The routine began with waking up for the first meal of the day: tapioca or bread. The food my mother made was always delicious; the seasonings weren’t the best, but the flavor was wonderful. Meanwhile, my mother also took care of the household chores and hummed hymns; the entire neighborhood could hear her expression of love for the Creator. Back then, I wasn’t particularly a fan of coffee, although nowadays I drink almost two bottles. I’ve always been a bit shy about poetry; I used to write verses hidden in my notebook. We are four siblings, and in that context, expenses were quite high since only my father worked. My grandmother and grandfather helped with practically everything; without their help, we would have gone through very difficult situations. I used to cover my school supplies using plastic bags and also reused leftover wrapping paper as an option to protect them. Depending on the color, to identify the book’s title, it was necessary to open it and check the subject on the back cover.

The neighbor liked to listen to Raul Seixas’s music. There were so many nights under the stars with “Gita — Raul Seixas,” I remember that well. The little house had a half-height wall with a small gate, a medium-sized purple pine nut tree, a closed water tank right at the first entrance; after the door, a concrete floor; in the kitchen, a red floor.

Zezo Potiguar was always very popular; when he passed through toward the North Zone, along the way through the Quintas neighborhood, they said the Prince of Keyboards lived there, very close to the intersection. I was surprised by all this—it was something new to me. Such good memories! My father loved listening to MPB albums; Djavan and Belchior were the favorites in our house. It’s a good feeling to remember all this; the teaching of sharing, whether little or much, prevailed in that environment. I suffered a lot for being disobedient, I didn’t always have everything I wanted, but there was always plenty of love.