Brazilian filmmaker Fernando Meirelles once said: “I understand English, but I don’t feel English. If you say ‘mango tree,’ in English, it is just a tree. In Portuguese, ‘mangueira’ reminds me of my mother… It is different.” People often ask me if I miss home. I say I do.
I “miss” home, because I lack the vocabulary to explain how I truly feel. I started learning English at the age of seven or eight. It was around that time that I lost my first baby tooth. Despite my long-lasting domain over the language, sometimes English presents much of a hurdle in describing my feelings. It can only scratch the surface. Some feelings cannot be named, if not in Portuguese.
There are many words in Portuguese that are untranslatable to English, and there is one that pertains to this article: saudade. Saudade is a feeling of longing, of missing something that has long vanished. You feel saudade — of something, of someone, of a place, of a time, of a state-of-being. I feel saudade of my parents, I feel saudade of my childhood dog. I feel saudade of the friends I lost in the way of becoming the person I am. I feel saudade of the cities I lived in before: of my hometown, of Saint John, and of Fredericton. I will certainly feel saudade of Hamilton, when my time here is done.
I feel saudade of home, whatever ‘home’ means — and wherever that is. When I am in Canada, I feel saudade of Brazil. When I am in Brazil, I feel saudade of Canada. So, because I am neither entirely here nor there, home feels like nowhere. It is a pilgrim’s curse: no matter where I am, I will always long for home. And people will remind me of this eternal non-belonging. “When are you going back?” They ask, but I have just arrived. It is awkward, but it is hard to develop a conversation with me that does not involve the word “cold,” or frio. “Is it cold there?” You already know the answer, ask me something else! The hardest thing of living abroad is that you slowly become something of a stranger to most people around you. That is why conversing is so tough; people get used to your absence. The river does not stop running, and life “back home” did not stop when I landed in Montreal in late 2019. I cannot step into the same river twice, no-one can.
So far, I have only rambled. What does Bad Bunny have to do with the existential quarrel that I face?
For the last few weeks, I have been listening to Bad Bunny’s newest album. Benito’s salsa-infused reggaetón and dembow have warmed me through the freezing cold of Hamilton, ON. In many ways, it has been more effective at it than my apartment’s radiator. Talk of an album that instantly lifts my mood, that inspires me to move. Even though I don’t like dancing – my hips do lie – I have endeavored some salsa moves in the kitchen. More than giving me energy, Bad Bunny’s album has made me think of the perennial saudade that exists within me. It made me feel saudade even further, it made me confront – and accept – this feeling.
DtMF is an album about longing for and cherishing the past, no matter how much it hurts. It is about missing one’s family, a past lover, community, and culture. Despite its boisterous, upbeat melodies, some of the lyrics are tremendously bittersweet. Saudade often sets in after moments of extreme happiness. How can you miss something that was not, at least in part, good? For those of us who chose to leave Latin America, who chose to leave our countries in search of an education, for work, or simply a better life, Bad Bunny’s album stings as much as it soothes.
The pair of plastic chairs in the album’s transmit emptiness, as if two people had just been sitting there, chatting; but the photographer was too late to capture them. If you are Latin American, you know what those chairs represent: community. They represent sitting on the garden, or at the beach, or on the sidewalk. They represent chit-chat, laughter, music, and a good beer. You sit on those in parties and in barbeques, because they are so convenient and practical. When the chairs are empty, the party is over. The people are gone, all that is left are memories. All you can think is what you might have done differently. Should you have taken more pictures, or are the memories etched on your brain enough to quench your saudade?
Originally published on February 6, 2025.
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