Journaled on Thursday, 23rd of April 2026 | Santo Cristo, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil: 26 degrees, warm, sunny and slightly overcast.
It’s the day after my 60th birthday.
I didn’t celebrate with anyone, but I had a long, meaningful conversation with my mother that cleared the air about something I’d been carrying for a long time.
It sounds ridiculous that it’s taken me until 60 to start letting go of the baggage and traumas of my childhood, my mother, and the injustices she’s done, not just to me but to others too.
An hour-long call between Stourbridge, England, and Rio, on a standard landline, is quite a lot. What also made me happy was hearing from Julie, indirectly and directly, since she’s always in my thoughts.
She sent me an audio message early in the morning, a nice surprise since she doesn’t usually like recording her voice. Last year she only sent a birthday message in the late afternoon, which felt lame, weak and inconsiderate.
We’re not together anymore, and this year she got it right. How crazy is that. Try explaining it to me or anyone else: together, it’s all wrong, but apart, it’s all right.
There are changes on the indirect side too. Julie has been visiting my mother, which I thought was a genuinely nice gesture. Whether there’s some other motive behind it, I don’t know, but either way I appreciated it, and I sent her a quick message thanking her at the end of the day.
My daughters, Yasmin and Jessica, called early in the morning to wish me happy birthday. Jessica had work and Yasmin had school, so a birthday midweek is a bit complicated. Both the day before and the day itself were bank holidays.
Usually these holidays come together, turning two days off into three, but not this time, so for most people my birthday was just an ordinary day.
Still, it was a good birthday, the way I like it: discreet.
Today’s lunch was really the one I should have had yesterday, on my birthday, but it happened today instead, with my daughters, Mario and, surprisingly, Cibele, my first ex-wife and Jessica’s mother. Also joining the family was Zoe, Jessica’s newly adopted shelter dog, a beautiful black mongrel with long fur, and a little suspicious of everyone.
I met Yasmin at Flamengo metro station, and we carried on to Arco Verde in Copacabana, then walked ten minutes to Jessica and Mario’s flat in Leme.
On the way we passed an old man walking a Belgian Malinois, a breed that’s suddenly become famous, probably thanks to the John Wick films, Halle Berry, and the French police.
I stopped and asked if it really was a Malinois. He confirmed it, and when I asked if I could greet the dog, he said yes.
Better to ask first than risk losing a finger, a hand, or an arm at the shoulder. The dog was beautiful. I told the owner I’d been thinking of getting one, and he told me to leave my contact details at the entrance of his building, for Senhor Cabral, as he’d be breeding her in three or four months.
How cool is that.
I said I would, and after a couple of minutes thanking him for his kindness, Yasmin and I were on our way again. We were already running late for lunch.
We arrived five minutes late, which wasn’t too bad. We all exchanged presents. Jessica and Mario gave me a beautiful green UV shirt. I’m well known for wearing my black UV shirts, practically my uniform by now, so it made a nice change.
It’s cool against the skin, perfect for Rio’s heat, easy to wash, and I think it looks good.
I bought books for Jessica and Mario: a romance novel for Jessica and a David Goggins self-help book for Mario. Goggins is famous in the States, a kind of superhero example that if you put your mind to it, you can do it.
Cibele arrived and we had lunch. The last time I’d seen her was in September, when Jessica had surgery.
The last time we all had lunch together was three or four years ago, when we got into Brazilian politics. I was complaining about the government’s hypocrisy and mentioned Lula’s name. She asked me not to say it. I told her, without hesitation, that I’d say whatever I wanted. Nobody was going to shut me down for saying what I believed.
Never let anyone shut you down for something you believe is right. Lunch itself was lovely: simple Brazilian food, plenty of eating and drinking, good conversation, laughter, and a bit of piss-taking.
On the way back, Yasmin got upset about something Mario had said at lunch. Without meaning to sound insensitive, I think the timing didn’t help, and she ended up crying about it in the street.
I left her with her mother and headed home to Santo Cristo. I rested, did a little work, and that was it: another nice day with my dysfunctional family.
Be kind and be happy. If you cannot be happy, still be kind, but never be naïve.
In bed by 10 p.m.
Thank you
Thank you for reading. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments.
Richard
