Sofrência (or How We Reclaimed Our Broken Hearts)
When I was a child, my parents used to have friends over every week for a churrasco (a traditional Brazilian cookout). Together, they would grill meat, drink beer and play the saddest music I can imagine. Those were heartfelt songs about love and loss: men would sing about parting ways with their loved ones, about not being loved back, and about being replaced by a better man.
Back then I could not understand their idea of a party: an all-day journey of happiness and drinking sprinkled with moments of deep sadness and sorrow. At that time, I was too young to understand that my parents were planning to get a divorce. Maybe that was their way of mourning for the end before it came.
Soon I learned that those bittersweet celebrations were not my family’s legacy. They were a part of our culture: a culture of middle-aged men drinking and singing heartbreaking music at bars; a culture of drowning our sorrows in cheap beer with the waiter as your only friend. I remember joining my father in those places: places where men felt at home, and where waiters were treated like lords. The men used to call them bosses, champions, brothers. After all, these servers were all those things to those men: they were their confidants who helped them through their sorrow – without passing judgment.
Mine was a generation of promises. We promised to be different. Instead of confiding in strangers, we would seek therapy. Instead of crying over bottles, we would medicate. We were promised the world. Many of us were raised multilingual, multicultural. We watched North-American sitcoms. We learned sarcasm and self-deprecation. We hung out in the streets at night, turned to international artists, and made fun of our parents for their music.
And then everything changed. Perhaps adulthood caught up with us. Perhaps the rise of fascism in our country hit us in the face. Suddenly, we knew sorrow, and our parents’ music made sense to us. We were the ones calling the servers boss, and we claimed those artists from the past as our own. They were, after all, a part of our identity: unlike our parents, we were born into their art.
We called it sofrência: a mixture of the words sofrer (to suffer) and carência (neediness). We suffered as we became adults, our hearts broke and our country fell. Our despecho was multilingual, multicultural. We merged the artists of our adolescence and the culture we promised never to embrace.
A few months ago, I saw this image on (Brazilian) Twitter. Someone had photoshopped Canadian singer Avril Lavigne playing the guitar into a Brazilian bar and added the caption “Damn, damn, damn, what I’d do to have you here!” from her 2011 hit single.
Many from my generation will say we failed. We became who we swore to never become. I see it differently. We fulfilled our destiny. They promised us the world and we made it our image. An image that is fractured, but true to itself.
Me encanta cómo vinculaste tus propias experiencias y tradiciones en tu publicación. Es impactante leer sobre cómo las canciones que se escuchan en clase se relacionan directamente con los recuerdos de su infancia. Es curioso porque las barbacoas de mi familia a menudo estaban llenas de silencio / discusión, nunca música que creo que lo hacía sentir distante en cierto modo. Tu conexión con la música me deja sin palabras, el conocimiento que obtuviste al reflexionar sobre las canciones del pasado. Lamento oír hablar de la situación, pero la forma en que puedes relacionarla con la música y el autodescubrimiento es increíble. Como dije, me quedo sin palabras y gracias por compartir esta experiencia. Mis padres nunca bebieron a mi alrededor cuando era niña, todavía nunca he visto a mi madre borracha. A menudo me hace pensar que a medida que entro en mi edad adulta y bebo mis penas, ¿estoy fallando? Realmente conecto con la última línea de su publicación. No he fallado, sino que me he mantenido fiel a mí mismo, incluso si esa verdad es diferente.
ReplyDeleteThis post is beautiful. Thank you for your transparency. The way you described the cycle of pain, growing up, changing, and finally understanding the coping mechanisms of generations before you. I really really enjoyed this.
ReplyDeleteI think often, we push our parents' tactics aside. You mentioned that you would have cookouts growing up as child, unknowingly participating as your parents eased towards a divorce. Though I lacked the strong cultural elements you described growing up, I similarly participated in cookouts and parties hosted by my parents before their own divorce. I remember feeling confused and pushing through, only to somewhat understand their pain now that I am older.
Fulfilling your "destiny" seems to be part of growing up. We argue that we will "never" be like our parents, and yet I find myself acting a little bit more like them every day. There is nothing wrong in becoming similar to what made you.
Thank you for this.