Brothers and Sisters

I dip my toes in Ipanema. The water is surprisingly warm and I envy two kids playing knee high in the soft waves. Looking around I spot a friendly bunch chatting, so I ask them to keep an eye on my stuff while I enter the sea - "Sure! Put it next to our's".
Backpack, laptop and other technologies lose their importance once I step into the water.
I have the Two Brothers Hill on my left, Corcovado facing me between two apartment buildings and Ipanema beach stretching out on a crowded lazy saturday sunset.
As I dry myself, Jorge asks me where do I come from and tells me about his portuguese grandmother. His kids bring pebbles and shells, which they gather on a towel to be instantly forgotten as the ice cream man approaches. Jorge's grandmother came to Brazil by boat - like my father did, I replied. We traded stories. Our skins were golden and delighted. I got dressed.
One of Jorge's friends tells me she's trying to go to Portugal next year. She's a storyteller and wants to go to storytelling festival in Coimbra - where I was just before I came to Rio.
I thank them and we parted with smiles.

I follow the black and white sidewalk by the beach. Skates, bicycles and rollerblades. Prancing beefy men, fat girls skateboarding, boys being towed by their girlfriend's bike. Mothers with toy watering cans wash the sand off little feet. The sand gathers and stays.
All the kiosks are full. Crisp cold beer is the carioca sundowner of choice. In Rio you find the best popcorn in the world and I'm all in.

Quiet chords from 2 guitars play a favorite song. A male voice sings the verses I know by heart and I think of my sister. I'm all smile and popcorn, listening to a love song while the sun hides behind the Two Brothers. I wish my sister was there with her baby boy. I sing along. Emotions well-up along with tears. It's a good mix of happy and sad. Because I'm glad, because my sister is not here with me, because just like the poem in the song, I still don't have your address, because there's music living under my skin, which surfaces and floods me, takes me and has me.

I've said it to a taxi driver and I've said it to Jorge: my roots are down here as well. My father found Lisbon on his way from Italy to Brazil. In Brazil I'm finding the prologue to my story and it moves me. This is a story yet unfinished. Tomorrow is always a day away.