We are the way we are

Summary

The author reflects on the contrast between her own exuberant and talkative nature and the quiet beauty of her husband's granddaughter, ultimately embracing her unique personality and the importance of authenticity.

Abstract

The author describes a visit from her husband's granddaughter, admiring her physical and inner beauty, which includes simplicity, modesty, and a calm demeanor. This leads to a self-reflection on her own personality, characterized by anxiety, a love for storytelling, and a loud, unreserved presence. She recalls past criticisms about her behavior and the societal pressures that stifled her spontaneity during her youth in the 1960s. Despite these challenges, the author has reclaimed her spontaneity and embraced her true self, acknowledging her mix of cheerfulness and sadness. She concludes that the beauty of life lies in its diversity, with each person having a unique form and story, and emphasizes the importance of living authentically.

Opinions

The author admires the granddaughter's natural beauty and demeanor, which she herself did not possess at that age.
She recognizes her own tendency to be talkative and animated, seeing it as a core part of her identity.
The author reflects on past experiences where she was asked to be quieter and more reserved, which contributed to a sense of inferiority.
She believes that the societal norms and pressures of her adolescence suppressed her spontaneity and self-expression.
The author has since made a conscious effort to reclaim the aspects of her personality that were diminished by

I took back my murdered smile and my imprisoned speech

“Courtesy of Misa Ferreira de Rezende”

We recently received a visit from my husband’s granddaughter, a lovely girl. There is nothing about her that is not pretty. Then I talk to my sister: how beautiful the youth is! She’s not only beautiful physically, no, it’s much more than that. She’s a simple person, without vanities or rehearsed gestures or concerns about her image, she’s modest. She’s really a lovely person the way I wanted to be at her age and still now. I repeat, I’m not talking about physical beauty, although she is incredibly beautiful, but I’m talking about the way she is. Delicate, silent, speaking little, listening a lot, smiling, calm, oh my God, everything I am not.

But I’m not like that, I’ve always been anxious, I’ve always talked a lot, always. I am one of those persons who if in the elevator going up my ten floors, in this short time I am able to tell a story to make you laugh or cry. That must mean I’m not shy, although I always believed so. I thought I just pretended not to be shy. Shy? Me? No way. No, I’m not. Very soon, I am saying: It’s hot today, no? Maybe we are going to have rain, what do you think? The other day, I swear, I recited a poem to my two neighbors.

I can still hear my mother’s voice asking me to speak less and lower, I still hear the teacher’s reprimands. I still find myself screaming in the street games. Of course the adolescence of the 60s also killed a lot my spontaneity. I grew up with that feeling of inferiority, of being ridiculous, of never dancing because I heard I didn’t know to dance to the rhythm and thousand of other things that hurt us, killing our souls and taking the smile off our faces. But after getting older I recovered “peseta by peseta” everything that was stolen from me, all the fields devastated by locusts. I woke up from millennial sleeps like Sleeping Beauty, wanting to catch up with my murdered smile and imprisoned speech. Melancholic? Me? Not even crying!

There is no point in wanting to have been or to be like lovely Sara. It is not how it works. I wasn’t like that, I’m not like that. I was born anxious about life, I have neither calm nor patience to be serene. I’m a cheerful person by nature, but I am also sad. Let’s face it: great, great, nobody is. I doubt it. There is always a damn thorn in our flesh. One day everything is wonderful, another not so much and another, terrible. Between morning and evening, the weather changes. But my nature is joyful even in sadness. I have to talk, I can’t keep silent or pretend to be what I’m not. The beauty of life is that we are all different, unique, that no one can deny. Everyone comes with a form and a gift. Everyone has a story. We must live well. We have to be as we are in the best possible way.