The Streets of Porto Alegre

On missing a town and my mom, and music. 

People often ask me if I miss Porto Alegre. The best answer to the question is that I don't really think about it anymore. My mom died and what followed was a complete hiatus between my life and the life we used to have. That life is now preserved by my memories that sometimes flash thru my mind at various parts of my days. Sometimes while I am dancing, sometimes when I am driving, or when while I am listening to music. Music has always been my way to connect to things, places and people. Don't think that will ever change. 

Janine by Nada Skaf

Last night I went out dancing and the place was beautiful, but with not that many people to dance with. I sat there  listening to tango and the DJ played this very beautiful segment that brings out in me all my South-Americanism.  It brings out the streets of Porto Alegre, the red sunsets, my walks from the University to my first job, my mom, Brazilian Music, the most Southern capital in Brazil, the air that is so similar to the air in Buenos Aires. My solitud then, my way of escaping from life and people. Music was my world. The only religion I would accept and behold, so close to me that it became second nature. So, as I was sitting there last night, with no one to dance with, I remembered one of the last times I saw my mom. We were walking close to our home in Porto Alegre, and I paid her a compliment, which made her happy. I have the impression now that my mom was a starving cactus waiting for water. Her roots not long enough. No, that is not true. Her roots were long enough to sustain an entire family together. It was the water. It was the soil. She was misplaced. She looked beautiful that one afternoon, her eyes had something special in them. And behind her there was this beautiful flourishing Golden Trumpet tree that was so fragile and vivid - holding her breath against an intense blue sky. And her smile lasting for now what seems a lifetime. 

Golden Trumpet Tree by Chico Do Vale

That was the picture that came to my mind when I heard those songs last night. 

Tres Esquinas, Hotel Victoria, Rondando Tu Esquina, Ahora no Me Conoces. Four songs that mean to me four clusters of distinct of emotions. Three Corners: a place, a neighborhood, roots. Victoria Hotel: a place of transition, where you stay for a while, but you know you will eventually leave. Rondando Tu Esquina: the anguish of longing for someone you can't forget, you can't have. And Ahora No Me Conoces: The anger of not being important anymore, you are gone from someone's life. 

All of it so appropriate, so acute. Just like a throbbing reminder of my past. Of my present.  

And now, nine years after her death, I sit here and cry. 

Listening to the music I love the most. Savoring these notes and my tears. For I cry love. Pure, intense love. Love for the music. Love for my mom, and for the memories we once built, when the afternoons were sweet and warm, and music was shared and made us happy and one. 

I cry because once again music connects me with her. With you. With my own soul. 

Last night  - En Cada Tango Su Huella - I danced discos de Gardel and left. Because that was enough. That was plenty to satisfy my tango thirsty soul. And I left looking for a new home. Maybe a new port. A new love. Cause despite all of the nostalgia I sometimes feel, I have the courage to keep on going and to look ahead. And I hold hands with music and we dance in the rain, to just build new bridges and memories, after all, isn't tango and life a staggering amount of memories that we save as time passes by?