“They say that happiness is pretty simple: someone to love, something to do, something to look forward to”. But I wish this could be a bit more specific. I’ve come to realize that I’ve always been preoccupied with the commitments of everyday life, trying not to stop the running wheel. Or, well, maybe I just didn’t know where to start. I guess at the end of the day we are so busy trying to survive, that we forget how to deal with more meaningful feelings.  At times, it seems like I should have had it all figured out, while I’m still trying to navigate where to go and how to be deeply connected. Where does this saddening disconnection come from? Besides, all the everyday questions “What am I really doing here?” and “What are the reasons why I’m on this earth?” still linger in my mind.

Art has always been my escape route. I’ll never forget being around eight years old, developing pictures in an improvised photograph paper box, in my parent’s bed, under the linen – ensuring no light would intrude on that sacred, magical moment. Learning the intricacies of photography, all thanks to my late dad. There were moments of going to a child’s play, just him and me, and occasionally visiting his office at the huge Brazilian newspaper ‘Folha de São Paulo.’ Seeing those enormous machines working in synchronized harmony to print the next day’s newspaper left a lasting impression on me. Proudly knowing my dad is part of this. To this day, those were the most precious moments I recall from my childhood – moments where I felt connected to humanity and the space around me. I would be happy if time had stopped at that moment in life.

Midlife crises, they say. I must be right in the midst of it. Somewhere between the world ending, and the clock ticking, I need all the help I can get. It’s been tough, these past few years. I feel like art is my only light at the end of that long tunnel. Dramaturgy! I watch films and hope that my life can get as fluid and calculated as it appears on the screen, with clear outcomes for every decision made. Yes, that would be an easy life, with a script to follow. It’s like looking into a mirror and seeing how I’d want everything to be. I hear things that tug at my heartstrings and watch stories with pieces of myself on them. And yet sometimes it hurts. I often imagine them as a guide to life when, in reality, they present an altered version of it. The loneliness. The heartbreak. The mess. The anxiety. The freedom. We all yearn for an example, a one-size-fits-all handbook to help us navigate through life.

But I can’t just wait around for life to change, as if it were a big show with the curtains opening. Seeking it is the answer. I need to grasp with all my power one of those threads of ideas that are fading in my mind. I hold expectations from movies, music, and books, trying to find answers within them. Yet, the ultimate way to navigate through this thing called life is to actively hold onto it. I appreciate the notion that everyone has to live for themselves and not wait around for someone to define who they are.

I can just sit on my couch and feel bad, blaming other people for what I judge they were supposed to do or know or blaming myself for things I’ve never told them. Because I did not know how to. Wow, on that note the amazing Lee Byung-hun and Kim Hye-ja mom and son collaboration at “Our Blues,” just made me very emotional right now. But at last, life doesn’t stop for anybody. I am here, for now, what should I do? Life exists, and so do my identity and dual citizenship. The powerful play goes on, and I may contribute a verse. Not only cry or clap when the curtain closes. I have to do something in this universe. I have to take risks, for sure. It’s the only way to find out who I really am and what I want to do with the unknown time left on this earth for me. And even if I fail, once again, and, maybe again, what better way is there to live?

One thing I can guarantee is that I would give anything for a half-hour seated in a living room, with a beer in hand, listening to one of those heavy vinyl players featuring the masterpieces of the Glenn Miller Orchestra, all beside my dad. Those moments were incredibly precious, but right now, I still can’t connect. I wonder if my kids will feel that way at some point, so I can say the ‘Brazilian Poet’ was right: “I see the future repeating the past; time never stops.” I wish the air weren’t so heavy on my lungs. And the quote by “Rita Mae Brown”, which I used to kick off this post, possessed more clear instructions to guide a lost soul as mine. Anyway, if you’re still with me up to this point and through this lengthy piece of writing, thanks!

Image courtesy of Unsplash