TD 1
Everton waits for his food in the oven to get rea
dy while Jessica and Carla wash their respective dishes Except for a few lucky days, we had to wait in line for cooking and taking a shower; and, in some very unlucky ones, we might even have to wait in line for using the toilet. Even though there was a rotating cleaning schedule for the three bathrooms, it is really not pleasing to take other people’s hair out of the drain. And when onsite classes got cancelled, there was traffic jam in the stairs, caused by people studying online, as the wifi only worked in the lower floors of the house. It felt like we were the subjects of a social experiment – except there was no one conducting it. After years of living alone, it was annoying having a curfew to take a shower and turn off the lights. Beatriz and I had to take turns calling our families in our bedroom, so we wouldn’t disrupt each other. Not hearing other people’s phone calls – and not being heard – was not an option. At some point, I grabbed one of the chairs and went inside a small stall where bikes were kept in the backyard. It was dark and covered in dust and spiderwebs, but it worked. It was the only place I could talk to someone without being heard – and I really needed to vent. I couldn’t take it anymore. It was suffocating. I expected life as an immigrant to have its challenges, but I never thought it would be that hard. No one tells you the lump in your throat becomes unbearable when you can’t even have the privacy to cry. And, then again, did I even have the right to complain? I was trapped in a house with strangers in the middle of a pandemic, it’s true, but I was in Dublin by choice. It was me who left everything behind to come to Europe - and you don’t get to complain if you are in Europe. Being inside was tiring and frustrating, and so was being surrounded all the time. I craved for some air and solitude, but, at the same time, I felt so drained it was hard to leave the bedroom. Some days I just wanted to shrink, to disappear. And then, on March 28th, the day after lockdown officially started, my grandfather passed away in Brazil. He had been hospitalized for the second time in two months, after a year of chemotherapy. Back home, I had been the one accompanying him to the clinic every week. We would grab lunch together and buy a new houseplant in the open air flower market across the street. Suddenly, he was gone. And I wasn’t there. My grandfather’s passing was an announced death. The day before the predicted bad news arrived, Beatriz accompanied me to the supermarket. I bought chocolates, blueberries and apple cider. I needed some 17