It’s been a while since I opened up this blog and posted something. I guess I am a creature of habits and well, procrastination is perhaps my worst. Nonetheless, I have been thinking A LOT. And I have also been brainstorming on subjects, themes, stories that I’d like to start on, which takes me to a few days ago when I had a very long conversation with my mother over lunch.
We talked about my grandmother, the only grandparent I have that is still alive. My mother’s side of the family is Portuguese, my mother born in Lisboa. My grandmother, Emilia, is at first a glance that inoffensive sweet traditional image of what a European grandmother would be. But, during this conversation, like many other I have had in the past, I realized (in a very deja-vu way) that I knew very little of the woman. Not the grandmother. The woman. You see she’s been places, seen things, lived good times and hard times pretty much like any other human being but heck this woman once lived for a while in São Tomé (an African island) and emigrated later on to Venezuela and I don’t think she has ever talked much about any of it. So, as you may have picked up, I’ve grown very curious about her and her life. I’ve realized that as I have grown I never asked her about herself and I wonder why that is. I recently lost my grandfather (mother’s side as well) and last December I lost my other grandmother (my other grandfather I never met) and I don’t know that very much of them either.
Very soon I will be traveling to Lisboa with grandmother, Emilia, and my mother. I will definitely be spending a great amount of time listening to her stories. I think everyone should have their story be heard by someone, even if it is just the one.
P.S. I’m looking forward to Lisboa.