Many years from now

Sometimes I wanna fast forward life.

It’s not that I don’t wanna enjoy those precious moments yet to come. Their first day of school, putting up the Christmas tree every year, riding our bikes together as a family, while we are still young enough to do it, or the fact that we still have a long way to go before my babies move out  of our house.

The reason why, sometimes, I wanna be in my 70’s is because, by then, I’ll have a different kind of peace.

When I’m 70, my girls will be 40. I know they’ll no longer depend on me. I will not worry about my girls growing up without a mother every-fucking-time there’s a disease outbreak of some sort.

When I’m 70, I’ll know that we’ve made it. I’ll know that we’ve had the most amazing, incredible life and that every single time I felt threatened that someone or something could’ve teared us apart, it was just a false alarm.

I might be able to sleep when I’m 70.

And, yes, I’ll worry about my 40 year old babies just as much as I do now and I’ll be sad at the thought of leaving them… but hopefully I’ll be mostly grateful and I won’t be afraid.

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35

So, it happened. I turned 35 last Saturday.

Five years ago, when I turned 30, I freaked. Well, I am a firm believer that everyone has the poetic license to freak out whenever they reach a milestone.

Back then, my husband, who was my boyfriend at the time, asked me “where do you see yourself in 5 years?” .

The childless, single, living-in-Brazil, 30-year-old me replied specifically:

When I am 35 I wanna have 3 children and I wanna be living in a place that’s not New York but would allow me to go there WITHOUT getting on an airplane on a long weekend or whenever I feel like it.

He took a deep breath and said “well, that’s quite hard”.

I just kinda…

Dude… you asked me what I would wish for, if I could wish for anything in the world. I was not being realistic.

Except, it turns out I was.

So, here I am, the 35 year old me. I am short one kid (by choice) and I must say, despite all the fake-confidence I had when I said those words to my husband, I too am very surprised that in 5 years I got myself where I wanted to be.

But apparently, I do have the secret power to attract the things I say and I feel like that’s a power I should use.

So, I’m gonna make a wish for when I’m 40.

When I’m 40… I wanna be really happy. Just like I am now, except, without the panic disorder, which will allow me to actually ENJOY it. I  also want my girls to still be my best friends and still hug me. I want us all to be healthy. I wanna be in love with my city and if it’s not too much to ask… I kinda wanna be working with something fun and maybe be living in my own house?

Here I go again, people… shooting for the stars. And once again, I know I’ll surprise myself.

Letting the memories out

I just realized I had a record. I had a record of shit that’s been going through my head from the moment we knew we were moving to Canada.

So, I imported all my old blog posts to here ‘ cause I wanted to read them again and maybe figure stuff out.

At this point I realize there’s never been anything bad going on with me, yet, I always sound scared. I think it’s about time I control that. I mean, I should be an adult by now, according to my birth certificate.

The last couple of years have been turbulent, though. We’ve moved from Brazil to Canada and we are about to move for the 4th time in Canada already, which is a LOT, considering we have only been here for 1 year and 10 months.

Apparently, I am not that good with changes and I am desperate to go home. Not the home I came from. The new one. The new place that feels like home.

Two weeks ago when we were in Montreal I was sure I had found that place.

Next year, when you read this, I will not sound scared and lost anymore.

That’s a promise.

Bed bugs

The reason why I haven’t been writing is because we have bed bugs. Well, it’s not exactly “us” as much as it is our neighbors. At one point, they came to our room through the common wall.

I am very allergic to their bites. VERY. I couldn’t close my hands when they got me.

So, I didn’t go to work most of last week and we ran away to Montreal as the house got fumigated.

I figured, if we have to leave the house, we might as well go some place we had never been and have a little vacation…

Montreal is amazing! I love it – love it – love it !

It’s not just an amazing place, I mean, Ottawa has some nice buildings as well, but Montreal is ALIVE. People are OUT on the street, riding their bikes and there’s always something going on… I am in love!

I loved seeing the old ladies together having a beer by the river, just living life.

Plus, this is gonna sound weird, but my husband pointed out that the Catholic churches make me feel at home and I totally agree with him, even though we don’t go to church… it’s a very familiar “face”. I absolutely missed it.

But my favorite part of the trip was when I stopped panicking about shit that’s not happening. I kinda forgot to panic several times ’cause I was too entertained. At one point, when we came back home, even though we were under a lot of stress ’cause the bed bugs were still there, I was able to relax. I don’t really do that often.

Then, when I went back to work and all the panic came back.

See how things relate? It’s quite obvious when I talk about it : “Stress makes me think either me or my girls are dying.” Simple, right? If I’m happy, I’m ok. But controlling this shit is far more complicated than writing that sentence.

So, there’s a lot going on and we are busy cleaning the house and putting everything in plastic bags… we also decided to move and leave the beds behind. I’ll probably be quiet for a while, but I’ll try to post!