Copacabana, Rio de Janeiro: 25oC, hottish, sunny, and slightly overcast.
It is Tuesday, the eve of Yasmin’s birthday, and two days before a long bank holiday. On Thursday, it is Corpus Christi of the Roman Catholic religion, and Friday is a dead day for many people. All government offices and institutions will be closed, and only the poor will have to work.
In my childhood, we only travelled for a week, not weekends. My father had an enormous caravan in Tenby in Wales, roughly one hundred and fifty miles from where we lived; because of the distance, we would only go twice or three times a year.
The sense of distance at that time in England, where, for example, from where my mother lives to London, is only one hundred and fifty miles maximum, but in an English person’s mind, it would be as if it were from Rio to Manaus, which is more than one thousand five hundred miles.
A Paulista living in Sao Paulo must drive at least two hundred kilometres to go to a decent beach, which is considered normal. Or just going on a day trip for lunch at some particular place and coming back the same day can be more than three hundred kilometres there, and going back is customary in Brazil.
Today’s cars are more sophisticated, comfortable, reliable, and faster than in the past, so the stress of driving over long distances is less.
Brazil is highly classist; it is slightly hidden, but if you look carefully, you can see it. It is like racism; it is there, and it exists, but if you ask anyone if they are racist, they will automatically deny it. However, in a heated argument of the moment, informal bar talk, or even in the traffic with traffic rage, it suddenly rears its head and appears.
When I arrived in Brazil almost thirty-five years ago, the Brazilian middle class were practically seen as aristocracy or royalty. The difference between salaries between semi-skilled and graduated professionals was stratospheric.
If you were middle class or from a middle-class family, it was the thing to have a second beach house or a country cottage out of the city that you would travel to on weekends, especially long bank holiday weekends, with family and friends.
Over the last couple of decades, as Brazil has become more of an international player, the cost of living has risen exponentially. This has consequently made the Brazilian middle class poorer and made it more difficult for them to maintain their lifestyles because they cannot support the increased running and working costs of maids, drivers, gardeners, and even carers, etc.
Making new money is increasingly difficult nowadays, so it is vital to secure your money. There are exceptions, but very few in Brazil. At this moment, Brazil is not a favourable environment for entrepreneurism, there is a lot of hype and marketing from the government, but at the end of the day, all the government wants to do is to FUCK YOU!!!!
I came to Brazil to be successful, and I really am not. I have never been able to reach the success I thought possible with Brazil’s potential. I have got to survive and raise two daughters to a good level of education, which I believe is fundamentally important. But I have never unfortunately reached financial and materialistic success until now.
Like the other two hundred and twenty million survivors in Brazil, I consider myself a survivor. Suppose you take away the natural kindness and generosity of the people, the abundant flora and fauna of its natural wonders with its exuberant topography. In that case, you are left with a sadistic and perverse mess left by its politicians who want to consume and own you.
I gave classes, and Yasmin went to school in the morning. Jessica and Yasmin had arranged to have lunch together and after to go to the cinema as part of Yasmin’s birthday commemorations.
Yasmin put on one of her favourite dresses and jacket to meet Jessica. She was happy to meet her half-sister. I took her halfway to the shopping centre where she would meet her sister, but I had to get back to give classes.
I also gave Yasmin money to pay for lunch and the cinema, but Jessica refused and insisted on paying. Yasmin arrived home at about seven, happy that she had spent the afternoon with her sister; Jessica had also given her a pair of Star trainers for her birthday, which was very lovely and kind of her.
It makes me very happy to see my daughters together; I would not like them to lose contact in the future. I once asked Jessica to call or send a message every week, and Jessica told me never to ask her to do something, which shocked me. I do not know why she said that, but maybe it had something to do with me from the past.
Yasmin was happy to show me her new trainers and some new books, including Jane Austin’s classic Emma, which I have been fortunate to read in English and Portuguese.
It was a great day for Yasmin, and her birthday is only tomorrow!!!
In bed by 9.00 pm.
Thank you very much.
Thanks for reading my blog. Check out my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments.
Richard
