"Moving back to Brazil has been a long, tiresome rollercoaster ride. I packed a whole apartment that I had of my own and moved back to my parents' home, where I still have (and always will have) a room and plenty of support. I gave up a stable routine, a small but comfortable apartment that had my personality all over it, a nice car, amazingly loyal friends, and a job that allowed me to pay my own bills, and went from having to having-not. From being fully on my own to not even needing a set of keys when I leave the house.
I know this is sounding bad, as if I'm complaining, but what I'm really trying to say here is that coming back home took me more courage than than the courage I needed when I left to be on my own. Coming back came with a heavy price.
I'm having a lot of time to think, the kind of time that I don't wish to have right now. I feel an almost compulsive need to work nonstop, to occupy myself with things that require from me an almost scientific knowledge of problem-solving. I want all those possibilities to just leave right now. I want them to pack their shit and leave me here with simple and definite options. Like where what I want to do. Where I want to live, and how I want to live. I want days filled with solutions handed to me on a silver tray. Surprise me with the best choice. Brainfreeze me. Make me numb. Let me listen to music and not remember people and places. Leave me nostalgia-free. Vacate me for about a week. Move me forward, push me if you have to."
I wasn't very happy. Some things still bother me, but I'm more comfortable on my own skin. Somehow things worked out on their own, like they always do. I have reconnected with friends, I have a car, a job that I love, a great relationship with my family, and an improved self-steem. But the fact that I came back still blows me away. And I'm starting to get a little more nostalgic. You know, when you start remembering all those great things that weren't really "that" great? This simulacrum is usually what gets me in trouble.
