This story is about a girl. Teresa. It begins in 1975, when she’s only twelve. She’s just left her homeland, Mozambique, a former Portuguese colony, now riven by revolution and madness. In the wake of civil war, fear and terror crack open Teresa’s idyllic childhood. Even the family pets act distraught. Granny no longer tends to her roses. Everybody starts sleeping in the same room, afraid of knives in the night. They must flee the land they have …
Tag: love
It was a spring-like day; one of those February days when the sun shines so bright, the sky is incredibly blue, and you feel warm for the first time after so many months. It makes you wonder if spring has come early this year – and you enjoy it. We sat on the balcony of my friend’s charming apartment in an old building of a traditional Lisbon quarter, on a steep street like so many others that go …
This story is about a girl. Teresa. It begins in 1975, when she’s only twelve. She’s just left her homeland, Mozambique, a former Portuguese colony, now riven by revolution and madness. In the wake of civil war, fear and terror crack open Teresa’s idyllic childhood. Even the family pets act distraught. Granny no longer tends to her roses. Everybody starts sleeping in the same room, afraid of knives in the night. They must flee the land they have …
No Christmas is exactly like the previous one. You may keep most of the rituals, the people you celebrate it with, shop in the same stores and cook the same dishes for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, but still, it will feel familiar, because it will be “your” Christmas all over again. Not this year. This Christmas will be different from all the Christmases we have lived before, and, even with those few we’ll get together with, …
Life is like the water in a river – each chapter begins, unfolds, and then it’s gone forever, as the water flows from its source to the estuary, only to lose itself in the immensity of the sea. Like flowing water, our happy moments only lingered for a while, and then they were gone, swiftly but inexorably heading towards the end, an end neither of us wanted but both knew was inevitable. It’s incredible how all relationships are …
Dear Uncle The other day I was revising the first chapters of my book and came up with a scene where the main character, Teresa, has a long talk with her Uncle Jorge, who is so much like you that he can only be one of my favourites. I’ll never forget those talks. In addition to your being great company, with a sense of humour I enjoyed so much, you always had wise words of advice to …
At eighteen she arrived in the big city with butterflies in her belly – leaving her island to come and study at university was no small adventure! She had many friends there, though, and through one of them she had found the place where she was going to stay. For years, friends of friends coming from her island had stayed there and recommended it. She knew Lisbon of course, she had been there several times with her family; …
This morning a friend called saying she was sorry for something she had said last night, as we were coming out of another friend’s birthday celebration. More than hurt me with her sharp words, she surprised me; saying you’re sorry is part of any relationship, and so is understanding, and forgiving, so in the end all was well between us. She left me thinking about how hard it is to say “I’m sorry”; for some, the proud ones, …
Things have changed so much, no wonder we are all saying this is a very different summer from all the others we have lived through. Even though we can go to the beach, and to restaurants (preferably with terraces), and sit outside watching the sunset while sipping a mojito orcaipirinha, something that we’ve been doing for years, there’s always that feeling that something is not quite right, especially when you have to put on your mask to get …
Once I said, half-joking, that you reminded me of Heathcliff, the dark but loving, passionate but sombre, vulnerable yet aggressive, lover of Wuthering Heights. I don’t think you’ve read the book, for the only word you retained was “gipsy”; you laughed and said I was not the first person who called you that, because of your raven black hair, that sometimes had a wild look about it; your dark eyes, aquiline nose, tall figure and reserved, sometimes even unpleasant, manner. …