Porto to Lisbon - A Diary Entry
(This blog post is a digitized version of a diary entry I wrote whilst living in Portugal.)
12th June 2022
It’s a Sunday afternoon. The weather is sunny, twenty-nine degrees. Sunlight is bleeding in through the window, sometimes passing over my lap momentarily. I’m on the bus returning to Lisbon from my weekend trip to Porto.
Earlier, I was reading my most recent book: “First Person Singular” by Haruki Murakami. As always with Murakami, he never disappoints. It doesn’t matter what he writes about, somehow his writing always feels familiar - almost like reading your own voice. Sometimes it feels comforting, other times it’s uncomfortable, raw and real. This particular book is a collection of short stories. The one I read this weekend is called “Charlie Parker plays Bossa Nova.” It’s fitting, because somehow, since I moved to Portugal, my life has been filled with Jazz. My boss frequently puts on jazz at work. He also recommended me a jazz bar near my place, which I’ve gone to a couple of times now and to my surprise, they had a live jazz band. Every Sunday this summer, there’s a jazz festival. Even next door to my flat, there happens to be a jazz school; I’ve contacted them in hopes of learning improv in the short time that I’m here.
Jazz Band playing in A Mata, Anjos.
Anyway, in this short story, Murakami sampled an article where he listed a series of jazz songs. I listened to them in order while I read the story.
A few of my favourites are linked below so you can ride the thought bus with me:
The reason I’m explaining all this is because I felt like while I listened to it, I was very present. In that moment, I had the thought: “I really feel like a part of Portugal.” Or perhaps, now Portugal is a part of me. That moment embodied ‘saudade’. It was bittersweet. I acknowledged how one day, this trip will become as ethereal as Murakami’s stories; full of nostalgia. I felt overwhelmed with gratitude as I noticed the transience of this time. None of this will ever be the same again.
I think this long bus ride is what induced these feelings in me. Somehow, it feels like time has stopped. But at the same time, it’s endless. Ironically, I now realise Murakami puts this into words in his story:
“Like the beautiful phrases that come into your head. It lasts an instant, yet those instants can draw out forever.”
The biggest part of what embodies my experience here in Portugal is the unpredictability. My boss tells me when to come to work, hours (sometimes minutes) in advance. Somehow, I make friends with new people every day. They leave my life as quickly as they come in - some last a few days, others mere moments. It’s the same with music, since I was little, I always felt like the best songs end the quickest. Even writing about it makes me upset, gives me anxiety. I don’t want to accept that briefness. I get swept from place to place, person to person. I’ve completely surrendered to riding that wave. That acceptance is what has allowed me to have these seemingly inexplicable experiences.
I’ve learned a lot in the short span of time I’ve been here. As usual, the things I can’t seem to explain always seem to happen for a reason. How did I end up here? This is a recurring question. Situations I like, situations I don’t like. Each and every one is teaching me something about myself.
For example, in the seats in front of me, there’s this attractive young couple cuddling each other. Seeing them gives me no feelings of envy, in fact, I naturally found myself smiling. In contrast, two days ago, as I walked through the park to catch my bus home, seeing the couple in front of me made me feel small and lonely. I found my thoughts to be harsh and cold, even cruel. My mind is my greatest enemy, this is nothing new. What is new, is that my mind is also my best friend.
Recently, I started praying. I’m not religious and my prayers are probably incredibly improper in the eyes of many. But luckily, my thoughts belong to me only. Sometimes, I pray for silly things, like not getting caught for having an invalid ticket on the train, or hoping for a free seat next to me on the bus back home (both of which I received!) Mainly though, I pray to be more present. To stop caring what people think about me. To alleviate my mind of negative thoughts. These subjects too, seem to have changed for me. They get better, then they get worse. Either is fine with me. I’ve adapted to the carefree lifestyle here. Everything always seems to turn out okay: I missed my train, and someone shouted at me for no apparent reason, the hostel that I booked couldn’t find me on their booking system etc. All things that happened. All things that turned out okay, maybe even for the better.
In truth, I had a lot of anxiety before moving here. Portugal, due to some personal reasons and through association, actually held some negative connotations for me. It makes sense that I may have ended up here in order to heal all the lingering toxicity I had left in my heart. In that sense, I am thankful.
It seems then, that I have gained a lot. And lost a lot too, but for the best. Strangely, I feel as though I’ve returned back to the self I was as a child. It’s a freeing feeling. It’s selfish, but when I stop caring about what others think of me, it feels like the world revolves around me again. I used to hate this thought process - honestly, I often see it as self-centered and conceited to be such a way. Instead, accepting it’s okay to think of myself first in the world, creates room for me to think of those around me too.
Bumpy-bus handwriting above.
Want to see the full collection of photos I took whilst in Portugal? You know what to do.
