Everything I Miss
I don’t miss a lot of people. Nor do I miss a lot of things or places. But those I do, I miss intensely—not painfully, but deeply, with a strange sense of importance. Most of my memories die. The surviving ones linger, almost as vivid as the day they were made.
Here’s everything I miss in the entire world:
My grandmother.
My grandmother’s rice, beans, and chicken. A simple dish you can prepare and cook anywhere, and yet, I’ve never had it the way she made it. Not even close.
My other grandmother.
My other grandmother’s *dulce de leche* canapés, a recipe she appropriately took to the grave.
The way my heart pounded the first time I, still a boy, saw a naked woman. This story probably deserves a separate Cabra Mail. Let me know if you want to hear it.
The blue eyes of my English teacher when I was 12. I still remember the pain I felt when I discovered she was married.
The Bolognese Chicken Pizza from Pizza Pazza Pizzeria in my hometown.
My grandfather.
The first time I flew on a plane, from Belo Horizonte to Curitiba, with a stop in São Paulo. I was 10.
The smell of the leather on my first brand-new soccer ball. I turned out to be the worst soccer player ever born in Brazil.
The first time I heard the sound of a dial-up modem connecting.
My first computer, an MSX Gradiente Expert.
The first thing I ever bought with my own money: a Sega Master System video game console. I was 14 and worked as a furniture seller for a month so I could buy it. I’ve never stopped working since then.
Banana and cheese Brazilian empanadas.
Joelho de Moça from the Baptist School, where I spent most of my teenage years. A popular snack in Brazil, made of soft bread dough, ham, cheese, and sometimes tomatoes. The one I miss was made fresh for the school’s canteen every day. To this day, I’ve never had anything so delicious. It’s one of those things I wish I could taste again before I die.
The first time I fell in love. I was 7.
The first time I got my heart broken. I was 7.
Watching Star Wars: Return of the Jedi in the theater for the first time with my father in 1983. Cine Paladium was the name of the place, and they would open the big red curtains to reveal the screen behind them. After the credits, the curtains would close, which I waited to see every time.
Listening to the BBC on shortwave radio hidden under my pillow instead of sleeping so I could wake up early for school.
Christopher Hitchens.
The day a girl from my 6th-grade class decided to go to school without a bra. That Monday, I learned nothing, and I learned everything.
My Harley-Davidson.
Going to the used bookstore and thinking I could live there forever with no water or food.
Seeing Paris for the first time in 1997.
Seeing Paris every other time, including this morning.
Rodrigo Bressane
Paris, France.
🙌🏻