This piece is dedicated to my late grandmother Daisy, who recently earned her eternal rest with Jesus. Even though she’s not here physically, her legacy remains, and she’ll remain near forevermore. Te amo vózinha, hoje e sempre.
My mother is beautifully Brazilian. She looks Russian but also American but also French but also Argentinian but also Brazilian. She has a very thick accent that immediately reveals to anyone where she is from, but it’s a comforting kind of thick, thick like a wool scarf on a windy winter evening. She cooks chicken like no one else, but if you really dissect it, the ingredients are quite simple. How does it taste so good then? The finest ingredient she uses is love. So beautifully Brazilian of her.
My father is beautifully Brazilian. His biggest joy is sitting on the beach for three hours, swimming for two, then leaving, and he taught me and my sister to do the same. He finds the deepest meaning in words that means nothing, for good or bad. When it’s good, it’s the best. When it’s bad, it’s the worst. He is the extreme, he has no in-between. That extreme in my father is what makes him work so hard, so hard ever since he could crawl, so hard ever since he was seven and was putting food on the table, so hard until now that he is putting through college. So beautifully Brazilian of him.
My grandfather, my mother’s father, is beautifully Brazilian. An ever-learning engineer, whose name is on a commemorative plaque in one of the world’s largest hydroelectric factories, the one we run to whenever we have technology concerns. Yeah, you read that right. My grandfather is the tech-savvy one. My grandfather is a walking juxtaposition, writing code and playing flight simulator during the day, writing poems by night. I keep telling him to publish them, maybe become the next Drummond. My grandfather is a hero who took care of and loves my grandmother with all his might, no matter how hard it got. So beautifully Brazilian of him.
My sister is beautifully Brazilian. The rudest but also sweetest person I’ve ever met. Extreme like my dad, a wonderful cook like my mom. Only problem is the salt. We asked her to stop salting her dishes so we could do it ourselves because she always put too much in. A girl of many passions, her biggest one is everything. My newest best friend, but for forever. She is so stubborn. But it’s a stubbornness that leads to her always getting what she wants, no matter if it’s extra boba or five more minutes of sleep, even if it comes at a cost. She’s willing to pay the cost. So beautifully Brazilian of her.
My cousins are beautifully Brazilian. They’re all so different but so similar in the way that they bring me such joy. We go years without talking, years without seeing each other, and it doesn’t matter. We get back right to where we were ten years ago, when we were just babies, with no idea of what the world meant. We get back right to where we were three years ago, when our only fun was making our parents’ lives a living hell and laughing with them. My mother has to brace herself anytime a cousin comes over, because it is the most joyful mess that we will never get tired of cycling around. So beautifully Brazilian of us.
My grandma, my father’s mother, is beautifully Brazilian. None of us know how she manages to be so active and lively after being a consistent smoker for years. She is also the most active person in the family group chat, where she sends thousands of memes, news articles, and videos of her in Zumba classes. Always the first one to let us know about a celebrity death, she is everywhere all the time. She follows her daughter to Italy and her granddaughter to South Hadley, yearning to ensure the family sticks together after all the hurt she’s been through. So beautifully Brazilian of her.
My grandmother, my mother’s mother, was beautifully Brazilian. Refusing to wear foreign brands, her perfume was Brazilian, her makeup was Brazilian, her clothes were Brazilian, her voice was Brazilian, her heart was Brazilian. She didn’t have a house of her own; her decorations were all pictures of the family and saints, so Catholic she was, teaching me about Mary Untier of Knots and the power of a prayer. Our family earned the cooking gift from her, not only with food and baking, but cooking a conversation, spicing every topic with a controversial line that will spark more conversation like rising bread. My grandmother was so funny she didn’t even know she was funny, the type of person to arrive at Disney World and say, “I hate Mickey Mouse, my favorite is Donald Duck,” and that was so fitting given her name was Daisy. Daisy like the flower, Daisy like the Disney character, gracious and delicate but also fierce and a force to be reckoned with. She loved us in her own special way and we loved her back because how couldn’t we. She was difficult at times, but she made it so easy to be grateful for her. She was always with us, even when she wasn’t, and now she’ll remain forevermore. So beautifully Brazilian of her.
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