Homesickness is a bummer

By Ricardo Araújo

Note: The following is a translated English version of the original, written in Portuguese. Please toggle to Portuguese in the main menu to read the original version of the article.

This writing is 7 years old! The essence is current, the man is not!

I feel a deep longing. I really do. Seriously, I do. I miss hearing Portuguese spoken correctly. I miss knowing the potholes on the streets, driving over crosswalks at 80 and walking along the “beira” (the edge).

I miss air blowing from the sea. I miss the chorizo, and admiring the orchards (they are good for your health and fit well in the landscape, and by the way, a sheep or two; at most).

I miss it, I do. I miss my friends, those types of friends!!! Those from whom we expect nothing, because there is nothing to expect, there is truth.

And do I miss my city? I do. I really do. I miss both (I am from wherever I want to be).

It’s impossible not to miss 27 years of life (and I’m already going on 30), it’s impossible not to miss my family, it’s impossible not to miss expensive gas and the smell of agricultural fauna, the cobblestones … (uh? – ok!) the smell of hot bread and one or two roundabouts, and the coffee? Oh, the coffee? The patios, oh, life.

Sometimes, to plant my feet on the ground, I remember public service, and EDP, but then it goes away.

But what makes me sigh the most is that feeling of being home, I don’t think I’ll ever feel it again. I don’t feel at home, even though I’m at home, a home that isn’t home, because my home is not here.

It feels like I am at a hotel. We arrive, pack our bags and wait for the time to leave, it’s been great, but we have to go.

Homesickness is a bummer, especially because we have to embody that character that “yup I really like this” and I do, but the cities that start with a “B” have so much history.

I really miss dinners with 40 people, friends at home until 3 or 4 in the morning (and we could make noise).

It’s one thing to have a life and a future, and “blah, blah…” but this is all so predictable. I feel the need for those calls at 11 at night advising: ‘We’re on our way, it’s not too late, is it?’ Oh!!! I haven’t had that in a long time – and no, it wasn’t too late.

Only the “B’s” give me that. Homesickness is a bummer. I was going to say that it’s the Euro’s fault, but I’ve already used too many quotation marks in this writing.

About the author: Ricardo Araújo, born in Barcelos, is a 37 year-old Portuguese photographer and creative director. In 2013, at the age of 27, Ricardo emigrated with his family to Canada in search of new opportunities and experiences. Despite the initial challenges of adapting to a new country and culture, Ricardo found his creative voice and, in 2020, established himself as a photographer and creative director of his own brand. Married and father of one son, Ricardo found a balance between his passion for art and his family responsibilities. In addition to his business achievements, he is an active member of the communities integrated in Toronto, contributing to social and cultural causes, and collaborating with artists and personalities from the Portuguese community. His presence can be witnessed not only in art galleries and photography studios, but also on the city streets, where he is actively involved in community projects and cultural events. As a true art lover, Ricardo has been consistently recognized for his talent and creativity. His works have been selected for photography exhibitions in Toronto and international publications, adorning covers and full-length editorials, embodying the idea of ​​following his passion and creating his own path. To learn more about his work, visit https://www.tophotography.ca/.