I pay the taxi driver and come back to the bus. As I finish this lines we start the ride. What a country. Ah and the driver explains me bikes are allowed. It is motorbikes that are not in Yangon 🙂

There is no toilet in the bus. Suddenly I see that the bus stops and many men are going out. I go to and see they are peeing in the jungle. 

I do not hesitate I go to I put my pants down and squat and pee non stop. I stand up to return and I realised that most men have left. As I am walking back to the bus I see a woman coming. She was in a dress.

I had an internal laugh for remembering Bolivia. “That is why women travel in skirts” I thought then. Now, I truly did not care about squatting, having my ass out. I simply felt delightful I had never asked to pee. 

Everybody from here had asked before. I was just a common citizen. And now I am back in my ride without wondering how many hours it would take for the bus to stop. I really don’t need it anymore.

I am back to looking at the beautiful green surrounding me 🙂 and suddenly I realise the monk who is in front of me is using his Huawei cell phone.

Modernity and old traditions enchant me. My grandma is 91 and sent me today a Whatsapp message to tell me about my posts and to say she misses me and André . She called me from her IPhone on face talk. And the monk, who is dressed in Monk clothes is in his Chinese Huawei cell, he had internet in his phone and he is on Facebook. 

Oh. It has been 15 minutes and we stop to eat. Now I am glad I peed before. It is a huge place. We have 30 minutes, says the driver. I luckily take a picture of the plate of the bus. 

There are hundreds of people here. There are many options so I buy a mango and when I asked a knife a boy takes my mango away from me. I wait 7 minutes and I give up. I go back to the mango vend since I am afraid to miss the bus. 

As I am buying the second one the boy comes after me. The mango is in a box. It is cut. There is fork and a spoon. I am amazed. I apologised. We can’t really speak but he returns the second mango to the counter and the money. They are so nice.

I am also given by the bus driver a kit that contains a tooth paste and some sort of brush. I decide for the fast method. I buy fruits and chips.

I walk back under a blatant sun. I go to the wrong bus. Luckily I have the picture. I walk looking for about 10 till I found mine. It is closed. I decide to stay there under the sun. In not even 5 minutes he arrives and though I am the first to come in. In maybe two minutes we are in the road. So if you come here ” Never be late”. It seems that they are very friendly and punctual.

A couple hours later and he stops again for the toilet. And this time it looks like an Indian bathroom and I am so thankful.  I had cramps last night and thought and put pads, and pain pills in my bag. 

Dear lord never I so needed so much a bathroom like that time . My pants were wet and I put my hands and see I have my period. While I am in a bus I put the toilet paper inside of my trousers I simply use discretion and no alarm. 

So you can look at this picture and think ” yak” why do they have this kind of toilet?. I was amazed they stopped, simply for a toilet. I again never said anything. I went in and remembered India. I Was able to clean myself. Put pads. Wash my hands and feel very happy. 

Another great tip for women is to always have paper and pads in their bag 🙂 and of course, to not be alarmed by the natural process of your body.

I am back in the bus and then there are hills, and it is more dry, old houses, colourful houses. Lots of children walking in the street.
And suddenly we are in Bagan. In order to have Internet I come to this colonial hotel. The Internet is poor so I swim. I am mesmerised there 73 workers for so few tourists. It is beautiful. 

I sit to eat and I meat 3 engineers. They are German, American and Bulgarian. We debate Texler and economics for hours. I guess the Amercan is write I am privileged to be able to be here. He works here. He is right when he says that the power to have choice is power.  But he is wrong about the value of our actions. He sees our life as having no meaning. I see the brief encounters I have had all over as what makes life have meaning. I do not attribute economic value to everything.

Today I will join them to go to the stupas at 5 am to see the son rise. Fellipe Barbosa who is filming in Kilimanjaro will bring a photo of Leila to the mountain and I will bring her a Letter and my prayers.

In my lack of religion I meet every single one of them inside of me. In our deep humanity with its flaws we connect ourselves in the “limited” or non definable amount of energy there is. I will aspire for the inpermanent permanence of the value of single encounters I have had. I am defined by the priviledge I have for receiving and giving an non accountable amount of love, gratitude and joy. What he sees as simple power I see as a gift. Not in the anthropological definition as a contract but simply not definable by language.

I am in a bus. And even coming to the station gives me a story. I share a taxi with a couple from Spain. They are great. I steal seat in front and the taxi driver can speak some good English . And what a story under my interview. Takes more than 1.5 our the ride to the bus like place.
First he teaches us more sentences in Burmese. And he can say things in Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, Greek, Thai, Indonesian. I ask him why and he tells me he used to work in a ship.
I am amazed. He has been everywhere. In every country the ship stayed 4 days to 2 weeks. So he saw a lot. I asked him why he had stopped.
“I am old. 50.”
He tells me his wife is in hospital and shows me her picture. He shows me his daughters. I show him myself in hospital, André, my parents and my grandma. 
I ask him what is the red thing I see in men teeth. He shows me it is tobacco they chew. “It is not healthy.” They are green leaves and he chews to show me it becomes green and makes you awake. 
I ask him how he started that job in a ship and he tells me he worked for the government. His father also did and told him to leave and take the ship. I was amazed and ask. ” The Junta?”
And yes. And he is in his 70. I ask if misses the ship. And he eventually tells me he does not at all.
” I own this taxi. I decide when I work. When I stop. No one is my boss. I am free. I don’t have to be doing what someone else tells me I need to do. Do you understand?”
Dear lord. How much I understand. We speak so much that as I leave to take the bus I forget to pay the taxi. 10 thousand. I had gotten 7 thousand from the Spaniards. I ran to find him.
When I see him he asks me whether I had forgotten something. 
” I forgot to pay you!”
” Oh. I forgot that too.”
I pay him and come to the bus. As I finish this lines we start the ride. What a country. Ah an he teaches me bikes are allowed. It is motorbikes that are not 🙂

My travelling style brings my life back to me. Seriously I can barely remember I was in a hospital weeks ago. Instead first I feel piece by piece my life is being given back to me.

I wake up at 6am. I am still in mixed time. I go down and there is sweet small mangoes, eggs, coffee and tea. There is a little cattle in every single table. I eat and feel delighted and I tell the ladies of the hotel I need to go to the shop.

“Well it is not open.”

I show the women by stretching my loose Indian pants that I have no underwear. I forgot this item in Brazil.

” Oh :)” and they laugh and they ask a boy to give me a ride to a simple market. It is so close and I tell them I will come back walking. I find the underwear and ask where is the toilet. Well, I found the underwear by seing and the toilet I did not. And no one understands me. Nor did I 🙂
So I enter the little shops and saw the Tamei and Long Ti. I am so amazed by them. And since they do not understand the bathroom I ask them to put them on top of my lose Indian Pants. 

I am amazed. It is so beautiful. I get 3. Netinha (who works in our house in São Paulo) sees the picture and is delighted and I am definitely think I will bring it for her! 

She follows my Brazilian blog and is amazed by Asia. She is the Angel of our life and came from the north of Brazil. I am amazed that in fact so little people know this place exists. Burma that had to change its name in 1989 because of the Junta and became in 2011 accepted by the UN as the Republic Of the Union Of Myanmar. It borders India, Bangladesh, China, Thailand and Laos. 

The  embargo of the opposition on tourism was lifted since China and Thailand kept their commercial relations always working.
I am so happy she loves seing the photos, the Portuguese posts. It is Fundamental for people to know what I always did: There is no difference between “social class” but rather it constructs dis- information and there is difference between people in spite of where they were born. And total smilaeities. 

Disney is given as dream but never the beauty that there is in the East. Real beauty that does come with flaws and not fake perfection.
Anyway, as I am back home here, I meet my Burmese friends and we take pictures, we sing. And they love Adele. I am amazed and remember my youth when I knew lyrics and had no idea what they meant. They have perfect accent singing. And I am told Adele is the greatest success here in Burma. 

I see Korean and music from here. The music of Burma makes me feel joy. This time it is a band. Looks like the Burmese Beatles 🙂 oh yes, of course they all have phones, and an a tablet so I can see soooo much.

I decide that it is maybe time to see more things and in this gorgeous day they look at my Tamei and say lets gets it properly tied. So they take it to be tailored. How can I tank them? 

I told them though I had paid two nights I can take the night bus and they do not have to give money back to me. They tell me I should stay at least until tomorrow. You should return. You should bring André. 

I go walking and walking and seeing this lovely city that is populated by people in traditional clothes. There are modern houses, fancy houses, and also really old ones, worn out ones. Markets, vendors. There are temples and so much.

I see people in Hijab, I see people who were Hindu. Open markets, stores, roads and more roads. Shops and more shop the old world being invaded by the new world. 

Suddenly I feel I have walked a lot. Time to return I should not be suddenly hungry and sleepy. 
I come back and my Tameis are ready. I seat and I eat. Fried noodles with vegetables. I find it is great. I seat to talk to my Burmese friends and we talk, we laugh. 

 I wonder what is the powder that I see in people’s face all over. “It is Tanaka- sand wood”. I always thought it was makeup but they tell me it is good for the skin. So I end up in more and more talk 🙂

I sleep and wake up when other tourists have arrived. I had never seen them because I left too early and returned when they were out.

” What did you do? Did you go bla, did you go bla” I am asked

And I say I have not done almost anything. It is a precious semi-lie. I got my life back. I followed by body, my desire. I have wonderful clothes, I made friends. I learn about their lives. Their customs. I even sang. 

I can even write to share to those who wished to come. I feel so grateful that Netinha, a woman who was born in a poor region, in a family poor of money but reach of humanity and love is now following me in Asia while taking care of my grandma. 

She is dazzled to find out that another world that is so beautiful existed. She loves the Tamei. I am so glad. She asked me what was the price and I told her it was 5 dollars. She asks me whether I could bring it to her and she would pay me back. 

Of course I can. I was already going to give 4 people a gift. My grandma, André, my mom, and Netinha. Now I know what to give her as a gift. 

I did not tell her I would not charge it. I told her the value of it. Because she would love to know she could afford it. And I love that she says Asia is so beautiful. 
In my day of doing so little that was so much I am back in place. We are human beings. We all should strive to see other human beings to give value to all that exists.

The old and the new. I am thankful  my 91 year old grandma just gave me face talk alone. Netinha could use her phone to see a Tamei. The Burmese showed me the old and the new together. 

I am a bit out time 🙂 I slept profoundly at 5. And I woke up now at 10pm 🙂 And decided to write about the first day in English too.

I spent hours in the airport of Bangkok looking at the people in the airport that attends too many flights of air Aisia. I looked the vast majority of Asian passing by. They used all kinds of colourful clothes. They were very happy. And I kept wondering about where were they from. So I asked 🙂 I met Malaysians, Japanese, Chinese, Thai, Indians, Thais. 

I met mr Smith better since I had not met him in the flight but I also had found out he was in the same hotel. I certainly had so much joy that I spoke to everybody in the immigration of Myanmar/ Burma.
I asked them how to say thank you. And I was told about many different views witch made me think it had to do the more than 100 different cultures here. In any case, they all helped me and for now we stayed with “Tchê Zu Bê”
Tomi, who is from Burma, was waiting for us in a white shirt and a Sarong. And thought I spoke to everybody I was still the first to be there. We had to wait for 4 people. I therefore asked about a thousand things. 

The sarong is called for men Lang Ti and for women Lamei. There was loads of traffic and I was told there was a law that forbade for locals to ride a bike. There were still bikes in the streets and people walking with their colourful clothes in the street. Women and children had a powder in their faces. 

 I even asked about the music and so Tomi told me they heard hip hop and rock and when I asked about the local music he showed me on his phone a traditional song that really seemed the encounter of Thailand and India. There was a drumming and a lady singing.

Back to the hostel we met the lovely ladies who seem to be always overflown by joy and laughter. Their clothes are in many colours and always laugh.

Mr Smith invited me to go with him to the famous Swegadon pagoda. I have written how beyond belief amazing it was. And how lucky I was to have with me a Thai friend who told me about it. He told me to find the corner of my day, the day I had been born. I found it was a Thursday and I watered the Buddha, the sculpture behind him, the animal behind it. 

I was very moved by it. He took of a picture of me doing it. I took pictures of him and I even made it for my grandmother and André.
This pagoda has so many details and it is so amazing that it is rather impossible to describe it. We visited the ones around it, I saw children give pop corn to fish. I saw ladies seating and praying. I saw men doing the same. We all had to take our shoes out. 

When we reached the main Pagoda we climbed hundred of steps always being surrounded by shops of flowers, gifts, sculptures, Buddhist objects.
I even took picture of foreigners I saw there because they were couples and wanted to be together in front. How hard was that, since it is so hard to get the whole, or at least a part of the whole.

Architects , artists, engineers would be amazed by the intricacy of the construction. The ceilings, the walls, the stairs. It is so amazing that I lack words to explain it.

All I can say is that my arrival was blissful. I was in a the largest and most complex pagoda I have ever been. I was next to a Thai Buddist new friend who helped me a lot to understand. He was very discrete and knew so much. I am simply grateful.

I have one more day in Yangon and then I have decided I take a 12 hours bus to Bagan. Tomorrow I am still able to tell something but internet is rare.
I am very happy to be here. As I have learned 
“TChê Zu Bê.”

I have been told by different people all over the world that I guess in 7 years all cells change in your body and at the same time some have told me that your body has marked in it our life. 

I think of both of them as I open my eyes and look to the sky in Thailand. The sun is appearing. I can’t remember anything. As I land I know the airport so well.
By the time I am in a little semi bus to Bangkok I look outside and I do not remember the city. The traffic. By the time I am the city I do.

And then I go to the lovely hostel and since I cannot have a room because it is too early I call André and Dra. EUthymia. I eat and I decide to do a Thai Massage.

There I am certain my body has registered so much. She touches me up and down. She stretches me like no one can do but in Thailand. She presses and makes my life bloat of even more gratitude.
I have to tell her I am so thankful. She is absolutely good. I had been in hospital. It is the talk of two strangers who can’t barely speak.
I am reminded of my time here as a volunteer when I developed our languages of profound conversation with little words.

I keep thinking that so few westerners can deal with a real Thai massage. It touches the pain you never remember. It makes energy float. I tell her.

“Good pain. Good. Bad pain is no good. No pain massage no good.”

I know so profoundly this is true. As the Japanese taxi driver told me in Brazil ” here people just want to prevent death and pain. I am not afraid to die I am afraid to be stuck, to give burden to others.” I had written a little about him in my Brazilian blog. And he understood me fighting to live and not surviving.

I am even invited to meet the ladies of the saloon at night to talk more since I did not take oil massage, I did the Thai and we spoke. I sat there and we talked

Yes, that is what I have done hours after the massage. I avoided the talks in the cafes surrounding us. Foreigners were talking about what to consume in short time. They were tourists talking about every continent they had spent little time in months rushing. Since my body remembered the tourists I did not engage in these talks.

I came to my new hostel. I played with a little Thai child. I talked to the Thai. I go to my room and thought it was time to sleep. I had to wake up late to see my news Thai friends at night. 

I posted a picture online on Facebook and Michal sent me a message. We talk. We remembered how we usually ran away from tourists and spent blissful time eating what the local did, allowing every Indian to take a picture with us and talking to them.

My body remembers Michal had crossed Asia to help me when I broke my foot in front of the Mekong. She tells me about Burma to where she could go while I could not. She tells me she misses Asia. 

I tell her Andre and I moved to Peru since we do not support the government in Brasil. She also does not like Bibi and wished she could go away from Israel. We laugh. What is it with our selective group? We feel from nowhere really and we love Asia.

I am in Thailand and my body has no doubts about how much I love this place. I feel almost embarrassed by the amount of joy. Can you imagine me embarrassed? This is how much joy I feel. 

I walk and looked at things and keep thinking I wish André was here. I keep looking, and I know that I barely really see and I am certain he would know even what is behind. As the masseur turns me up and down I think thinking Andre would be amazed by that. He would understand the value of it. I so wanted him to receive a real good Thai massage.

I sleep thinking that after Peru he comes this way. Life is too short and not predictable for people simply to work and not go back to the corners of their bodies that they did not even know before it existed.

I am back home. The day was hot. Now there is wind. My body remembers this too. There will be a wonderful storm. And one day, very soon, in the end of Andre’s contract I will insist he comes and enjoy life. Come and meet Asia. Not the Chinese employer but the land that is proud for never have being colonised. 

I am not sure how to start this post. I have been telling loads of what has been happening in my Brazilian Blog. I should start by saying that I have just received this photo from Nabil who was, and probably still is the love , the companion of Leila Alaoui. You can see in the picture a child that is looking at Leila’s photo. My eyes filled with tears. I felt so grateful to be someone tagged in it. And I decided it was time to write in English.

I was once again in hospital two weeks ago. My MRI had shown I had another inflammation in my brain. I was told to go back to Hospital and I did. 
There I met Fatima the only person who never complained. The only one who had a serious problem that had led her to be paralytical, back walking, paralytical, and back to walk.  And only her and I saw pain as a positive thing. It meant that the part in her body was alive again. We became friends.

So, I obviously was visited by  an enormous time to think. And to think about Leila and Dr Getulio. 
What did they have in common? Why did they have my deep love and respect?  They had enormous courage. Strong thoughts. Extreme concern about the other. They helped as they could those in their path. A brilliant neurologist, and a brilliant photographer. They also had in common a death that surprised us all, it came out of nowhere.
 

Leila was shot in Burkina Faso and died in Hospital, Getulio finished a semi marathon in great time, took  a picture of himself and head a heart attack. Both of them went to hospital and had a visit  of health and enormous improvement.  And the following day they died.

 
The lights that I saw, and the pain in my head came in these two circumstances.  This year. January, and February the day they died. To both of them I knew  before I was told about it. I felt it.

I told Fellipe before he told me, Janete when she told me he was in a coma.  I walked to the hospital alone one hour after he had died. I just felt, and wished I was wrong. Technically, I am not even religious. I just knew it.
And then my world collapsed. Till I had a stroke. So mild. I felt ok. And then I though there is life after departure. In after a month I had to go to hospital again. As I  said I had a new inflammation. 

As I was this time in hospital I bought a ticket to go to Burma. I told the doctor I would go. If my life was to be over, it had to be there. It does not mean I do not want to return. It means that I want to live. I do not want to survive. I took 3 days of cortisone in my vain and it was fine. I was happy. I was joyful. And then I agreed to try an immune supressor. I thought it was fine.

I came home. I vomited from 7 till 3 am non stop. I had diarea. I had so much pain and kept thinking. “Good. Pain is good. Vomiting means this is a poison. I was so fine before entering the hospital. I will never take this medicine again. I will accept my body as it is.”. 
Dra. Karen told me to go back, because I would loose too much water and be dehydrated. I did not. I vomited and drank water with salt and sugar  that André made for me and it stopped.I drank coke. I barely ate for two days.

Then even my mother realised there was no argument, so she told me to eat so that I would be strong. I ate several days meet.
Andre  was hired to go to Peru. We accepted it. He went on Saturday and I will go there in July. Yes, that is it. I am going first to  ( Insh’allah) to Thailand these sunday 29. The first of June Insh’allah I will fly to Yangon.
Passports, hotels, visas, letter from the doctor, the bag it is everything ready.

I have now attended weelky the commision of peace and justice. And saying goodbye to them was hard. Brazil is under a coup but I do not see reason to stay here or to fight. So we decided to leave. And the people who told me they will miss the most are Dona Maria and Seu Francisco. They live in the street. I told them and they said they would not miss me because I brought food. They would miss me because I talked to them. It moved me. Seu Francisco asked me about Andre. Dona Maria asked about my grandmother. Seu Francisco saw Andre once. Dona Maria never saw my grandmother. It made me cry.

So, yes I get a picture from Nabil. And I see Leila is here. Getulio is here in all that they have touched. I will be here in the little that I have done. Simple words that you never realise means the world to the other. Like the words of some mean the world to you.

I hope my next message will be from Abu Dhabi. It is where I change flights. If not, from Thailand and then from Burma:)
I feel more alive than ever. I feel that after 2013 life was given back to me. And though I have suffered I now understand more profoundly Alyosha in Karamazov saying you must feel pain, anger, rage to be further in the path of development. Compassion becomes a real feeling and not an idea. You must loose to give value to what you have.

From my total atheism, I go back to the path, to TAO filled of faith in human beings, in Allah, God,  all of them, spirits, indigenous, Karmapa. 

In fact, I have faith in the path. I do not believe life has more value by the years you have lived. It has value by your actions, your courage, you compassion. 
I know it might shock some, but I must say, if my journey finishes in Asia I accept that. It does not mean I don’t want to return, or live. It means that not going means fighting to survive by not living, by not doing what I give value to. I want to live. For as long as I can. I want to live.

With all my love,

Jules

Ps: I received this from Nabil. I would like to share that too.

Dear Julieta De Toledo Piza Falavina, I am very touched by your words. I know from Leila that you had health concerns, and I read you to discover that some of the conditions persist. Your courage and serenity will help you face this situation. Your strong convictions and causes will give you drive and energy. Your Will is Strong. The Will to Live, the Will to Love, the Will to Be and Do Good. You are right not to be fatalist. It doesn’t help. Be careful and don’t push yourself too much. Doctors will advise you well, and friends will surround you. cried last night as I looked at this photo, and I thought of you and how much Leila loves you, and how she spent hours with you on the phone, eager to stay in touch and be at your side during the tough times you were going through. Leila is still next to you, dear Julieta.

So, today I decided to write about where I come from. Most of you know Brazil is going through a  grave political, identity, economic, judicial problem. You also know, I always feel much more as an outsider than from here. However this explosion of identity crisis of the inhabitants of Brazil made me go back to my family history. I know, some of you know, the person that I love the most if my grandmother Lucia Andrade Piza.  I live with her and as this crisis started I decided I needed to know what had really happened while her brother Auro Moura Andrade in the 60’s was a Senator.  I should add that he was the vice-president, kind of president of the Senate then.

In 61 my great uncle, who I have never met, accepted the letter of renouncement of Janio Quadros, the Brazilian president at the time. Joao Goulart, know as Jango, took the presidency.  Jango seemed to have socialist inclinations. As you can imagine that concerned the militaries and the US. So while  Jango, was still in Brazil Auro declared the position  of presidency opened on  the 2 of Apirl of 64. And Tancredo Neves screamed in the Senate when the lights were off “Canalha, Canalha, Canalha!”Which is ( scoundrel).  And so a dictatorship started here, Castelo Branco took the presidency.

While I am here I have been going to the commission of Peace and Justice, I have been listening to famous professor Fabio Comparato.  And everyday I get even more disappointed by what I see and hear. My grandmother told me that politics corrupts people. And even her seeing the voting of the impeachment thought it seemed like a joke. We had Eduardo Cunha a man who is accused of several crimes leading the voting of the process and several criminals voting pro impeachment. So many spoke of their wives, children and not of the people. Later we were told also of their whatsapp messages to their lovers who were prostitutes.

I did not vote for Dilma. In fact, I almost never voted since I was usually out of Brasil. And suddenly we are attacked with discourses about the constitution ( by people who have never read it), about ethics on both sides. We see a total disaster in both sides. And what shocks me the most is to see this country becoming a Fundamenlist Evangelical  country. Hearing deputies speaking is so absolutely outrageous that would make you laugh if you were not to think that the only reason something worse has not happened  yet it is because they are still not the government.

It is a way back to stupidity, racism, prejudices, women loosing their rights. Rights that they had fought for years.  I remember of the time of when I was in Turkey. My Turkish friends who were artist, gays, modern were very afraid of the growing of Islam. I could see why it had happened. The muslim neighborhoods were in better situation than the neo-liberal ones. And the artist I met were asking for  the militaries to be back. They wanted Ataturk. I was very intrigued by that at the time.

Now, think Brazil, this enormous growth of Evangelical Churches is  connected to corruption, to manipulation, and to Neo-liberalism. These men are connected to scandals, and they are admiring torturers. My own 91 year old grandmother sees a total growth of backwardness. Every single person who is serious, who is filled by  responsibility is deeply depressed… We do not see a way out.

I felt an outsider, now I see my deep connection to the political history of this country and while I am not a nationalist I declare I will never support this path. This is the path to reduce the rights of those who have few, the rights of women, social movements. It is connected to deep corruption and deep violence of the police, to prostitution. And unfortunately, the hate floats in the streets and once friends now they no longer speak.  Don’t get me wrong. It has nothing to do a specific religion as I have learned from the amazing Muslims, Jews, Christans, Buddhist, Atheist, Hindus  I have met. It has to do with neo-liberalism, with corruption and with the abuse of rhetoric and power.

I walked the other day caring with me a question. “Why do you need so much to go back to Asia.”. Why do I feel not from Brazil?  I answered thinking about Karmapa and about the Thais I know, the Mekong.  And then I walked kms home and I thought more profoundly about it. It was hard to address the roots. And suddenly it became clear I lost my roots. I had to think I am an “inbetweener” or an outsider.

I pondered about what it really meant to be an inbetweener. And like must of us who feel this feeling we  seem to lack home. I thought about those who had married to someone of some other country. I thought about the children of parents of different countries and cultures.  And though I pondered if it wouldn’t be the same case for couples who had a  blatant difference between social classes I realised that once you throw languages into the equation things become way more complex.

If we are to remove language our fundamental humanity is so obvious. It does not really matter where you are, you can exchange the basic principles of life with anyone if you want. However, when you can speak than the reality of philosophy, religion, and culture become the verbalization of difference.

I pondered and realised that many have lived abroad but that is not what makes you an “inbetweener.”. And I do not even attribute value to this group, I simply pondered about it.  What makes it exist, how can you define  it?  Maybe is the amount of time in transition, through many years, and learning languages. Maybe it is the fact that you start to import parts of what you admire of the outside. And of course, you do not become part  of it. And even more impressive you start to remove some things that come from where you were born. And of course, you do it without realising it.  And then suddenly the solid roots, and nationality that many people carry, we simply don’t. We feel like a human being very similar and different to anyone anywhere.

So, Asia comes to my mind, and there there are many  people  on an eternal quest for home. And the more we search the less of a place we are from. We are always an outsider and we become pleased by that. And it is in Asia that I met people from the west who were like me…. on the road for too long, and they were searching in between lines the reality of that which seemed daily more impossible to be found. So long that none of us could really fix a solid base anywhere, and maybe we do not even know how to. Maybe we can’t, nor want to. Even more profoundly the deepest connections have happened with people you will not see that often, and probably will never see again. But their presence inside of you never seems to disappear. I know that people who have ground tend to fill it is because it is easier than to not deal with something daily. That could be the case, I do not deny, but what I realise is that for whatever reason  there is, we oppose to have a solid ground.  And we probably do not even feel that anyone who is not an inbetweener could really grasp it.

I walked and I thought of Maciek who I met in England, who spent time in Asia, and who is from Poland and now feels it is time to move to a new continent, to learn a different language. I think of Andrey who is from Russia and I met in my Phd in London, he also has been to many places  and now is doing a PhD in Sweden in a new language.  And then I think of Nese who I met  in Amsterdam in a class on conflict resolution,  we spoke in a mix of French, English and basics of Dutch. I met her in her house in Turkey, and now she is in the UK. Then comes to my mind Chi, who was born in Taiwan and crossed China, europe, Africa, mddle East and the Americas. I met him in the UK, years later he came to  Brasil and told me that of all he had seen in more than 3 years on the road he was moved by Iran and Sudan. He was moved by the strength of the people. I think  of my dear friend Leila who lived with me in NY and then floated the world between Lebanon, Europe, Africa,  US  making amazing photos that are now in her institute  and Leila Alaoui is in heaven. Like me she liked to hear the tales of others. So many people come to my mind.

Ironically it is way easier for me to in write in English than to do it in Portuguese or French, the languages of my childhood. It will be filled with flaws in any language I shall attempt to write. I have to recognise the path has made me like that. In a world of violence and wars more and more wondereres there will be.  There will be more people displaced by choice or lack of it. And we all seem to sick a community to which we belong to.

So, I am in Brasil, this country faces a total absurd of a coup. One that can be justified by the process but not for the reasons. People are divided and filled by hate. Lacking roots I see as an outsider. I see a media that is filled with political interest, a judicial system that has no obligation to report to anyone. It judges as they want. My pain comes for the poor because they will pay for this, like they do anywhere. I do not care regret simply because I protested against it. Like I did in the US. I did not support the bombing of Afghanistan, nor Iraq when I was in NY,  I do not support this impeachment. Like I do not believe in pre-emptive attacks, even in my own life I changed doctors because I do not want to throw in my body  infiltrations to prevent the possibilities of an attack. Like I was against the war of Gaza I am against what is happening in Brasil.  In a sense it makes me even more as an outsider. Like I went alone to every continent I realised I missed Asia because  there I stepped next to people like me. None of my friends would ever support a violent police, wars, and would not recognise their privilege to  be able to meet the other. My roots are lacking… and I do not miss them. I am part of a group.  My group are of people who are in between. We are valuing  and working to be  in the path of morality, ethics, and compassion.  We are working, as we can,  for the construction of a better world, we help the person who is next to us in spite of where they come from.

As usual I feel I must share because all that I encountered belongs to all of us. The greatest gift of life is life itself. And our human life is deeply connected to our minds. It is so heard and complicated to talk about a mind. So, I will not be technical because I could not be. I will not speak of synapses I will simply give you  the gift that was given to me. Meditation.

No, you do not need to close yourself for months in a monastery, nor do a ritual, or go to Asia… Every single one of us needs to learn how to calm down our minds. It does not matter in which situation we are in nor where we are. we must  practice this great path. It is not dependent on you believing or not believing in it. It is a practice. I will post it here a site where you can do a 15 minutes meditation.

There are a few possibilities.  They are all important. There are many forms. Here I post audios and the site. RAIN means Recognise, Accept, Investigate and not get Involved in it. It is a great tool to use when you suddenly notice something is very hard. Allow yourself 15 minutes of peace, of meditation and you will notice deeper thoughts about your feelings and more peace will come. This does not mean you will become alienated from what is happening around you. It means you will be able to deal with what is around you. I guess you should do the one you want. You just need to touch the link  below and the name of the meditation… you will hear someone telling you what to do. I truly hope this can help you.

Choose one of the audio file which is in the website

http://www.shambhala.com/MindfulnessPrescription

1. Mindful Breathing
2. Sound, Breath, and Body
3. Body Scan
4. Mindful Walking
5. Mind Like a Sky
6. RAIN
7. Loving Kindness
8. Mindful Presence

http://www.shambhala.com/MindfulnessPrescription

  
I had never planted a tree. I did it last year. It is called Grumixama and I baptised it Vovó Lucia Grumixama.  I loved planting so much that I planted four others.

It is in Ubatuba. I planted and gave them names. Jambo Vovô  Ze Luis, Ipê Cucuru ( which is the nick name I invented for Andre), Araçá Helo ( for my mom) and Juju Manacá da Serra. 

I come often here so the following weak I planted Juju, she was not there. It had been robbed. I was sad and bought another one and that one simply never had flowers. And then three Weeks ago I went to hospital. Got out and went to the mountains seeing many Manacas with many flowers.

Came here last weekend and when I looked Juju Manacá it was dry. There were no leaves. I was so sad that I did not tell my grandma.

I came back yesterday and today I told her. ” Vovó Lucia Grumixama is like you. Alive , green , growing . And Juju Manacá is like me. It is dead.”

“Julieta do not say that. ”

” it is true ”

“Let buy a new one and ask the gardener to plant it.”

This week I spent time thinking about how many times I have wished for death. I started doing mindfulness with the help of Dra Euthymia. And I have decided to work consistently in being in peace. To choose life and not methods of prevention of disease by reducing my immune system. In giving real value of life.

The  shop of trees was closed so I decided to come home and to water the trees that were alive. Suddenly I saw a new tree growing. I was happy and said to Andre:

“Look someone planted a tree here..” Andre came by and knowing way more of gardens said:

“Ju, no one planted this tree. She was still alive under the earth.”

I was so moved by it. It was not the Manacá, it was a tree that once dried, but the strength of life is enormous. I decided I would not ask anyone to plant. I want to be Ju, Jules, Jewels, Chu, Chouchou, Coucou Unknown tree. Maybe it is a lemon tree, maybe a Mexirica . I really have no idea.

The strength of this plant moves me. It does not give up, nor any gardener gave fertiliser to it. It simply appeared filled with green lives from a dead small piece of an old tree. This tree is connected to the life of nature. It fills me with faith for live, gods, nature.