I am not Brazilian, and that’s Okay
One of the saddest realizations in my life was when my Brazilian friend in Brazil sat me down and said, “You will never truly be Brazilian, even if you live here the rest of your life because at the end of the day, if something bad happens, you can take a plane home. You have another home.”
I cried. I hated it. I knew it was true. Up until then, unconsciously I was learning the language and culture, thinking that eventually one day I would learn enough to be considered “Brazilian.” But the truth is, I won’t- there is no arrival. I will always be different, I will always be the “other.”
It’s been hard to be the “other” for 17 years now. Sometimes, with some people we forget everything and we are just all God’s children. But not all the time. Sometimes it is long stretches of not speaking up about Brazilian politics, because it isn’t my country. Most of the time it means listening, and not saying anything unless I am asked because I am not sure if I am missing something about the culture when I say something. It means checking through things with Brazilians I trust, so I know I am on the right path, and understand the ins and outs of things before I add my two cents about anything that involves how things are done in Brazil.
But shouldn’t I have the right to share my opinion just like everyone else? Not all the time. Not if I care about relationships. Not if I care that my words and opinions shape how some Brazilians think about a whole entire country. Not if I want to represent Christ well, my organization well, and what people think of missionaries. One friend told me that being a missionary is kind of like being the queen: you smile and wave and keep your opinion to yourself until it is officially announced in the correct setting.
I lay down my “right” to be normal, to not have to be the “other” because I understand that I am invited into another country, culture, home—another way of doing things: and there are many things I do not understand. I try to leave a space for grace in the unknowns.
I do not always succeed. Most of the time, it doesn’t end well and I feel dumb and stupid and hurt that my side of things wasn’t taken into account. But for real? I am not the center of the universe, and my cultural way of doing things doesn’t need to be catered to. You learn that pretty quick when you are the “other,” and not the normal.
This is not to say that I haven’t been accepted. It isn’t to say that I haven’t created a place within my community in Brazil. Just the opposite. It just means I will always be the American. It means that many of the differences will never disolve. And that is okay. In fact, that can even be celebrated.
As the American in Brazil (no, I am not the only one, but I feel like I am still thought of as “THEE American.”), I am invited to many more parties than in America; sometimes to be the conversation piece. As the American in Brazil, I am asked my opinion about American politics and culture and many more things that I am no expert on, but I try. As the American in Brazil, I am often moved to the front of the line, a priviledge I do not deserve. As the American in Brazil, I have a kind of popularity and specialness that baffles me. I am the “other,” and they want to know more. Sometimes I just want to become invisible again. ‘
Being different is a weird combination of celebrity and outcast. It is fighting against your own expectations of normal, and everyone else’s normal. Some mornings you want nothing more than to have no one notice you, while other times you just wish someone would ask your opinion about things other than your own culture.
This is a hard lesson to learn, and I am still working on it. But the lesson I am learning even slower is that not only am I the “other” in Brazil, but now I am the “other” in America. I will never really be Brazilian, but all that I have learned and invested means I can never truly go back to being American either. I am stuck in this limbo land, like all the connecting airports we take to move back and forth between homes.
I look American, I talk “American,” I can fit in well enough that only those closest to me realize something is off. But I feel that shift and rift really strongly. Personally, it is harder for me to deal with my inside feeling different from my outside (when I am in America), than when my inside and outside are both different from everyone else (when I am in Brazil).
This is something all missionaries and expats have learned and are learning: being other. It is a vivid picture of when we sing, “This world is not my home, I am just a passin’ through” and for me at least, has grounded me in the fact that heaven is my true home.
“I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now...Come further up, come further in!” ― C.S. Lewis, The Last Battle