It’s Thursday, and we’re approaching a long weekend.

Everybody is beginning to slow down with classes, though journaling and video editing are going full steam ahead. In six days, it will be my 60th birthday, and I’m feeling mixed emotions.

The most obvious feeling is wondering where the time has gone. Looking back, it’s as if I’m remembering, reminiscing, analysing, and trying to understand somebody else’s life rather than my own.

What little I remember from my childhood is a complicated mother and an even fainter trace of my father, more absence than presence, spending more time away from our home than in it, more in other people’s houses, or out in the street and at work.

The relationship I had with my grandparents on my mother’s side, especially with my grandmother, my mother’s mother, was something else. What a woman she was.

Probably the most important woman in my life, so far.

It was strange that, the last time I was in England, my mother tried more than once to put my grandmother down, to damage the image I had of her, even though she knew how deeply I admired her. Each time she tried, it was so obvious, so transparent, that I simply listened and said nothing.

Many times in life, when you see somebody trying to manipulate or even gaslight you, and it’s so obvious, it’s better to watch, to observe, and say nothing, rather than confront them or demand an explanation.

Later, when I moved to London, I found a job on my first day, knowing I didn’t have the money to go back to Birmingham or rent a place. I lived on the streets for at least a month, sometimes in a homeless hostel, sometimes rough, before I finally found and rented a place of my own.

And then, finally, coming to Brazil to chase a dream, a country that has been my home for almost 40 years.

It’s been a rollercoaster of disappointments and deceptions, but also of many happy, memorable moments. Along the way came two daughters, a school, and thousands upon thousands of experiences. Some good, some not so good, but it all tied to the path I chose.

It all feels like it happened to someone else, especially when I think about London. What a time that was. There was a lot of suffering and insecurity, but it was also a special phase of my life. In a way, I was happy; I didn’t realise it. I was almost oblivious to how special that time was while I was living it.

Now it seems that everything that happened then, and after, and coming to Brazil, is like an embroidered tapestry, filling in the holes, the loose ends, the lines and the spaces with the thread of my life and my experiences, stitched onto a canvas already drawn.

I first came to Brazil, to São Paulo, where I lived on two separate occasions, divided only by before and after meeting Cibele, before settling in Rio: a bachelor’s life after Cibele, then meeting Nalva and creating the English school in Copacabana.

How crazy is all of this!

Nalva is a reincarnation and a younger version of my mother. What I’ve learned from my relationship with Nalva is that the one good thing to come out of all the stress, suffering and loss has been Yasmin.

The school I had, The Right Way English School, was loved by everyone, even though it was never financially successful. It helped pay my way and my dependents’ for 20 years, but it never reached its full potential.

Some of that was probably down to me, my own circumstances, my limitations, and some down to the place: Copacabana, Brazil. Running a business in Brazil isn’t easy, especially in Rio. I’ve always considered Rio one of the hardest cities in the country to run a business in, given the economic, social, and political problems.

I honestly believe that nothing really grows solidly and healthily in Brazil, not yet, and if it does, it’s temporary. Draw too much attention to yourself, achieve too much success, and the government, or somebody else, will find a way to cut you down to size.

Even large, traditional companies are either in serious trouble, have already gone under, or are going under. And here I am today, with a blog that few people read and a YouTube channel that even fewer watch.

Yasmin turned 18 last year, so both my daughters are now adults.

From an 80–90% standpoint, I think I’ve done my part as a father. Yasmin still needs some guidance, and I’m here for her; if Jessica needs it too, she knows where to find me.

I’m still paying rent, and I’m a man without a home of my own. My mother transferred her house into a trust fund in my name. It’s clear she did it not out of love, but out of spite towards my brother.

The truth is, inheriting property is too easy, and having property rights is too convenient. It’s not quite the same as having built it yourself, and that’s a shame I sometimes feel, one I still haven’t fully made peace with.

If I’d stayed in England, it would clearly have been easier for me to get a place of my own, and that’s always the mental tug-of-war I feel between acceptance and the shame of questioning myself.

We are always winging it, and here I am, arriving at 60, still winging it, just as I have in all my other lives, as I mentioned before.

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

Photos by Richard George Photography

The post Turning 60 in Rio | Family, Loss and Home first appeared on The Long Gringo.