Swirling Skirts, Slave Ships, and Espanol

A relaxing and fun Sunday to end the weekend. Probably will be a short post since I'm only covering one day, but I want to make sure that I cover all of the awesome events of the day before I'm worn out by the week!

My day began pretty late, since I relaxed with an hour and a half long breakfast this morning. Cake, fruit, and three different types of bread. Izzy, Sally, and I then met up to check out Ibirapuera Park, a really peaceful, gigantic public park only minutes from our home. We visited two pretty cool museums, Museu Afro Brasil and Museu de Arte Moderno.

Here were some of my favorite pieces from the Museu Afro Brasil:

It's a dog, of course I loved it!

Three favorite things: America, Mickey Mouse, and #100 dollah bills

A re-imagining of Frida Kahlo

In fact, I loved the art so much, I decided to join it!

Joining pictures of the swirling skirts!

The museum featured numerous African-Brazilian artists, as well as an incredibly touching and though-provoking exhibit on Brazilian slavery. The exhibit included a large-scale replica of a slave boat from the 19th century. Photographs, paintings, and maps accompanied the gigantic wooden frame. 

Even as a history concentrator, I lose sight of the humanity of the people of the past. I forget that they also worried about relationships, that they laughed at risque "that's what she said jokes," that they had goals for themselves and dreams for their children. They also had more serious problems--slavery, obviously; lack of freedoms; disease; etc. etc. But they were human. And that's who I come from. My ancestors (on one side) came to the United States on boats just like those, scared and potentially hopeless but determined to survive. And because of their fortitude and unwillingness to surrender to the inequalities and prejudices and disgusting mistreatment that they faced, I am here today. It was incredibly moving.

Honestly, I struggle a lot with questions of identity. Despite the misleading look my pale skin (which burns much too easily) and Anglo-Saxon features, I am about a quarter African-American on my mom's side. People tend to be skeptical and may even think I'm a liar, but it's true. I often struggle with how to express pride in and appreciation for my heritage. I don't look black, and because I am able, in a sense, to avoid the blunt of racism and hardships that fall upon African-Americans in the States, I feel guilty attempting to align with my black ancestry. However, to deny or even silently disregard my heritage seems really dishonest and even disrespectful to the men and women whose sacrifices I think of everyday, and whose strength allowed for my existence. I'm caught between these conflicting ideas of what I imagine to be my two paths in accepting and embracing my ancestry, and it's a struggle most people don't even know I deal with. Anyways, all of these thoughts and clashes of ideology were racing through my head as I wandered through this museum dedicated to African-Brazilians. Its ability to stimulate such profound and deep questions testifies to its wonderful material and construction.

The Museum of Modern Art, on the other hand, was not my cup of tea. I'm really not a fan of modern art--it just does not make sense to me. This sums up my confusion on this period of artwork:

I was cajoled into examining the exhibits by the ever-cultural Sally and Izzy, as well as the allure of free admission. I didn't have to grapple with my immature views on art for long, though, because the entire museum took about 15 minutes to walk through.

Sally was pretty disappointed but I happily flounced to the museum's cafe for a cappuccino. We arrived back home around 5 PM and I quickly dropped into bed for a nap and some enjoyment of the falling rain. I enjoyed the rainy sunset with my delightful book--

SO artsy

--and joined my fam for an awesome dinner with some really fascinating political discussion. I commented appreciatively on the political awareness and activism of all of the Brazilians I've met (including the dozens of Paulistas blockading the streets, protesting for the impeachment of the current president), while I was asked about Donald Trump.

Them: So what's going on with Donald Trump?

Me:

I conversed with them in English (because I obviously can only speak "un pequeno" of Spanish and practically nothing else), but their quick asides in Portuguese seemed familiar to me, and I was able to pick up a few words here and there. I'm pretty adept at numbers now, which may seem juvenile but is very useful when trying to buy adorable jewelry at the street markets.

It only strengthens my desire and determination to actually learn Spanish for real this summer with my fam. WE GOT THIS, GUYS.

Now, I'm just chilling out, mourning the end of my weekend and pondering in disbelief the fact that I only have ONE more full weekend here in Sao Paulo.

Time to try to get to sleep before 1 AM!!!!

Toodles,

Aubrey