Bossa nova in 2D

A note from Porto Alegre, Brazil

It usually happens as the night begins to wind down, when the chirpy energy has begun to subside a little. Once the weightier group-wide discussions and fragmented catch-ups have come to their natural conclusion, and once the laughter and chatter has mostly passed, the intensity of the night comes down a notch.

At this hour, when cigarettes are fished from boxes and lit up, when couples retreat to each others’ embrace, someone usually puts on a calm song from Brazil’s rich repertoire of bossa nova and folk songs. Among the empty beer bottles and smoke, in the soft lamplight, I witness five or six faces locked in dreamy nostalgia, singing along word for word.

The intricate, pretty guitar work of artists like João Gilberto and Tom Jobim, accompanied by their softly-sung poetry and gorgeous string arrangements become part of the atmosphere of the room.

I’m overcome with a bittersweet sensation, like watching a friend or accomplice cry in your trust — I can’t know what it’s like to be in the throws of nostalgia, to have my experiences of life moulded by these particular songs, so all I do — all I can do — is just sit and witness, ignorant to the words and the weight they carry.

“Oh, Em,” a friend once said. “You have to be Brazilian to really understand how beautiful it is…”

As a foreigner living in Brazil, I’ve found myself feeling out of my depth, lost, sometimes a little unwelcome. Hundreds of times I’ve lost the thread of conversations among torrents slang and in-jokes. I’ve gotten lost in crowds of locals who, in this particular climate and speaking this language so unabashedly, make me so alien.

But it’s instances like these, the intimate moments in familiar comany, which really remind me of my status as the outsider looking in. My time living as a foreigner in Brazil has given me a good picture of life in Porto Alegre, but I will never quite comprehend it entirely.

The picture I have will be like photos in old magazines, red and blue hues barely separated, inviting a look through those 3-D glasses made of card; except my pair is nowhere to be found.