Today is my total laziness day. It is not because I am sick, nor tired, nor is the weather bad. It is because after 19 km walking in the mountains of Kalaw with my great guide Kimanjê . Not only I knew lots about his life but He told me he was going to another city with his uncle.

I guess I have been writing so much in Portuguese, that I have to make a huge summary. For those who have read me you all know about Mr Win.

Mr. Win took me to the botanical garden of Pwin Oollwim. I chose to go in the local way and thanks to Mr Win not only he did this but I learned a lot about his life and about Burma or Myanmar.

It goes a bit like this. Mr win’s father worked for the British and he learned English when he was 4. His life became way more complex after the British left in 48.

Myanmar was called Burma since the mid 19th century till 1988. In 1947 the General Aung San was killed and in 1948 the British left. In 1988 the Junta took power and changed the name of the country.

 There many different cultures here more than 100. In 2011 there was an election which elected the General Thein Sein from the Junta to become president. 

According to Mr Win, actually all of this part is according to him. They changed colour , in other words from official Military government to fake democracy. No one believed it.

When Aung San died he left 3 children. One is dead, and the other two are Aung San Su Chi, and Aung San Oo.
In 1988 the Junta took power and Aung San Su Chi returned and lived under house arrest for about 6 years.

Finally in 2016 the new election put Tink Yaw into presidency. He is the son of a famous writer and is from the party of Su Chi. Su Chi is in International relations now.

So I am in a country where many people are very happy. Mr Win says it is a young democracy and he believes disbelieving.
I absolutely adore Mr Win. I not only met him by total luck but I ate with him and his students in the street for 2 days. I learned how to eat with my hands, I spoked to his students in micro words about Messi and Neymar 🙂

On the third day he came with me to the botanic garden. And though he now lives in a monastery and teaches everybody he has little money. He never charged me to take me. He just agreed for me to pay food and transport. And everyday I think I should have insisted more.

I took a bus to Kalaw and here I hired Kimanhê ( my spelling). He was a young boy. I am always optimistic. Yesterday we had a marvellous day walking the mountains. We walked from 8:30 to 4:30. I was never even tired. 

It was the two of us and wow I learned even more. This boy who was so modest at first is actually in the fourth year of law school. He knew so much about politics, the plants, about anything really.

So his initial scepticism about the government has foundation. He told me about the conflicts there are in the border of Bangladesh. 

He does not chew tobacco leaves, or drinks or smokes because he is concerned about life. He is concerned about the environment. He knew and spoke about documentaries on global warming. 

I wonder sometimes how is it that some people believe we are very different. So much similarity and difference there is even inside one family. Just imagine in the world.

We spoke in the middle of midst, and fog and it was wonderful. So green, so much talk, so much I learned of the Burmese language. 

He explained that now phones are accessible to all but Internet is expensive. They use it a lot in games. I was sad to know that he would not be here but he told me where to go, how to dress. So I went to the other agency and bought for 2 days later. I never knew I would wake up so well today.

I open the curtains and is sunny. It is 6 am. I go down and see the Junta in the streets. I walk to the agency but it is too early. I walk a while and then return to have breakfast.

In my lovely hotel I have now friends from Singapore and a mysterious family of a Japanese men, and 3 Burmese girls. The lovely lady told me she does not speak Japanese. And the man does not speak Burmese or English. The children did. When I see this meals of 4 people who cannot speak to each other my eternal thought that language is not that fundamental brings me joy.

The lovely girl from Singapore tells me I should not walk today. I should go to a Spa. She even tells me she thought about me last night. How could I go out of a hospital, fly to Asia and climb a mountain.

She was so cute. I told her not to be worried. I was not. But I did take her advice seriously. Why not. It is already booked for tomorrow. The rain never displeased me. Let’s find out what a spa is like. 
All that I have to say is that I love Asia.

Dear lord you all have to forgive me for non editing 🙂 on top of mynormal non perfect ability to write in any language I have always tons of stories and I am trying to write a bit in Portuguese and in English.

The small version of yesterday is that I arrived in Mandalay and walked in the street and an older westerner looking like came to talk to me.

He joined me and he looked older, worn out, and with a complex life. He looked like the Australian who had escaped prison and went to India. This men eventually told me he was Russian living half in Russia and half in Thailand.

I spoke to him of my adoration for the brothers of Karamazov. And he told me it was not adored by all Russians. He was nothing like my dear friend Andrey that sweats delicacy and truth and dislikes that book. He was mysterious man. I was not afraid by that, I told him I was in hospital 3 weeks ago. He told me so he was and that he had won a new family in Thailand out of something terrible . On top of it all his name was Alexei.

I quoted Alyosha and said it was his nickname . I was meeting him. He knew the book and he was bewildered by that sentenced. In fact shocked . He apologised and left. Alyosha to those who have not read the book says only those who have met their harder emotions can go further in the path of evolution.

As I sat alone a girl from Mandalay smiled and I sad hello. I started a conversation and so she moved to my table. Then came her mom. She spoke a little of English and we became friends on Facebook. 

I woke up and we decided to meet tonight. She will show me the market 🙂 I decided to walk on my own and stopped and had millions little conversations and then I see some people eating while  siting in the street. I ask whether I could take a picture and Mr Win invites me to eat.

I seat on the floor and eat the best food I ever had in years. Spiced. Delicious. Non stop. And to top it all he spoke English and was a teacher. He told me the story of the country.

Once again I am not asked anything and he does not let me pay. I am welcomed to his country. I am told to return. The young boys showed me a paper of football players. Brazilians and Argentinians 🙂

I ran back home to at least write this. Soon it is time to meet my new friend 🙂
How is it again? Someone said the city was not interesting… I love it here. I saw pagodas and a mosque. So many things. I do not know the names of the places. To be quite honest what I love the most is the people.
They also take a picture of me and tell me I will be in their Facebook 🙂 I am happy they will be in mine.

I woke Up at 4
to not be late. I was here outside before 5. I took of piece of paper and wrote a letter to Leila. I wanted to put it close to a Buddha. 
I met the 3 engineers and we rented the motorbikes. I had not known how to ride. They wanted to see the sun lift and they ran. The Bulgarian boy helped me more. And I just decided to do it slowly on my own. They had a mission to do. And for them everything is about a personal fulfilment.

As I am riding a Burmese man sees that I fall. He helps me up and asks me if I need his help. I thank him and I say that I do not want to disturb him. He says he will at least follow me a bit till I know how to go.

Paulki is his name and he has a Brazilian cap. I tell him about my family and he tells me about his. When we get to a temple he tells me to come inside. I go and he teaches me it all. The history, the story of his family that had been here for the post 5 generations. He shows me a picture of Suu Ki on his phone.

When I enter one of the temples, stupas, I ausdenly saw a Budha. I show him a picture of Leila and I tell him I wrote her a Letter. He tells me to put it close to the Buddha. I stay still and do it. I pray, meditate, cry and feel I so grateful.

As we walk more he tells me I am a good friend. We stop to meet his friends. I ask what he does? He tells me he is a painter. I am even invited to see his family and his paintings.

We see so much. I learn so much. And thinking of the American Engineer I ask him how can I thank him. The American boy had told me I was deluded to think that the people to whom I talked and gave food . ” They would miss the food not you”.

I tried to explain that the people I know who live in the streets spoke to me about they would miss me talking to them. It made them feel human. He thought I was deluded. “We are meaningless in the world”

I ask Paulki what to give him. Maybe the American boy was right. And Paulki says

” I thank you.”

I insist. Let’s eat. Let me thank you somehow.

” You already have. You have a good heart.”

We share Facebook contact. This way we can see our pictures. We take a lot of them. He shows me his village and I tell him I can come home alone. 

We say goodbye with a hug.
I get lost. I talk to many people and not a single one of them did more than tell me the direction without asking anything material in return.

So as I said before in my lack of religion I meet every single one of them in me. In our deep humanity with its flawed we connect ourselves in the “limited” or non definable amount of energy there is.

I will always 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 this American boy sees as simple power I see as a gift. Not in the anthropological definition as a contract but simply not definable by language.

Paulki and I share a lot in photos, gestures, and in laughter. Thanks to him I have found a place where to put my letter to Leila. Insh’ Allah her good energy floats now in Kilimanjaro and in Burma.

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.