Passion, I'm Here
It was 6:30 am, on a hot Carnival Monday, when the alarm went off. Hot and tropical like the carioca sun in summer, my colombina costume was also waiting for me. It was a black corset with red pom poms, a bow, and a colorful ribbon skirt. Wait, it was actually a mini-skirt – for the spontaneous ones who go from one block party to another, mini is always better. And for everyone to find me in the crowd, I carried a sign made out of a broom handle, saying: “Passion, I am here.”
Anyone to go with me? Oh! Not this time. I was the only one thirsty to pick up the block party from the beginning and enjoy it until the last minute. The jasmine-scented houses, and the morning freshness of Santa Tereza, invited the first revelers to embark on the up-and-down, of its infinite cobblestone slopes. At 7 am, you could still hear the pre-carnival silence, on a bucolic side of Rio de Janeiro.
First came the sax, then the trombonist, the clown with the stilt, and as soon as the block party came out, I was already friends with the devil. He was painted from ears to toe in red gouache paint, with a black speedo, horn, and cape. Where he leaned, he left the trail of his red sweat, "Oops, sorry!" He opened his arms, showing his cape, and sang in a loud tone: “This year I'll dress up like the devil, I already have the horn, the only thing missing is the tail!” The devil was pure fun, every sip of beer came with a laugh. That day, even the corny woman showed up. Afraid of envious women, whenever she kissed her man, she’d point her magic ring to the crowd, and shout “Ha!”. With drumming vibrating in my veins, I enjoyed all this comedy.
When the block party ended, I went to meet my family at a restaurant downtown. The restaurant was completely closed, protecting the air conditioning from the intense heat of the sidewalks. As soon as I opened the door 45 degrees, it looked like I had entered the Maracanã at the time of the goal. My family's table, about 30 people, made a tremendous uproar: clapping, tambourines, and trumpets were at their highest volume. About 200 customers, and all the waiters, turned their necks. In the midst of this explosion, even the cook let his mutton slide down to see what was going on. The columbine arrived.
Even with my heart throbbing with love with all this joy, my soul did not rest in the dotted lines that delimit the national territory. So, I dressed up like a Seattle resident, San Diego, and finally, I took off my mask to chat with my newest partner, Hawaii. After many carnivals, I finally understood that the whole path of searching for my passion, led me to find it, inside myself.