It’s starting to happen. This is the amazing thing about being here for more than just a week or two. Being in Portugal for close to two months allows me the time to really take in the world. I am not rushing to compile as many moments as I could to make the most of my time here.
I could relax and take everything in in large clumps. I’m not rushing from one moment to the next, filling up the hours and the minutes with sights and sounds.
I can spend one day just going to a museum and then going home and just looking at the pictures again and just feeling what it was like to see a Rembrandt or a Monet or a Rodin.
I could spend one whole day, on my own, just getting lost in Baixa-Chiado, just getting to know the streets and the stores and not having to buy anything because I didn’t feel like it.
I spent the first few days here going out of town — Sintra, Belem, Porto, Braga, Coimbro — before I even got to experience Lisbon and the Lisbon nightlife. Everything comes in in little waves and I have the time to process everything.
The first set of poems that I write, of course, are just filled with unbridled adoration and wonder.
Now, I feel that things have started to settle and the first onset of marvel is starting to leave as I feel familiar with bus routes, train system, and the path to the nightlife. There are mysteries in this city and I know where to go to unlock them. They are still unlocked but instead of marvelling at secret doors, I’m looking for their keys.
I have come to see the Atlantic over and over again and I don’t know why but it thrills me to see it. I have felt the warm waters of the Pacific so many times and now I’m greeted by the sight of the Atlantic and my heart makes somersaults.
Is it fair to say that the Pacific is like a parent to me while the Atlantic is more like a friend? Maybe, even a lover?
Tomorrow, my brother and his family, with myself included, will be heading to Algarve and I’ll be able to set foot into the Atlantic.
The electricity that will shoot up from my foot to my head will not just be the cold. It will be something else entirely.
It is not homecoming. It will be something akin to love.