Resident

with No Comments
I bought a house. The first house in my life. Not an apartment – part of the house. With garden. Here, it’s called an apartment. When notário read all the documents, he handed me a hand and I heard, “Now, you are resident of…” (here was the name of the island where I lived). Once again in my ears i was stabbed by the words of a former Polish neighbor: “How do you not like it – it is to live in the forest or to the island.” (ISLAND)

There were questions: “is that true?”, “are you selling everything?” “will you not miss?” and above all, “what are you going to do there?” and “what will you live for?” Maybe if I were English or English, there would be other questions.

Few people tried to remember the name of the island. Few declared visits. At first we only told the closest ones about our decision, because even that caused a lot of confusion. We wanted not to mix … energy. It looked like friends were looking at this information like in a mirror.

We had the impression that the island attracted us, because we closed our lives in Poland within two months. Everything looked like a slide on a wave. There were people who bought or received more goods from us over the years. We packed more cartons and the courier after a few days already knew our names by heart. The lady at the post office with a tear in her eye recorded the authority to receive correspondence: “But I envy you, but so positively!” At the last minute, a neighbor blessed us and hugged us with all her strength, while a revenge on the politicians: “What? – let people hear! I will not be quiet! I’ve got my years, I have the right to say what I think!”.

Then friends took us to the capital. They cared, in a good word, with the promise of a meeting on the island. And we flew. Gray Warsaw disappeared quickly in the clouds and above it was only the sun. And so it was even on the ferry. Aviomarin, her husband’s warm arms, palm trees dancing in the wind and the ocean… a lot of the ocean.

And now devagar… slowly. On the island everything has its time. In the morning bica in pastelaria (a small coffee in the confectionery), then taking a formality with a break for pastéis de nata (cookie with pudding), necessarily a lunch break with feeding stray cats and time for a siesta (because it’s hot) and at the end of the day some shopping in Pingo Doce (in the type of “Ladybugs”) and meetings, meetings, meetings … with wine, coral beer or my favorite Poncha de maracuja.

I’m glad I don’t understand much. I have told the natives that I will only learn words that carry goodness and love. I don’t need the rest. I buy a fragrant pão (bread) in the bakery myself, and the first wording I use everywhere is “muito obrigada”.

ps. I would not be myself if, today on such an important occasion as buying a house on new land, did not check what the most important melody of this land sounds like:

Leave a Reply