America

I’ve recently become fully aware that the grass is always greener on the other side of the Equator, the Prime Meridian, the International Dateline, and that no matter where I am, this will be so. But only as I was running this afternoon, and stepped through the third pile of dog feces this week, I understood why. It’s America I crave. It’s the metaphorical crisp, straight lines that I dream about. Yesterday I completed my last day of work here in Brazil. My last day with people who take extra long lunch breaks, who stare at the wall pretending to do something, who take advantage of the hard-working foreigners who have decided to grace them with their presence. Today is the first day of the rest of my life. America is on the brain.

In fact, America has been on the brain from the start of this three-month adventure. I realized about half-way through that no matter what I do during the day, no matter what I am focusing my attention on, (washing lettuce, chopping carrots, mopping floors), everything that is American fills my thoughts.

Every 15 days, a new Newsweek comes to the magazine stand near our apartment. It’s the only non-Portuguese magazine sold. I pay 11 Real – more than 3 times the amount it costs at home, just to fill an afternoon with what is happening there. Peter is constantly checking the internet for the Brewer’s scores, for sports blog updates, for what Favre plans on doing this week. He walked 15 blocks to the nearest T.G.I. Friday´s at 11:00pm just to watch one of the NBA Final Four games. We read “Into the Wild,” “Armies of the Night,” and “Dharma Bums” just to hear American voices and imagine American landscapes. In June, we listened to Barack Obama’s “Dreams from My Father” on an iTunes audiobook. We hung on his every word. Some nights, after work, we rent American films and television series’. Hearing Sawyer’s southern drawl on Lost even makes me nostalgic. We get excited about Subway. We get excited about mail. I thrive on correspondence. On talking to my dad on Skype. On g-chatting with people in Madison. On English.

It may have taken 15 months of living far, far away, and one too many inconsiderate stray dogs, but I know now. It´s time to say “sawat dee ka” and “tchau” to the world. It’s time to come home.