It has felt like a dream, and my dreams aren’t helping my reality. Before I knew it, I was standing in the cold outside of the Sao Paulo airport at Guarulhos and waiting for the bus to arrive and then I was again sitting and drifting off to sleep like I’d been doing for the past twenty hours. I dreamed of New Haven and of Brazil of waking up in Dennis’ house and of living in Afghanistan. This last place is because I’m reading “The Kite Runner.” I had places and places and places in my dreams and when I woke up, I was in Campinas, only minutes from my home.
I reached my house in complete darkness and silence, at 2 in the morning, nearly four hours later than I thought I would. Upon opening my door, I smelled the smell I had a year ago when I first moved in, but saw my familiar orange couch and framed pictures and black glass bowl on the dining room table and I knew I was in a familiar place.
My apartment was freezing, as I’d expected, and so the first thing I did was get my sleeping bag that I’d last slept in in New Zealand, and put it underneath the covers of my bed. I made three phone calls: Dennis, my mom, Dennis’ parents, and then crawled beneath the covers and opened up “The Kite Runner” again.
I had dreams again while I slept and when I awoke I thought for a second I was still in Dennis’ room. I sleep up against the wall in his room and I do the same here. But instead of the air conditioning kicking on occasionally, I heard construction sounds and knew it was just another Sunday morning in Brazil.
I am now up and around my house, decked out in slippers and sweaters and sweat pants. I’m sipping a cup of coffee and exploring the places I haven’t been around for five weeks. Like always, it may take me a day inside to get used to being back here, and I may venture out tomorrow into the cold air. I have to be at work on Tuesday.
So, here I am, back in Brazil. It would have been a horrible home-coming if not for the bright blue sky I saw when I opened up my eyes for real this morning.