How Many Ways to Say I Love You

Love is how you slice it. Photo courtesy of Claudia Midori.

The meat was sizzling on the grill. The men huddled round puffing at the flames and performing arcane rituals to minimize the smoke and maximize the heat. The women were in our kitchen pulling together some side dishes. Carrots were being grated. Collard greens were being chopped. Community news (i.e., gossip) was being shared.

I watched my friends slice the collard greens. It was a slow process—roll the greens into a tight bundle and shave off a tiny slice, then another—and for this many people it was going to take a while. After half an hour of slicing they still weren’t halfway through all the greens. Clearly this was a task in need of some modern improvements so I whipped out our chopping board (rare in the interior, purchased in Belo Horizonte) and chef’s knife and began to make a demonstration of my quick knife skills. The women shrieked. “NOOOO, Malvina!! It’s too thick!” What? Here I was doing some tidy julienne strips and it was too thick? I watched their technique again. Sure enough, their way reduced the collards to angel-hair fine shreds. It also took two women 45 minutes to prepare just that one dish. “Our men won’t eat it if it’s thicker,” they explained.

I surrendered to their technique and sat back to contemplate. Now, really, if their men had to prepare that meal I’m pretty sure that the thickness of the slices would rapidly become irrelevant. So what we had here was love at its finest. The women prepared this dish in all its back-breaking tedium because that’s the way their loved ones preferred it. No matter what. I thought about it, and decided that while I loved my husband he was going to have to settle for thicker collard greens from his American wife.

There’s a lot of love in Brazilian women’s work. Really, if it weren’t for love how would you stand ironing every last piece of clothing off the line? Preparing a meal for hours? Scrubbing and mopping floors almost daily? For a large family each of these undertakings is monumental. Only love will get you through.

There’s love in the flip-side as well. The husband whose hands ache with the weight of every market purchase—including the yucca, winter squash, and bundle of pineapples—so that she doesn’t have to. The care that men place in washing their car by hand twice a week so that their family can always step out in pride. Quietly, steadily working 60 hours per week to make ends meet. The treats brought home—avocados from a cousin, the watermelon from the street vendor, oranges from a friend’s orchard—for the delight of the children.

This is a land that barely knows greeting cards or wrapping paper. I am from a culture where present-giving is raised to a fine art, extending from the lovingly hand-made to the laboriously investigated and purchased. Where tradition suggests that when you return from a trip you bring a present of your adventures. Where children make endless drawings as gifts for their mothers. Where birthdays are celebrations of an individual, with a shower of trinkets and adulations. Here birthdays often pass nearly unnoticed, gifts are rare (that’s economics speaking), cards are sold on one rack in one store in town and are mostly for Valentine’s Day and weddings. Here love speaks another language.

My Portuguese is approaching passable. It’s this other language that is now tripping me up. I’m sure that my in-laws have done things to show they care that sailed through my radar; I just don’t know where to look. They are puzzled by my gestures, like bringing pie to a holiday dinner (c’mon, it’s homemade PIE, people!), because it doesn’t fit into theirs. It’s all unspoken. Where is the guidebook that will teach me this language?

How many ways can you count to say “I LOVE YOU”?

Advertisements

4 Comments Add yours

  1. N says:

    So funny, I’m about to publish a post about collard greens and taioba. My picture looks very similar to yours! 🙂
    I, too, am at a loss about the codes of good manners. I am thankful not to have to write “thank you” cards anymore, but really, what to do about birthday presents?! Some people bring gifts, others not. My hubby is very relax about it all (“bring something if you feel like it” he says), but is it just him or are all Brazilians alike?

    1. Malvina says:

      I get the feeling lots of Brazilians are like this. Which I don´t mind; I always felt uncomfortable throwing a b´day party and then having to receive a gift from friends when really all I wanted was their company.

      Oh, and this week I discovered apparently love in Brazil is your in-laws finding your spare key and letting themselves into your home to check on you because you´ve been shut in and homesick all day. Sigh. Suppose I should be grateful 😉

  2. Tiago Landi Simoes says:

    You were the hardest one, M.! It took me a while, but after a few google searches involving in-laws, gardening stuff and some guy named Miro I finally got here. Do you have any idea of what am I talking about? If not, than check out this link: http://www1.folha.uol.com.br/colunas/alvaropereirajunior/2013/05/1284305-a-vida-dos-outros.shtml A Folha’s columnist wrote about you last saturday and left some clues on how to find your blog. Loved it, by the way.

    1. Malvina says:

      LOL! Well what do you know?! What a surprise to read that article! Thanks for sharing. 🙂

      As the columnist states, my life is less than glamorous so I’m not surprised that it was harder to track me down. I also make a deliberate point of not saying specifically where I am since there’s like 3 Americans (2?–I think one moved back) in this town and if a stranger goes asking you can track us down in minutes. No point being internet unsafe.

      I write my blog for Brazilians and folks back home and whomever else feels it touches their lives, although it’s true that I assume that most who would be interested in what I write are either family/friends or fellow expats.

      I’m so pleased that you took the time to track me down and that you enjoyed your visit here. I hope you keep reading!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s