Nonfiction
Being and Becoming
The conflict between the being and the non-being of things, of the eternal change and permanence of beings. Of the complementary duality between ephemerality and longevity: Heraclitus and Parmenides.
Embraced in this eternal being and becoming is what motivates me to live. I thought for a long time that putting down roots would be the same as being and living—form to justify my reality. As an ancient tree with nests, vines and different species of birds feeding on its fruit creates a stable ecosystem, I thought that was how life should be: going to college, finding a job, having a partner, having kids, dying. That was the formula of living sold to and bought by me for a long time. Happiness would come from dedication and faithfulness to routine and rites. However, looking closely at this ecosystem, we see that the birds are not the same.
The branches die and fall. The leaves change. The roots decay. The tree is in constant modification. Its immutability is a macroscopic and chronological illusion. One must get closer to see that happiness is not built from recipes and steps already defined. It is a daily choice.
It takes time to realize that everything transforms, even in small steps.
Leaving my family and meeting people from different backgrounds and perspectives made me see that there is so much similarity between so many different peoples and beliefs—just like branches in a big tree. And like a bird, I fled my home and tried to nest in other trees. Many welcomed me— – many did not. They changed and so did I. I met other birds looking out for the greatest metamorphosis. Just like me, they did not know it was already inside of them. Mustard seeds ready to germinate.
In a society driven by instant consumerism where everything is disposable, we find ourselves trapped in this volatile lifestyle. Never taking roots. Always flying. Never stopping and enjoying the raindrops that glisten on the ground. But always moving, getting wet and dry and wet again.
Loneliness lies there. In that gap between the ephemeral being and the eternal becoming of self.
For the first time, I made my solo trip. In Bangkok, I created nests. Local and foreign friends welcomed me with a warmth that I thought belonged to the restlessness. Working in a hostel teaches you about the transience of encounters. Some went unnoticed if they left too soon—others, like me, took a while. Became rooted. Some already had well-established roots. In them, I created nests, and when I flew, they were empty.
What is life if not the embrace of what will exist and what has already existed? I read from a fellow countrywoman that living is more than accepting the lack, it is wanting it not to go away. Empty nests are necessary for a living tree. They indicate there was life, and always will be. Although, each branch is an endless possibility – the drunkard's walk.
Then I flew to Costa Rica.
The certainty that I would fly again did not stop me from making my home with people and letting them live with me. Fear is important, but if not handled well, it becomes a great enemy. It paralyzes rooting and prevents first-throw momentum. It stagnates. Fear is part of life, and the stagnation it generates must be temporary, otherwise there is no life. Its liveliness is created from its being and becoming. Here is a sacred continuum. The Brazilian romanticist, Adelia Prado, used to say that what seems static, waits; and what seems dead, fertilizes. Just like stagnation and death, fear can still be a valuable pathway to something greater.
Accepting and embarking on this paradoxical motion is a constant learning process. EARTH University— – where I engaged with different differences. Coming from Brazil, it was a great joy for me to meet the diversity of people and peoples that I had always heard about but had never spoken to. People that have always been around me unnoticed: Peruvians, Paraguayans, Ecuadorians, Bolivians, Caribbeans, Kenyans, Rwandans. Open-veins bodies. Everyone was there. Not idealized, their presences were acts of resistance. Not transient, not static. Constant. They taught me a lot about their lives. And I listened.
I also found a Brazilian community that welcomed me like a returning son. I could not understand this feeling of home away from home. In my life, its concept has changed. Sometimes I wanted it to be like a foundation stone, other times, like a holy dance.
After all, everything passes—and they did. However, I have learned that some things stay. Pieces of my heart remained. I planted them. Roots and nests.
I flew and I did not look back—or perhaps, I did, but my friends did not notice. They were receiving new birds and I was creating new nests.
Embraced in this eternal being and becoming is what motivates me to live. I thought for a long time that putting down roots would be the same as being and living—form to justify my reality. As an ancient tree with nests, vines and different species of birds feeding on its fruit creates a stable ecosystem, I thought that was how life should be: going to college, finding a job, having a partner, having kids, dying. That was the formula of living sold to and bought by me for a long time. Happiness would come from dedication and faithfulness to routine and rites. However, looking closely at this ecosystem, we see that the birds are not the same.
The branches die and fall. The leaves change. The roots decay. The tree is in constant modification. Its immutability is a macroscopic and chronological illusion. One must get closer to see that happiness is not built from recipes and steps already defined. It is a daily choice.
It takes time to realize that everything transforms, even in small steps.
Leaving my family and meeting people from different backgrounds and perspectives made me see that there is so much similarity between so many different peoples and beliefs—just like branches in a big tree. And like a bird, I fled my home and tried to nest in other trees. Many welcomed me— – many did not. They changed and so did I. I met other birds looking out for the greatest metamorphosis. Just like me, they did not know it was already inside of them. Mustard seeds ready to germinate.
In a society driven by instant consumerism where everything is disposable, we find ourselves trapped in this volatile lifestyle. Never taking roots. Always flying. Never stopping and enjoying the raindrops that glisten on the ground. But always moving, getting wet and dry and wet again.
Loneliness lies there. In that gap between the ephemeral being and the eternal becoming of self.
For the first time, I made my solo trip. In Bangkok, I created nests. Local and foreign friends welcomed me with a warmth that I thought belonged to the restlessness. Working in a hostel teaches you about the transience of encounters. Some went unnoticed if they left too soon—others, like me, took a while. Became rooted. Some already had well-established roots. In them, I created nests, and when I flew, they were empty.
What is life if not the embrace of what will exist and what has already existed? I read from a fellow countrywoman that living is more than accepting the lack, it is wanting it not to go away. Empty nests are necessary for a living tree. They indicate there was life, and always will be. Although, each branch is an endless possibility – the drunkard's walk.
Then I flew to Costa Rica.
The certainty that I would fly again did not stop me from making my home with people and letting them live with me. Fear is important, but if not handled well, it becomes a great enemy. It paralyzes rooting and prevents first-throw momentum. It stagnates. Fear is part of life, and the stagnation it generates must be temporary, otherwise there is no life. Its liveliness is created from its being and becoming. Here is a sacred continuum. The Brazilian romanticist, Adelia Prado, used to say that what seems static, waits; and what seems dead, fertilizes. Just like stagnation and death, fear can still be a valuable pathway to something greater.
Accepting and embarking on this paradoxical motion is a constant learning process. EARTH University— – where I engaged with different differences. Coming from Brazil, it was a great joy for me to meet the diversity of people and peoples that I had always heard about but had never spoken to. People that have always been around me unnoticed: Peruvians, Paraguayans, Ecuadorians, Bolivians, Caribbeans, Kenyans, Rwandans. Open-veins bodies. Everyone was there. Not idealized, their presences were acts of resistance. Not transient, not static. Constant. They taught me a lot about their lives. And I listened.
I also found a Brazilian community that welcomed me like a returning son. I could not understand this feeling of home away from home. In my life, its concept has changed. Sometimes I wanted it to be like a foundation stone, other times, like a holy dance.
After all, everything passes—and they did. However, I have learned that some things stay. Pieces of my heart remained. I planted them. Roots and nests.
I flew and I did not look back—or perhaps, I did, but my friends did not notice. They were receiving new birds and I was creating new nests.