Lembro-me dela.

I really didn't mean it. After all, for all my consciousness, I am not Brazilian. Not by blood, birth nor heritage. No. As far as I know, only my heart beats to the samba.

The adoption of the culture was natural. Learning the language, more effort than the former. And now, I blend in. Not by force. Nay. Not pretentious as one who pretends, but as on who is passionate.

Somehow. For some greater purpose. I love Brazil.

Eu adoro o Brasil.

A child of openly Shamelessly sensibilities I was, and my passion for Brazil is because, I met a young girl in a child's play maze. Brazilian culture trickled like the rains upon the canopies of the Amazon through my life. So influential that only moral honesty keeps me from proclaiming to hail from the beaches of Rio De Janeiro or the bustling city of Sao Paulo.

As I've said, I don't know if a sample of my blood flows with caipirinha, but I do know this.

I love meeting Brazilians. The chance to speak Portuguese, to learn of their journeys to the United States is a Shameless guilty pleasure indeed.

At university it begin with one. Then came another. Then came others, but when I met another, I discovered, that the others, didn't know each another.

....

Perhaps a subtle inclination for community navigated from my heart into neurological impulses that led me to make introductions. And how satiated my soul was. To see their Brazilian brotherhood's brilliance in a blaze of Portuguese exchange was a blessing.

One of them, Nastachsa de Mata, tells me that she and Gilberto Gil want to start a Brazilian organization at university, and I like to think the young girl, via myself, had something to do with that.

I only saw the young girl once. I doubt she remembers a young American Vagabond.

But. No matter.

Eu lembro-me dela.