Jogo de Palavra (Word Play)

As I learn Portuguese, one of my favorite things to do is to make games out of lessons: Going to a Brazilian supermarket and interpreting food names printed on labels; translating placards on trees and flowers at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens; and creating tongue twisters, such as quarenta quadros nos quatros quartos (“forty boxes in four rooms”).

I also enjoy discovering pairs of similarly-spelled words with very different meanings.

dom = gift
dor = pain

This phenomenon exists in English, too, of course: Concepts and ideas very close in pronunciation and/or spelling, but differing in meaning. I like these word pairings, and the way they suggest an overlap or blend of contradicting ideas; partners in form, but adversaries in meaning.

casado = married
cansado = tired

My grandmother used to say that it’s a fine line between laughing and crying. Like two sides of the same leaf, it’s easy to go from one to the other, or do both at the same time.

não são tão = they are not
não pão dão = they do not give bread
não vão ao cão = they do not go to the dog

I think a lot of Brazilians live on this edge. Their emotions are close to the surface—nothing is buried too deeply. It isn’t difficult to predict their reactions to things.

bebê = baby
bebe = you drink

This transparency can be refreshing or discomforting; it can look unabashed and unapologetic, or childish and out-of-control. Either way, for my Swiss side, it sometimes smacks of unnecessary intensity. Weeping at treacly McDonalds’ commercials, that sort of thing.

Yet I’ve found I’m being pulled up into it, into a place of greater capacity for expression, and with that, vulnerability.

mel = honey
meu = my
mau = bad

Do I like being made vulnerable? Do I like the possibility of becoming more expressive, with the risk of appearing foolish, or being rejected or disdained? It’s already happening, so I’d better get used to the idea.

As an artist, need I even ask these questions? Doesn’t this just come with the territory? A certain amount of emotional frankess, of bold expression, is expected.

casa (pronounced cahzah) = house
caça (pronounced cassah) = hunt

I shouldn’t be surprised. Yet I’m not entirely comfortable with the long stretch of saudade. It’s dramatic and engaging, but also melodramatic and sentimental. And at the core of it, it’s not the expression itself, so much as where the expression is coming from. If the expression is greater, and it is genuine, it must have a more abundant source.

Psalm 119: 32 says, Percorrerei o caminho dos teus mandamentos, quando dilatares o meu coração. I will run the way of Your commandments, for You shall enlarge—dilatares, or “dilate”—my heart.

braço = arm
abraço = embrace

So I say, my heart’s being dilated. This was not my idea.

Being asked to be patient, be kind, put up with the craziness of others, to forgive—in short, to love others no matter how we’re treated or how we’re feeling at the time—requires supernatural power. At some point, on our own, we’ll reach a limit we just can’t pass: We’ll curse or cry, punch someone, stomp out of the room, or stomp out of someone’s life.

mão = hand
mãe = mother

With a bigger heart, we can love more easily, forgive more quickly, and enjoy more intensely. Of course, this also means we could feel more disappointed or frustrated, or feel hurt or angry more easily.

Yet I’m told—instructed—commanded: Love Thy Neighbor. I know this is the right way to go, even if instant gratification is rarely if ever involved. I have to trust that with the commandment comes the ability, and that this cardiac Crunch time isn’t just an emotional equipping, but spiritual spy-school-meets-boot-camp.

My mission, should I choose to accept it, includes secret weapons and superpowers.

perder = to lose
pedir = to ask for

I have a long, exciting trip ahead of me and I’m quite starry-eyed about it. But I’m starting to see that ahead lie not just samba-all-night good times, but some potential punch-the-wall moments. For every blissful moment, there’s another that builds character.

colher = spoon
coelho = rabbit
orelha = ear

For example: sure, these people are relaxed and easygoing—but are they ever on time for anything?

I must be patient when I’d rather pout, forgive when I’d rather fume. If I’m not willing to do so now, I’d better get willing quickly, because my plane awaits. ‘Tis the season. Eu morro a mim mesmo, e eu moro no Cristo.

morrir = to die
morar = to live

The trick is in not meditating the offense, or to worry about what others will do next; to love others as they are without expectation of anything in return;  to walk in wisdom without overmeasuring the steps I take; and to remember the Counselor and Travel Guide Who’s is going with me all the way.

fogo = fire
foge = it runs away

I am NOT taking this trip without packing some serious Heat.

olho = I watch
olho = eye

Speaking of traveling—and packing—and other preparations, I’m at the place now in my Portuguese studies where I no longer look to define every word I hear or see. Especially when listening to others speak, I’ve found there are so many contractions, swallowed vowels, and other shortcuts, it’s almost impossible to dissect everything on the spot.

rio = river
rio = I laugh

I’ve stopped trying to pull apart the overlapping sounds and discern the words that comprise them. I still enjoy the hetetrographs and other word games, but I’m trying to listen to full sentences without being overly concerned about exactly what words comprise them. This way, I don’t unravel the scarf before I get a chance to wear it.

deu = he gave
Deus = God

And I don’t worry about what I will say, either. I jump into conversations and speak out my sentences as best I can. Thankfully, most of my listeners are Brazilians, with large hearts, great patience, and supernatural love.

fé = faith
pé = foot

Porque andamos por fé, e não por vista.
(For we walk by faith, not by sight:)

Beijos, e Feliz Natal,
Andrea

Pictures for Auntie

As discussed in my last entry, these are the paintings commissioned by Dinha Bonifacio.

Both paintings are of watercolor, markers, and collage on paper, with glossolalia script.

Ao cumprir-se o dia de Pentecostes, estavam todos reunidos no mesmo lugar. De repente veio do céu um ruído, como que de um vento impetuoso, e encheu toda a casa onde estavam sentados. E lhes apareceram umas línguas como que de fogo, que se distribuíam, e sobre cada um deles pousou uma.
–Atos 2: 1-3

Linguas de Fogo (Tongues of Fire)

Detail:

Chegou a Dia de Pentecost (The Day of Pentecost Arrived)

Detail:

When the day of Pentecost came, they were all together in one place. Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole house where they were sitting. They saw what seemed to be tongues of fire that separated and came to rest on each of them.
–Acts 2: 1-3

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© Andrea Bonifacio and Sondo Saudade 2009-2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Andrea Bonifacio and Sondo Saudade with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Freebird

My brothers and I grew up in a very non-Brazilian household. We ate hotdogs and sloppy joes, watched Mork and Mindi and the Sound of Music; we listened to Rick Dees’ American Top 40 and played Atari and Pong. We went camping in the summer, made snowmen in the winter, and raked pine needles all year round.

And of course, we spoke English—a necessary decision on Mom’s part, as she struggled to adapt to American life while managing a household, husband, and three children. She taught us a few easy phrases in Portuguese—Durma bem! (Sleep well!) Até amanhã! (See you tomorrow!)—but for the rest, it was English, inside the home and out.

During those years, o universo brasileiro was mostly limited to letters, photos, and phone calls. The letters, written in a bulky, heavy script on crinkled tissue paper, came in envelopes with yellow-and-green striped borders. The photos of Mom’s family—properly posed, well-dressed, and smiling warmly—often featured my grandmother (minha avó), whose hair was always a dark chocolate brown, no matter her age.

Incoming phone calls came spontaneously, at holidays and odd hours, while outbound calls were made at economically sensible times monitored closely by my father. Sometimes Mom would bring the phone to my ear to partake of my relatives’ parroty chatter. But for the most part, it sounded to me like just so much tropical noise. Minha avó may as well have been an aviary.

"Parrotphrase" by Andrea Bonifacio

As I grew up, those calls often made me feel uncomfortable: Locked out by language limitations, I couldn’t take part in the conversations, but neither could I sit and listen for very long before the accompanying emotional effusiveness overwhelmed me (Brazilians gush easily, and frequently with tears). There were times when the volume and speed of their syllables and the intense saudade on both ends of the line made me want to leave the room.

Over the years, Mom communicated with her clan via Vovó (the familiar form of grandmother, like “Granny” or “Grandma”) and Tia Dinha. Dinha, my mother’s only sister, is fun-loving, joyful, a little ditzy, and not at all intellectual. When my mother and I visited Brazil during my grade school years, I spent a lot of time giggling with her, and at her facial expressions, exuberance, and sometimes silly antics. I found her caring, affectionate, and highly entertaining, even if I didn’t understand a word she said.

Tia Dinha 2009

About two years ago, Tia Dinha began asking for me to send her some art to hang in her apartment in Brazil. For many weeks, Mom repeated this request to me, but I did nothing about it. I thought it was sweet, but at the time, I honestly felt I couldn’t be bothered, at least not bothered to respond quickly. I had all these other responsibilities–you know, a life–to deal with first.

Aside from just being busy, I found a number of unanswered questions to deal with around this request: Which painting did she want? What color and size? What about the medium—collage, glossolalia, watercolor? What about the theme or subject matter? I impatiently pitched each question at my mother, but she each time bunted back the same simple, pride-pricking answer: It didn’t matter. Tia had no opinion on my art at all–she just wanted a painting made by her niece. This was annoying–and a little insulting.

With all my excuses, it was easy to keep saying “later.” It’s only family, it’s just a hobby, she doesn’t care all that much what I send, she’s not going anywhere anyway, and I have more important things to do… But now I see there was something more: Over time, I had gotten used to holding the emotional handset away from my ear. I learned to practice a certain amount of long-distance-call moderation with both my culture and my family, and had gotten used to it. But what can I say? Estou aprendendo português, estou aprendendo o amor de Deus, e também o amor do Brazil. This language is making me fall in love with Brazil; it’s a tool of the Divine in the hand of the Carpenter. It is pulling the parrots back to my ear and the people into my heart whether I like it or not. And how could I know what I might miss if I continued to resist?

So I repented, pushed pride aside, and, just to spite my sense of self-importance, took the opposite tack: I decided to use this cross-cultural comission as an opportunity to improve; to re-learn generosity and un-learn self-indulgence; and to begin closing those long-distance gaps.

With this decision, it quickly became foreign language pop quiz time. Having exhausted my mother’s ideas for How Do You Send a Painting to Aunt Dinha, I exercised the little Portuguese I’d learned so far and contacted my cousin in Brazil. The emails may as well have been written in crayon.

"Dear Cousin" by Andrea Bonifacio

Meu primo is not an artist, but with his youth, and the time he’s able to spend visiting Tia at her apartment, it seemed right to make him my muse for this project. He patiently paddled through my addled acentos and quaky questions about colors, styles, and other details, and helped me to narrow down my options.

In the end, I created two new paintings, with watercolor, collage, markers, glossolalia and Pentecost references. Click here to see them.

After a couple of weeks’ travel under stars and over seas, they made it safely to Christmastown, Brazil. My aunt is delighted with them. I am happy to see my paintings on her wall, and a little startled to realize how far they have come from Astoria, Queens.

Tia Dinha's Ap-art-ment

Once I received this photo, the idea came to me:

Go to Brazil, and get into this picture.

And further: Get into this apartment and into this family. Continue changing the image you have of them in you heart, and how you fit in among them. Let their strangeness become familiar and their rough spots comfortable; learn from their mistakes and revel in their joyful appeal. Speak their language and listen to them speak yours, whether English, Portuguese, or parrot. And keep your heart open as you go.

“Ao cumprir-se o dia de Pentecostes, estavam todos reunidos no mesmo lugar.”
–Atos 2:1 / Acts 2:1

When that day arrives… we’ll be all together, in one place.

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© Andrea Bonifacio and Sondo Saudade 2009-2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Andrea Bonifacio and Sondo Saudade with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Video content courtesy of cloud74buster at youtube.com.