letters to paulo

on sheep and stairs

Dear Paulo,

One time, we decided to visit the night market to check out the bargains. You were sick then, it was raining. I asked if we needed an umbrella but you told me “We are not made of sugar.” So we walked 4 blocks of goods were you would stop to check some items that you found interesting.

At one point, we chanced upon a battery operated toy of sheep going up steps and sliding down a ramp. You thought it was ridiculously funny. I thought you were so cute liking it. We went past the store to check others. The rain did not stop until we were on our way home.

A few nights after, I was on that same market. We weren’t together that night, the first time that week. A friend and I saw it again, the sheep going up a flight of stairs. I told that friend that you found the gift funny. When we were about to move to another stall, I took one step back and bought the sheep. I gave it to you late that night, “todo mi carino,” I said.

Today you told me that you didn’t bring that gift home. You did not want to cram it in your small suitcase, and you didn’t want to hand carry it either. The sheep are there, somewhere, going up a flight of stairs, and down a ramp, over and over until the batteries run out.

And maybe, this is what we are. I give you everything, and you don’t want any of it. There is no space in your life for me, although I try so hard to be in it.

When will I get over you?

coins in boots

Dear Paulo,

The other day, I was out and felt a coin in my boot. I remembered how one night of that week when you were here, you were seated on the ground looking up at me. We were deciding where to have dinner with our teammates. You somehow had a few coins in your hands. You decided to shoot one into my boot, knowing I won’t go through the fuss of taking it out in on te street.

I wonder how many small surprises I will continue to get. I am trying to forget you and suddenly here you are again - in my mind, in the empty streets of the city walking with me. In the many words In songs that seem to always speak about you.

Will I ever get rid of you?

on wishing trees

Paulo, meu coracao,

Yesterday was the first day of the Chinese lunar year. I read that it was important for the locals to take these well-wishing trips. One important stop was a wishing tree where they hang their wishes on the branches. I decided to take the trip because I needed a couple of wishes myself.

You would have hated this trip. First, because I was lost for a good 8 stations, which meant 16 incorrect stops. You would have insisted we take seats so I can nap and so you can read about Porto’s weekend matches.
Second, you would have hated incenso like you did in Macau. It was everywhere.

The wishing tree was simple: the orange cost HKD20 “Eh pa! Too expensive for something stupid” and you had to attach it to a placard which will have your wishes. One had to throw it to the tree, and lodge it between branches.

It took me 6 attempts before I managed to lodge the damned orange. This would have frustrated you for sure. We would have laughed at it a lot though. You would insist on doing it yourself.

Meu coracao, what you must know is that I wished for you. How much faith I placed on a plastic orange and a pink slip of paper to change your mind about me, us.

Siempre, te amo.

on who you smile for

Dear Paulo,

I woke this morning to your picture with her, here. Here, where I live. Here where we’ve been together days before she arrived.

I learned about her over the holidays. The past few weeks I subtly ask you about her. You made it clear she is on her way to becoming a part of your life. That weekend when you were sick, you read to me her message: tea with honey, hugs and kisses. The most that I can say to you is dulces sueños. I cannot tell you what I want to tell you so instead I took the train to where you were and brought you soup.

You were smiling in the picture, as you stood beside her. I have never seen you smile like that before. I slept last night and woke this morning with the ache that I have had for you since Day 1. Will it ever go away?

siempre. tqm.

on the mistake of falling asleep

Dear Paulo,

I slept on your shoulder on our way to Macau. A good 40 minutes brought about by alcohol and the fact that it was already 2am. You told me that you were waking me up for 10 full minutes, “It’s time,” you said. I only responded with more sleep.

You and I had a really good time, just how much fun can two strangers have with each other. We have not even been together for a full hour straight. And there we were, walking in the freezing empty streets of Macau, hungry, laughing, getting lost. How difficult was it to stop myself from holding you. I look at you and all I want to do is touch you, hold your hand.

On the ride back I was sleeping, this time a full chair between us, and I woke up and caught you looking at me. I wonder what it was that you saw, or did not see, that made you say that from the very start there was nothing there. And I wonder now, if it was a mistake to have slipped into sleep, to show you a face that very few people have seen. Or if you too have tried on your end, to search my sleeping face, for something that I really cannot offer.

siempre, te quiero mucho.