On the day I sit to start writing, I feel the chills. There is no one around me and a cup of tea is all I need right now. Do I really want to bring back memories of the past? Should I really summon all the ghosts, demons and angels that followed me throughout the years? Do I really believe anyone will read what I right and does that really matter?
Without asking my permission, my mind turns around and decides to take a walk back to my past. About 10 years ago I moved from Brazil to the US. I had no intentions, no plans, no goals and came to try a different life and to be close to my parents, who were living here already. The vivid memory of that huge line at Customs and Immigration is still there, scared people, people being yelled at and a few happy faces in between belonging to those happy tourists who saved money for months to come greet Mickey Mouse. After answering a few common questions such as "What are coming to the US for?", "Have you been here before?", "What were the reasons for your previous visits?", "Did you come alone?", "Are you married?", "What do you do in Brazil?" and a very out of place "You have been to Argentina many times, why?". After being questioned as a horrible person who wants to come to this country and who has visited Argentina too many times, I was given the standard six months tourist entrance. And that was all I needed.
To be continued...
