Life is long

LIFE IS LONG

Who said life was short? I´m sure many people have already said so. Please don´t believe it, because it´s not true. My life is long and sometimes it seems to be endless, as if death would never come to put an end to it. Do we really die? I can´t be sure, after all I have lived. I don´t mind dying, but I thought I could trust the different stages of life, like you´re a child once, then you´re young and one day you´re an old person. I thought I could see myself living these stages in a distinct way, something like an actor who changes into different characters, but it´s definitely not like that.

I was born in a very small country town and my family moved to a big city when I was five years old. I still remember having to leave behind my belongings – some old toys and little things that I liked so much.

I went to school and found out about competition and individual differences. I didn´t think it was a good thing to be a child, and I didn´t like school. Rio de Janeiro was a city full of immigrants and therefore many different languages, with the second world war as a setback. Very interesting.

The war was over, I became a teenager and found out that life could be exciting if you listen to music and dance. I fell for some interesting young guys that I met at school and I hated strangers who stared at me on the street.

I met the one who was going to be my husband and he decided we should marry. He was attractive and so was the idea of having a house of my own – after some indecision I got married.

Lots of quarrels and shortage of money made our life difficult, but we had our two babies all the same. Doing the housework and taking care of them were things that I will never forget.

Having my two boys growing up was a lifetime in itself. I took them to school and I saw them discover everything, from music to geography or politics. I felt like renewing myself, looking through their eyes.

I always tried to work out, to do something for my living, as I didn´t trust the man who was my husband. I knew that one day I would be alone and happier. He sensed my desire to be free and did his best to stop me.

Then came the seventies, the pill, the need for sexual liberation, and I couldn´t stand it anymore. We all wanted freedom to build our new personalities. The world had changed a lot, we had changed too, a new context was necessary.

Beginning the eighties I didn´t know if I was young or old; some people told me I was old, but deep inside I refused to believe. I loved dancing, flirting, having sex and working too. Wasn´t that strange, being old when you look good and enjoy having fun?

My older son got married and I experienced the great joy of having grandchildren. They were the cutest things on earth, I loved them and I didn´t have to keep awake at nights or feed them.

I tried to live in a new city after my parents died, going to where my son lived. It was a good experience, you learn new things, of course, but after six years I decided that only Rio was home for me.


I found a steady job and worked hard. Making ends meet was not an easy task, but life was good. I used to work hard and still go out to dance and meet new people, I mean, men. I also got used to doing handicraft in my free hours, which became an important hobby for me.

I must mention that through all my life I went to the beach in Copacabana. It was more than just a habit, it was something that influenced my mood and my way of living. At least for one hour I sat in the sun and bathed in the sea. Copacabana happens to be an urban beach, so you can go there before work, after work if you prefer, or even in between.

A new century came, and there I was. Doing the same things, enjoying the same music and the same drinks. Am I not supposed to be old, now that I´m nearly seventy?


A funny thing happens nowadays. I feel much more capable, much more efficient than I was before. I can do my work more easily and help people when I talk to them. I never felt so much liked as I feel now.

A four-year-old grandson of mine died and the trauma made me lose sleep and suffer. I started feeling lonely and having nightmares. My work was still a consolation, but the other things were not the same. I started writing about Copacabana.

I decided to move to Brasilia, where I am now. My 18-year-old grandson needed me and I needed them. I have a quiet life in a beautiful house, surrounded by fruit trees and birds. I have more time to write, also.


Life in Brasilia is quite different for me. I intend to start to do some work, but I stay home most of the time, doing handicraft, writing, cooking and helping take care of my baby granddaughter. I like gardening, too, so I keep busy all the time. Is this being old? I don´t know for sure, but I´m certain that´s what people expect to see.




Yesterday an e-mail came to me that made me burst out laughing. The guy´s name was not known to me, so I read to check who it was. He said he had met me in Copacabana two years ago, we had had good moments together and he wanted to see me again! He also mentioned that I was a beautiful woman …

A last comment: How come? I´m seventy-two! This guy I´m talking about is 25 at the most. Will that be a new version of “Harold and Maude”? Is getting old complicated for everybody ? I was a quiet teenager, with no questions, but I don´t think I´ll be a quiet old woman with no problems. Domenico Mazzi, the Italian sociologist, says that you only get old two years before dying. How will I be able to know? Help me,if you can!