The Return Of The Randomly Speaking

I love traveling because I can tell my stories the way I remember. The way I want. I add to it, revise it, invent parts I forgot or never knew. No one but me carries it all and no one will unless I tell someone who might understand...like Jilanta. I came to live with her in Gdansk, Poland. I brought nothing with me. No pictures of friends, dead pets, old boyfriends, parents, nephews, siblings, children, or places I grew up. I brought nothing to recall my former life.

Sometimes at night I lie awake and try to remember a certain person's features. There was a man I loved. Not the Brazilian who told me he would kill me if I ever left him. Under the law of the land killing your female lover or wife is considered a "crime of passion" and carries no penalty. No big deal in Brazil. The man I loved was another. And I try to piece him together like a jigsaw, but I can't find his substance. I try the same with my family, but alas, I feel orphaned.

So here I am with Jilanta in Gdansk. Far away from Brazil. A place, I hope, no Brazilian can find on the map. Jilanta makes up stories for me. Her mother grows more beautiful. Her father wealthier. Her grandmum crueler by the day. Communism is gone. Real democracy is is at her back door. Higher education is no longer for the elite. Her children are now able to be whatever they want to be. I in turn invent for her incredible loves I have known, a happy childhood, a brilliant career.



P.S. Jilanta taught me a lot of things...what to look for to find out if a curse had been placed on my head. My fruit would be full of worms. I wouldn't be able to light a fire. Plants would wither at my touch. She also taught me how to place a curse...so watch out!