You are my oldest friend. It all began when I was nine and you were ten, and it’s been fifty years. We met at school, back in the days of wine and roses of the Mozambican era, when we lived in paradise but didn’t know it then; those days when we dreamt of knights and damsels, kings and castles, battles, and bravery; those long, hot summer days when we sat for hours in my swimming pool, just enjoying the moment. …
Tag: August
If you have followed me for some time you know by now that I love summer in all its manifestations – even the heat doesn’t bother me. Unlike many Portuguese, who show up with black shadows under their eyes due to lack of sleep on hot summer nights, the heat suits me – in fact it is the cold that makes me want to hibernate and only wake up after the long dark months are over. However, as much …
As I wait to board the plane I think some things never change, such as the gestures, rituals, hopes, feelings, that have always been intrinsically linked to most of the months of August of my life. As coming to Madeira. Holiday rituals Yesterday as I was ironing some clothes to bring with me I recalled it used to be a sort of “pre Madeira ritual”. I did it in Granny’s sunlit kitchen and it made me so happy that …
There it is. Another month of August is over. No other month leaves me with such a nostalgic feeling of time gone by too quickly. No other month has ever given me this need to hold time prisoner in my hands and make it stop. And it has been like this for a long time. Not back in Mozambique, though. August there was a winter month, even if our winter there was mild for all standards. But since we came …
