Homecoming
Words cannot describe how I felt when I walked into my Aunt’s house in Rio. Being able to re-enter one of my childhood homes after 15 years of living in the US flooded my whole being. Having these spaces that hold our stories is something most of us take for granted, until we realize they are gone.
My life brought me back home at a very strange time and in a very strange way. My dad passed away in France, and I was tasked with bringing his remains to Rio. So, I prepared for a trip I would not have taken for several more years; I always contemplated that maybe when the kids were older, I’d show them where I was from. At the time, I had two very little boys, and leaving them behind and traveling alone was not something easy to plan. But I did, and the minute I got off that plane, I felt the familiar yet forgotten humid air outside. And inside, I felt what can only be described by the Californian in me, as earthquake weather.
On the heels of becoming a mother of two and going through the isolation of a global pandemic, being with people who knew my soul, in a city that held my story, brought me to my knees. As the days passed, I was hugged by many long-lost friends and family. I was kissed by the waves of Prainha. And as old wounds opened, I was taken in by the places I could only remember in memories that felt like dreams. In those cathartic days, I felt many things. I reckoned with accepting that I had to lose my dad to find my way back. But mostly, I felt deep sadness for how much time I had lost. And for the months that followed, all I could think about was timing.
Timing can be magical, and timing can be soul-crushing. We want to control timing and wait for the right time, but I may have never found the time to come back while this home still exists if things didn’t happen the way they did.
From having no plans to ever go back, I am now on my third visit within a year to this last-standing Carioca kitchen of my childhood. Here and with this deeply personal project that is The Carioca Kitchen, I grieve the time I lost by trying to make up for it. And once the earth stopped quaking, that sadness turned into gratitude, and instead of resenting time, I found a new trust in divine timing. In the end, it is in those uncomfortable moments that call on us to relinquish control, that we just might see life and our relationships unfold in a much more beautiful way than we had planned.
The Carioca Kitchen is a love letter to Rio. An aggregation of stories, recipes, and objects that remind me of the home I left behind. And a reason to make sure my kids know their heritage, and that I never forget mine again.
