“But, but, but,” said I a little unsure of my next argument. But then I knew it! “Paul McCartney is different! See …” and I began to detail the list of differences between my kissing Paul and Aspásia kissing Genão:

“1^st– I'd kiss Paul one single time. Never again. I do not intend to kiss him for the rest of my lifetime (or probably his). Aspásia plans on kissing Genão for the rest of … his life, right! Ewww!!!

“2^nd – I am not planning on going to bed with Paul McCartney. Aspásia certainly is going to end up in bed with Genão! Eww!!!

“3^rd – I'd only kiss Paul out of curiosity. Because, after all, I have always wanted to know what kissing Paul McCartney feels like. Aspásia kissed Genão because she is in love. Eww!!!

“Moral of the story: no old man kissing my lips!!!”

“But what when I get old?” My honorable husband asks, “Will you leave me for a young guy, just because you won't kiss old men?”

Oh, dear! I thought!

“I will be older too! Isn't that how Paul McCartney's song goes? Of course I am not even going to look old, and all the young guys will fall in love with baby here. But I will only have eyes and lips for one person in my life. Moral of the story – old people kiss old people!”

Territorialist? Yes, and proud of it! No one talks trash about my own. Only me.

My brother and my best best friend fell in love with São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro, respectively.

Consequently, falling out of love with my Bahia.

And, I grant you both, as son and daughter of Bahia, the right to fall in love with other parts of the country, I must say that, despite all our faults, I'm still siding with Bahia. I'm territorialist, yes. And proud of it.

I am sorry to say the baiano people has very little resemblance to the concept of perfect. But they're mine. And no one talks trash about my own. Only me.

So here's the deal:

• In spite of all its faults, its dirty, unkempt looks, Bahia is beautiful. Please do not say such absurd as “Rio is so much more beautiful than Bahia” because that is a BIG FAT LIE! And I tell you that with all the love a best friend could. I understand taste is personal, and beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, so you can keep your opinions about the degree of beauty of such post-card spots, however, when it comes to number of beautiful places to see, Bahia beats Rio so bad, it doesn't even feel like a fair match.

• In spite of all its faults, Bahia has produced genial minds, actors, poets, writers, musicians, abolitionists that are revered in Brasil and in the world. Please do not address the fact that São Paulo is so much more cultured than Bahia, because their culture is nothing more than a sample of all we can give them. You must not forget where Rui Barbosa, world-wide renown philosopher, politician, statesman, came from. … Baiano.

• In spite of all the lack of manners and all the ignorance and all the ingratitude, beauty, intelligence and artistic spirit grow in Bahia like weed.

And that the baiano excels in everything he does, it is a given. No, no one is like us. No place is like ours. Please spare your comments.

Remembering

The Bible says it is more useful to go to a funeral than to a party. It explains why. At a funeral you reflect about life and its finitude. You reflect on its meaning.

I am riding on my father's car on the road from Ilhéus to Itabuna. I am singing Leandro & Leonardo's Pense Em Mim. I have always been a car singer. I never used to sing in the shower, but as soon as I stepped onto a car, any car, I'd start my little private concert. Pense Em Mim was one of my favorites, almost like Drive My Car is to Paul McCartney (if I can afford the luxury of comparing myself to Mr. Paul McCartney).

“Nininha,” my father said, “you really like that song, don't you?”

“I do!” Said I, and kept on singing, and looking out the window, my other favorite thing to do in a car.

Memories of my father are few. But somehow I feel I should write them down. Some how I feel it is the right thing to do – to remember the times I spent with my father.To reflect on the meaning of his life in mine.

Grandma said he loved me. Grandma said in his own way he loved me, he just did not know how to show it. Did he?

Grandma said he regretted not having been a real dad to my brother and me. Grandma said he cried in my brother's wedding because he felt how much he failed us. Did he?

Grandma was always the first one to come down hard on him when she felt our rights were being hurt. Grandma on the phone giving him a motherly sermon, even though she had long ceased to be his mother in law. "They are your children! What on earth are you thinking!"

I will never know. And whether or not he loved me, I will never know. Maybe he did. Maybe. Maybe every mistake he made led to a harder path back to show his love for me. Maybe.

I feel bad I did not call him on the weeks before he died. Grandma told me I should. She gave me his number. "Call the poor man. He needs to hear your voice." I just couldn't bring myself to it. I feel bad I didn't. He died without hearing my voice. I thought of it. But I did not know what to say.

Last time we talked, on his birthday, he cried. I couldn't cry.

When he talked to me right after my almost-fatal car accident, he cried. I couldn't cry.

I couldn't cry because the love I should feel was simply not there. Nothing was there but the feeling that something was wrong. Something was missing in our relationship. Something that should have been there from the get-go. Something that should have grown stronger with the years. That something was missing in my heart. Maybe he did love me. Maybe he felt really bad he was never able to show that to me.

But when I got the news that he died, on that morning I cried. I could not hold back the tears. On that morning, I did cry.

And, after talking to my brother, I feel as if the right thing to do is to remember our moments together.

Everything with my father was methodic, organized, explained. The same explanations every single time. You must drink this because it helps build antibodies. You must not eat that kind of food, because it causes cancer.

We spent 2 or 3 summers at dad's.

He takes us to the video store in the morning. We go there almost everyday. When we watch late night movies, he gets us up and walking around the house. "This way you exercise and don't fall asleep." the same explanations, every single time. In one of these trips to the video store I found the movie HELP! Oh, what a delight! I watched it and watched it and watched it.

My brother is in my father's room. He browses over his record collection. My brother has always been a curious boy. He is trying different records and he finds one with Sugar, Sugar. I go in and find The Beatles - 20 greatest hits. Two months ago Aunt Léa had watched a Tribute to John Lennon and told us he'd belonged to the Beatles. "That's them! That's the Beatles! Let's listen to them!"

I had loved John Lennon's Ticket to Ride on the tribute concert, but it was Paul McCartney's Love Me Do the first thing I heard in that I heard on that day, followed by She Loves You, and something magical happened in my heart. I was hooked. My father told me about the Beatles, and England, and the BBC. When we went to the video store and found HELP!, my heart was about to jump out of my mouth with excitement.

I cough. My father tells me I must be getting pneumonia. We'd better treat that right away. My father was a hypochondriac. That's what you call a person who thinks himself and the world is always about to get sick and must have medicine for everything in the house. Let's stop at the pharmacy and get treatment for that pneumonia.

Breakfast time. My father asks if I want lemonade. I love lemonade. He makes me the best lemonade ever and explains how to do it and why. The same explanations, every single breakfast.

Toast with cacao jam is the menu for the snack. It was our favorite snack when we were at my father's. He prepares it in his very methodic way and sets it at the table. Lelas reminded me of that episode. Cacao jam is still a favorite for me. Everyday he came to visit he brought some.

Home made chocolate? Is that for real? It's for real. One of the times we went over to visit, he had a girlfriend living with him. She used to live across the street. When she lived across the street she made homemade chocolate for all the children in the neighborhood. I loved her homemade chocolate.It was hard to bite into. You were suppose to suck on it. It was delicious.

Lelas reminds me of the frescoball championship. We look out the window. There is a square in front of our father's condo at Fátima neighborhood. We befriended the children in the neighborhood. The children idolize us, because we are the big city kids. We also have the racquets and the balls to play frescoball. Every child in the neighborhood wants to play. We finally decide the best thing to do is to organize a championship. We know everything about championships. We learned everything we needed to know from the World Cups. He list the competitors. We draft a game grid with accumulating-point games and elimination games, much like the first and second phases of the World Cup. We establish prizes for the first three places.

We announce to our father that since we are the organizers, we must go get prizes. Dad takes us to the grocery store to buy prizes for the winners. Little cheap toys.

I was the best player before the competition. I was also taller and older than the other kids. But I did not win the tournament.

Lelas remembers going to the soccer stadium. The Ilhéus team stadium. Lelas says it was the first time he ever went to a stadium. It wasn't. Lelas was too young to remember the first time ever. But it was mom that took us to Fonte Nova. But our father took us on the field. That was something to remember, how often to get to go on a professional soccer field?

I remember going to the mall. The only mall in Ilhéus. We went there a couple of times. I remember thinking how minuscule it was.

Now we are going to Olivença for the day. People come from Olivença from all over the world to treat themselves in it magic waters. At the door, we always buy cocada. Yummy cocada of all flavors. I never liked the guava one. It's coconut! Who would want guava flavored coconut! Father makes sure that we don't spend too much time in the sun. Father makes sure we don't spend much time there at all. We never spend much time anywhere with our father. Remember: methodic, organized – timed. He makes sure we are nice and dry before we get into the car. On the way there, however, he makes sure he explains all the benefits of the water from Olivença. The same explanations, every single trip.

My father shows up in Salvador. It must be a birthday or Children's day. He comes to church to pick us up. He obviously takes us to the movies. It is always a movie and a meal. We go back to grandma's. Kisses and good-bye. And, yeah, lots and lots of advices.

I get a letter from my father. I often get letters from him. So does Lelas. Very few words. Lots of newspaper clips. Eventually I stopped caring about the letters. I got tired of news paper clips. Maybe it was his way of showing he cared somehow. I just couldn't handle anymore newspaper clips.

At my father's house he tells us about highly successful people that he reads about. He tells us about Akio Morita. He tells me about Bill Gates. Back home and buy The Road to Information. I devour that book in a couple of months. I learned a lot from that book. Bill Gates was an impressive man. My father seemed to have an admiration for impressive self-made men and women. I think if we had been closer I'd have learned much more abot highly successful people.

My father and I were never close. Not as you must be to a father. I will never really know why. I am too busy minding my own business to go investigate. It is what it is, with its rights and wrongs and life has no RWD button, only PLAY. Some time some one hits the FF button, and it ruins it because there is no RWD, no PAUSE, no STOP. maybe father regretted the lack of REWIND. Maybe. I will not regret. I will move forward. I will make sure I am to others what my father was not to me - Someone present who shows love and care and develops that through the years. Joao Pedro, my students, the children I might have someday, my own grown-ups. I don't want them wondering whether or not I loved them. I want them to know it.

Snow, ice, more snow, more ice... Spring, where are you?

Well, these past couple of weeks have been giving us a few days of above freezing temperatures. And snow, good, beautiful, sexy snow hasn't fallen in a while.

All that ridiculously tall snow that you saw there in my facebook pictures has been melting into nothingness for two weeks.

So you think, Yay! That's awesome! Snow is almost gone!

Well, yeah, yay! That's awesome! But I do like the dang snow. I like it when it falls dry and cute! I hate it when it falls wet and heavy, or frozen. I hate freezing rain.

Why? Duh! A few weeks ago we had a normal rain fall after some snow.Then the temperature went down again. Guess what happened? The wet ground turned into frozen ground. Guess what happened when I tried going down the steps of my back door. Guess!!!

Right! A whole entire day not being able to sit down. Very pleasant feeling!

Then a few days later, we had freezing rain. Again, freezing rain is the one that falls as water and sits as ice. I thought, "If the school has not canceled it's because it is not as bad." Lethal mistake. The school did not cancel because it had no more days to spare.

On my way out I had a clue, by looking at Dean's caramelized car that ice was sitting on the ground.

I left the garage using extreme caution, scared to death, and at the end of the street I was supposed to stop behind a truck. I was SUPPOSED to stop. So I patted the breaks, the ways they say you're supposed to do in order not to lose control of the car. Did it work? Well, let's see, have you ever tried to put the car into an ice skating rink and then push the brakes? Well, if you have not, let me clarify it to you - brakes and nothing are the same thing. I realize the only way I would not end up in the truck's butt would be by swerving the car onto a snow pile on the sidewalk. And I did it. After the snow stopped my car I tried putting it back on the road. It worked! Of course I was not a bit in shock. I just kept repeating to myself, "I hope I make it to work alive, I hope I make it to work alive." But that kind of thinking is normal. Everyone thinks like that every day as they leave for work.

I got onto the highway. I don't know I got there in one piece, but I did. And now you're thinking, "the highway has no ice because of the traffic." Another mistake. All of a sudden, we all started going 30 an hour. ... Why? Simple! Because everyone saw the pick-up truck on top of the guard rail in the middle of the road and no one wanted to end up the same way, or worse!

I got to work and about 50% of the students did not go to school. In this 50% you can include all of my students. The students who did show up were in shock because mom and dad crashed the car on the way to school.

It's days like these that make you wonder about where is good sense when people are deciding to cancel class.

What do I know?

What if I had done things differently?

What if I had had a real dad?

What if I had stayed in Brazil?

What if I had said something else to him?

What if I had known what to say?

What if things, all things, had been different? The fact of the matter is things are what they are. I did what I did, my father was never my dad, I moved away to America, I never said any more than what I had to, I never knew what else to say to a man who was supposed to be so important to me, but was never really part of my life.

What-ifs? What-ifs are not life. Life is what-is. And life goes on, always moving forward, never stopping for anyone to take a break as they please, or need. As the song Aquarela says, “without asking for permissions, it changes our lives and then invites us to laugh or to cry.”

So, as it must happen to all who live, death came to the man who was my father. And, as much as there was never a real father-daughter relationship between us, I was left behind to pick up the pieces of that which could have been and to cry the loss of that which I never really had.

It's hard to describe the feelings right now. Ever since I heard the news it's been hard to describe anything.

I feel sad. Sadness is probably the easiest feeling to describe. Because it's so general. I find myself crying often and I try to figure out why.

Why do I feel sad and do I cry for the loss of what I never really had?

I feel sad and I cry because I, as a human being, I treasure memories and relationships, as few the memories and as wrong relationships as they might be.

I feel sad and I cry because I just lost my father. A father with whom I shared memories and had a relationship, as few the memories and as wrong the relationship have been.

I feel sad and I cry because I am dealing, in a very close way, with Death.

Death. Why is Death the only thing certain in life, and yet we, human beings, have such a hard time dealing with it? As a human being, I don't deal well with loss. We always wish there was more time. Time to fix the things that were not fixed. Time to enjoy the things that were not enjoyed. Time to say things that were not said. We always know, or think we know, that something else could have been done. Isn't that true? We wish things were ideal, even though everything about our world is not ideal.

Death. Why does it bother us to be faced with it? Because, as a human being, when I am faced with death I must acknowledge the fact that it comes to all of us, and it will come to me. When faced with death we must acknowledge our own finitude. We realize we are finite beings. And, while through life, we bury many who ceased to live as we go on, there will come a day, very soon, when others will be burying us, and they will go on. On to meet their own end some day, in a future that we won't be there to see. And Life goes on. And Death comes to all who live.

I suddenly realize that life is so short! Here today, gone tomorrow. Those of us who are lucky will live past 70 or 80. Those of us who are really lucky will live past 90. And a very selected few will get to see a century of life. But really? What are 100 years to live? Nothing!!!

There's so much to do and so little time. There's so much that goes undone. Saved for later. My father died without ever seeing the money his old job owed him for a good 20 years! Money I hope we get someday, it's true, but that does not change the fact that he died waiting for it. To him it does not matter anymore. A lot of people treat the dead as if they knew things. They are happy for us, where ever they are. They are vindicated, they are this or that! The dead don't know anything! Isn't that what the Bible says? That money, my father will never see it! It might come to us, his children. It might even be a good thing for us, when and if it comes. But my father died on hold. Never to know what will be done of it …

So why else does facing death bother us so much? Because of what is left undone, unreceived, untold. I guess we don't fear death as much as we fear the un-lived life. A life lived forever waiting for the right time, a right time that never comes. A life lived on hold.

There are a few Brazilian sayings about not living life: "We only regret the things we don't do", "We have plenty time to sleep when we're dead", "Those who sleep much, live little". I can't help, when thinking about these things, but asking: What am I waiting for? Why do I wait to say things, to do things, to show love to others? Why do I wait to do what I must? Why do I wait to have fun, to go to that special place, to eat that special food? Why do I put my life on hold, when I don't know for how much longer I have this life? Why do we all?

Death is always going to be sad. It would be better if it never came, I think. Seriously, who likes to say good-bye? I know I don't. And I do it a lot. It is never, ever fun. However, if we realized that saying good-bye to life is inevitable, wouldn't we live a fuller life? I don't know.

I don't fancy to know the final answer to any of these things I mentioned here. I'm just a girl facing death in a very real way and trying to make sense of it. Trying to deal with feelings I don't fully understand. And all I know is I don't know how much time I have, or how much time anyone I love has. All I know is I want to make the best of the time we have left. That's all I know. Will this knowledge be enough when death crosses my path again? I can't even say I know that much.

getting married, having children... children???

All of my childhood friends are now married (some divorced, it's true, but they have been married). Many of them are even having children already!

Well, it's a weird thought, you know. Because when I think of us , I think of us as children. Because we've known each other as children. And then, all of a sudden, what happened? We're all married! Heads of household, housewives...

And then some of us have babies of their own??? Babies???

Ok, call me selfish, but I don't think I want a baby in my life anytime soon. I don't. I just don't. I have been an au pair, a nanny, a baby-sitter. So don't take me wrong. I love children. Children are fun. But do I want one of my own?

Do you know what that means? To have a baby of your own? DO you really know what that means?

Well, first, it means that my tummy will grow. I will look ugly!!! Then, if I am not lucky, my tummy will forever have stretch marks and it will be saggy.

Then there's childbirth. I am scared to death of having a baby come out of my body. TO DEATH!!! It must hurt like hell! And I am not a very good person when it comes to dealing with pain. Ask Dean, my husband. He often tries to squeeze my pimples. Believe me, I put on a heck of a show when he tries to squeeze my pimples.

Then there's raising the dang thing. Yeah! You have to raise them!!! It's not just popping the thing out of your body and give it a name! You have to raise the freaking thing! And it's not like you raise them for 18 years and send them off into the world. No!!! They will come back to haunt you. I know that. Ask my mom. Ask my parents-in-law. In Brazil we say "Raised children, double trouble."

Besides, they are expensive, those munchkins! They need clothing, and food, and toys. Then there's doctors visits and medicine. Then there's lessons - music, sports, etc. Then, don't forget the fact that they are going to be paying passengers every time we want to get on an airplane.

Sometimes I think, "Boy, I really want children. I really want a little munchkin to go out in the snow with me and play. We'd laugh and push each other around... Dean and I would be so happy if we had little miniature us to tease..." Then I think of the responsibility. Then I think we will be stuck with them for the rest of our (or their) lives. That's when those dreamy desires of snow-playing children suddenly vanish.

I don't want to get old

I don't want to get old. Why should I have to?

I remember when I was a kid I did not want to grow up. And I still feel like I don't. It's just fun being a kid. I do still feel like I am a kid. Ok, a kid with work to go and bills to pay and some grown-up perks at night, but a kid nonetheless.

So why do I have to get old? Old age does something really bad to people – it wrinkles their skin. Have you noticed that? I don't want that. I don't want my skin to be wrinkled. It looks fine the way it is. It looks fine!

What else? It gives people white hair! And because I did not get my great-grandma's genes (she was 86 and you could count a handful of whites, I know I will be one of those who needs to schedule regular visits to the hairdresser – yes, because you'll see me dead before you see me white-headed.

Call me vain, if you want. I don't care. I am vain. I do enjoy looking at myself in the mirror and going like – Dang, I'm beautiful! I do enjoy showing off what God gave me. I do enjoy super short skirts and blouses that draw every curve, or any type of clothing that lets the world know the material here is first class.

I hate the fact that beauty, as well as life, won't last a long as I wish it would. Why can't I just be 21 forever? Yes, I mean for ever. Like I want to live 100, 200, 300 years! I want to see everything that will happen and I want to be 21 so I can enjoy it. Who cares if everyone I know will be dead? I have been living away from my best friends for years now. It stinks, but I have survived. You meet new people, and even though they are not like your best friends, you can still enjoy their company. I wouldn't mind. I just wish I could.

But really, really, really, I just wish I did not have to get old. Even though I don't want to die anytime soon.

white shit time

You know the story of the white shit, right? It's that journal of the Brazilian guy who moves from São Paulo to Pennsylvania and thinks everything is wonderful and beautiful in the beginning of the fall and in the beginning of the winter, until the beautiful cotton-white snow turns into white shit by mid-winter!

Well it is my theory that everyone who lives here, Brazilian or American alike, goes through that process every year. In the beginning of the winter the snow is beautiful white pieces of cotton. From the middle to the end of the winter it turns into white shit.

Today was officially my day to stop thinking that snow looks like little pieces of cotton flying through the air and start calling it white shit.

I got up early to help hubby leave for work. We shoveled the snow off the driveway to make way for the car. The snow was beautiful and dry, and it came to our shovels easily and it left our shovels just as easily.
I thought to myself, "later on I will come out and shovel again before my bubby gets home." Well, later on the snow turned to freezing rain (when the rain falls and freezes as it touches the cold surface). Do you know what happens at times like these? A fine layer of ice covers everything just like sugar on creme brule.

So there I went. The sweet, cute fluffly dry snow had now turned into wet and heavy white shit. And I had to get the whole driveway done. The whole freakishly long driveway. Oh, yes, when you have to shovel wet snow, any driveway is freakishly long. And I still had to do the front and back doors as well, and thanks to God, some one had done our sidewalk.

Oh, yes! To top it off, I had menstrual cramps. You know, if you are girl, what means - they are those cramps that only a liter of morphine could possibly make go away. But I don't usually store morphine in the house, you know.

About 30 minutes into the ice shoveling, I had to get rid of the two winter coats I had on, because I was already sweating bullets. The cramps were gone. The pain had moved to the upper arms.

About an hour after that I took off my scarf and put it down on the snow. 90 minutes later I would come back to find a frozen scarf on the snow.

As soon as I took off the scarf, these 2 boys walk by, carrying shovels. "Do you need help?" I said "I'm all set," when I obviously still had 3/4 of the driveway to do. "Are you sure?" "Yeah! Tks though!"
See, I figured they were teenage boys (couldn't tell from the distance) hoping to get money for helping me. Well, God gave me arms and legs and youth - for now. I can afford to refuse help. I figured I could not let the boys help me than go like, "will you take a check?" Since we never carry money on us... or keep it in the house...

So I went on alone, wearing just a sweatshirt and snow pants. And gloves. 2 pairs of gloves.

I was done with the whole driveway 1.5 hours after that teenager episode. I took photos from the before. I forgot to take one of the after. I was so tired ... and frozen. Really, my hair was frozen. And so was my sweatshirt and my hat. Maybe I will take pictures of the fruit of my work to morrow before leaving for work.

When I got home it was already almost 4pm. 5 Minutes later hubby was home. I thought I was going to have a hot cocoa by myself. Well, I didn't have to.

I guess I should really learn how to operate that snow blower.

Summer, where are you?

No snow day so far. No fun. No making snowmen. No snow angels. No sledding. No hot cocoa. But everything outside reminds me it's winter. The snow that fell as if not wanting to is still sitting there - on the grass, and on the sidewalks. Muddy and ugly on the side of the streets. My sore arms still remind me I had to shovel the end of the driveway. Just the end. The snow chose the right place to sit - the end of the driveway. As if saying, I'm not letting you out until you give me some blood.

The temperatures have been bellow or close to freezing everyday.

Meanwhile in Brazil...

My family enjoys the warmth of the sun and the salty breeze of our beach. My beach. The one I chose to leave behind.

They celebrate the arrival of a new year standing outside, in shorts and spaghetti straps.

I know. I chose this life for me. I just wish the cold didn't have to come with it. I don't belong in a place with cold weather. A kind of weather that makes me shiver for a good quarter of an hour for every 5 minutes I spend outside. A kind of weather that forces me to cover everything I'm so proud to show. A kind of weather that simply tells me heartlessly and coldly that I must rethink my wardrobe.

I tell you what. It's envy. The cold weather has envy of what God gave me. And it does not want me to show it off to the world. So it keeps remind me to cover myself in layers and layers of winter gear.

I tell you what, cold weather. You won't win. I will not end my days here, where you tell me what to wear. And tell me how sore my arms will be from shoveling the snow you bring. Some day I will leave you. Some day I will go back to my place - my beach. Where I can walk in my bikinis all day long, and shower outside anytime I want. Where I can climb my cashew tree and eat mangoes and drink coconut water as much as I want.

Who will be laughing then, envious cold weather? Who will be laughing then?