Planning a week on my own

Becoming a Mrs.

This month I went to my first English wedding (well, in truth it was only half-English, but it was on the bride's side, and that's always the side that counts the most!). It was lovely! Great venue, amazing food, everyone was so nice to us, foreign guests, the whole event had a nice flow to it, so it wasn't ever boring and we ended up having a marvelous time. Because it was so far from home and with me still unaccustomed to the English roads and it being raining cats and dogs we decided to spend the night and head home the next day after breakfast. And so it was that, at roughly nine the next morning, we said goodbye to the happy couple, he wearing a t-shirt with "Mr. B." printed on it and she with a "Mrs. B." t-shirt. And it got me thinking.

Now this is something we have ceased to do in my country for a couple of decades now. Before moving to the UK never in my wildest dreams would I consider changing my name if I ever got married. Even now it seems a lot alien to me. Not being the rule in my country (and thus having to willingly choose to go through all the hassle to change it) it would feel like betraying my roots. As if I'd be trying to erase them. Of course you'd have to know  my family to understand where I'm coming from.

You see, in my family, for generations and generations, what happens is that a person gets married and has two kids, a boy and a girl. Once they grow up only one of them gets married and then he/she, in turn, has two kids, a boy and a girl. As so on, and so on. Now in my generation (meaning me and my brother) I'm the only one capable of getting married and having kids. Of course my (potential) kids will bear the father's name, not mine. So I have tried to make my peace with the fact that the family name will die with me. It'd be easier if I was named Silva or Ribeiro or some other common name. But I have never met anyone with the same name (even though I'm sure there are a few out there), so it is a pity to "become extinct".

And it gets my mind thinking what does this really mean? Leaving your maiden name behind and becoming a Mrs. I know it's just how people do things here and probably not much thought comes into it. But still... I don't think I can say anything sensible about the subject, I'm too close to it to actually be able to say anything worth remembering. Once again, I'm still sending my rants and thought into the void.

But I just want to say one more thing. I love my boyfriend to pieces. He has a lovely last name. And I adore his entire family too. If we ever end up getting married I would love to take his name and become part of the clan, officially. A Mrs. Ramalho. But I don't think I could ever do it at the cost of my own family name. I could never cease to be who I already am. For better or for worst, no matter how well or how badly I get along with my relatives, I could never cease to be a Manata.

Dreams do come true, even musical ones

The first time I was went to London was way back in 2007. Being a musical geek a trip to London is the equivalent of dying and going to heaven. The escalators on the tube alone send shivers down my spine with the posters from all the shows. And there's so many that it's simply impossible to choose. Alas, I had too. When you go abroad with a group of friends you can't always have your way. So I used all my powers of persuasion for us to go see The Lord of the Rings - The musical. A lot of people argue that it wasn't the greatest of ideas, but I had done the translation of the behind the scenes documentary and knew I was going to see something great. And above all I was fully aware that it was something that would keep the Drury Lane busy for a few months only (and I was proven right when The Lord of the Rings gave way to Shrek - The musical). I had time for Phantom or Les Miz, but this was a one time only opportunity that I gladly took. Of course it pained me to see the posters of all the musicals I wasn't going to see. And then there was Hairspray. Not that it's one of my favourite musicals (even though it's so adorable), but it had Michael Ball as Edna Turnblad and that was another world of pain to miss. And there and then I told myself that one day I would come back to London (or even as many times as it took) and I would see my fair share of musicals and I would see my favourite actors on stage, Michael Ball being amonst them.

Fast forward almost five years. It's 2012 and I'm proud to say I moved to the UK almost a year ago and am currently living just about two hours away from London. I've been there four times and I've seen three musicals, which may not look like much but it's a lot more than it would've been had I stayed back in Portugal. Spring Awakening, Wicked and - just two nights ago - Sweeney Todd featuring Michael Ball as Sweeney. And with that I feel that I've come full circle. I have grown and changed by leaps and bounds and am now in a position to delight myself on a fairly regular basis with a few of what is to me one of life's great pleasures. Musicals. Right here, so close to my doorstep. And I am happy.

Five stars indeed

There's nothing like a garden

In the old days I used to do a sort of technological detox once a year. In other words, I would grab a handful of books and a few items of clothing and go spend a week or two at my cousins'. They live in a quiet place about 30km from the city centre, in a neighbourhood filled with two-story houses where there is very little do to in terms of entertainment (and that's being kind!). In their house there's no internet and, until very recently, no cable tv, just the 4 channels from the national grid. There I felt completely disconnected from the rest of the world. And that was the point of the whole exercise. Being (or rather feeling that I was) in the middle of nowhere I eventually started to take pleasure from simple things. The birds chirping. The afternoon breeze you could feel sitting on the porch. The quiet. The blissful naps after lunch. And the books, obviously. There I would read to my heart's content all day along, and it was - in a word - heaven.

Now the city girl that I am has moved to a ground floor flat in the suburbs that surround Birmingham. And now that the weather is finally picking up I feel that same serene peace envelop me. I open the windows and hear birds and see squirrels. I take great pleasure in taking my reading chair out in the garden and read in the cool mid-day shadow. I love looking at the little plants we've planted and noticing how much they've grown. And I'm at happy. I step into the garden and I'm happy. I breathe in and I think to myself that I am where I want to be. And what could beat that?

Winter's past, a new season begins

Things seem to be looking up again. I'd like to think that's all because I'm getting more and more accustomed to this country and to my new life, but I'm not really sure that I owe it all to my person. To begin with, the weather seems to be finally picking up, both in terms of brightness and warmth. Mind you, it's progressing in baby steps, slowly but ever more surely. Also, I finally have the tickets for my Summer vacation back in Portugal and that by itself has lifted my spirits to no end.

Then comes my bit. Getting more and more comfortable in the workplace and working more and more every month. Remembering most of my colleagues' names and starting to enjoy the time I spend with them. Driving more and more and starting to relax a bit. Being able to walk about town on autopilot. Feeling better about myself and my relationship. And most of all, feeling that (my personal) Winter is finally past me. The stupor that had me for a while is blessedly lifting and I'm feeling more and more like myself. A new season is before me.

It's been one of those weeks...

Happy/Sad*

Whenever I listen to this I think of my dad and me. Of this new turn in my life that has turned out to be so bittersweet. I'm sure he's happy I found someone I love so completely and that loves me back just as much. I'm sure he's happy that I decided to invest in a better future in a land that has so much more to offer and where my life will certainly be brighter. I'm sure he's proud I left the nest and am making it on my own. But then I'm also sure that the distance all of this implies is taking its toll. It breaks my heart every time I think of him getting home late every night and not having a soul to talk to. I'm sure it hurts to walk by my empty bedroom every day. And the sudden speed at which all of this happened probably doesn't help either.

I guess it's safe to say that my father took me for granted. I was never what you'd call a wild child. I don't drink, I don't smoke, I never did drugs, I don't like concerts or parties and I never even had a boyfriend. Not that I'm a hermit or anything, I do have friends and go out and have fun. It's just that I never caused much trouble. And most times I did his bidding, even if it ruined my plans.

I was at the end of my MA and, just like with most young adults in Portugal, all things pointed towards me staying at my dad's for a few years more and getting some sort of relatively crappy job that had nothing to do with my MA whatsoever. Even if - a few years later - I decided to move out it would clearly be somewhere within driving distance.

And then the bomb hit. Within two days - how little it takes to change a life - I was in love and making plans to change my life around. Granted, I'd been fiddling with the idea of going abroad for a few years, but never really thought I'd have the guts to actually go through with it. Try and imagine it. You get home after another day's work, just like any other and without any warning - just like that - your daughter tells you she's in love with some guy 11 years older than her that lives 1000 miles away. And in that same breath she adds that within a year she's planning to move in with him and start a life in a foreign country. It can't be easy.

Speaking for myself, I did what I had to do. I love my boyfriend and the distance between us was killing me (and him). Also, professionally I saw nothing back home that was worth staying for. And here there was a country that has fascinated me for most of my life and where I was sure I could be happy. So, for all these reasons, I moved. I don't regret my actions one bit. Sure it pains me being away from my country, my family and my friends. But what I can glimpse ahead is so much bigger and brighter that it makes it all worth it. Even if it is bittersweet. For the both of us.

*Addams Family - The musical

It's so nice to have a bit of time for doing nothing

The list freak

Growing up I spent most of my free time alone. And what's a little girl to do when there's no one around to play with? (And please bear in mind this was the early 90s, so computer games and video games were things unknown to me at the time). Well, in my case the answer was making lists and overall competing with myself. It might sound sad now, but what was I to do at the time? This was the best my seven year-old brain could come up with! So I made lists of everything I could think of. Books. Movies. To-do lists. Christmas presents. How many cafes were there in a certain street. Pretty much anything would do. And then when lists got boring I would race myself with things like naming five movies with Tom Hanks in less than 30 seconds (and, incidentally, this is pretty much how I got to be the little movie whiz some people think I am, by repeatedly testing my memory on the subject for over ten years). And this for me was entertainment. I could do it (and in fact I did) for years, way into my late teens. And of course to this day part of this stuck with me.

Now I'm 26 and I live with my boyfriend. Now, when you live with someone else you start to notice aspects of your own behaviour in a completely different way. You become - at least during the first few months - a bit self-conscious. (And even if you don't, if you behave oddly enough you'll be sure to have it pointed out to you, anyway.) And so it has come to my attention that I'm a bit OCD when it comes to books. I keep counting how many have I read during the current year, how many do I still have to read on the shelves, how many pages do I still have to finish the one I'm reading, how many pages till the next chapter, how many pages I've read so far, and so on, and so on. And honestly, after all these years of list-making frenzy, I think I got off easy. In many aspects of my life I'm lucky I didn't turn up to be as troubled as I could've been, considering all I've been through. Still, I understand that to someone unaware of my previous history I might seem like a freak. More than that, I might look like a mixture of Leonardo DiCaprio at the end of The Aviator, Miko Hughes in Mercury Rising and Steve Buscemi in Con Air. Put them all together and it's a pretty creepy result, I must say. Still, I don't really care much. This is the way I am, I've worked hard to keep it all down to a few freaky behaviours. So, when I'm counting pages or making lists just look the other way. I'm not hurting anyone by doing it, and I see no point in changing myself just to the amusement of others.