By Norelisa Nascimento '20
Nore and I walk on a fine line that separates the two hemispheres of ourselves. I’m the northern hemisphere, where Americans call me No-reh-lisa. Nore is the southern hemisphere, and you don’t have to catch a plane to see her. But, if you’re really her amiga and you can roll your R and stress the long E, you’ll see her shine through like the sunrise on the horizon.
I’m good with small talk, but she’s extremely chatty. Fire her up with emotion, and she won’t shut up. You can hear it when she’s being petty, scrolling through receipts saying “olha” to make sure you’re paying attention. She reveals herself when she meets a puppy and can’t quite put her wonder into English, so she raises her pitch and speaks in her own language. Others point out dogs don’t understand romance languages, but it’s a language of love in her eyes.
I like intellectual conversations, and listening to music on long, silent train rides. She’s the life of the party, making conversation with the conductors and dancing down the hallway. While I try to keep my composure, she mumbles curse words under her breath because, let’s be honest, swearing is the first step to mastering a foreign language. When I struggle to convey a thought, she sits with me in confusion saying filler words because some things have no translation.
Tell her a story and she’ll nod along not with “eh eh eh.”, not “uh-huh”. She can’t say no; she says “não.” Together, we code-switch. Flip-flopping from her native language at home to her second language in school. The last thing I want to do is colonize her uncharted tongue and lose her forever. If I’m not careful, I’ll go from bilingual to bye-lingual.
She’s the vulnerable one. She brings the warmth of Brazil to the rigid hearts of New England with every embrace. Not everyone welcomes the greeting of cheek kisses or is comfortable with her expressive physical contact. The warmth of her touch reflects the degree of her hospitality she can’t find up North.