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One Year Later

20/09/2018

One year ago I had, only recently, just entered my new house, where I was desperately trying to get my computer to work so that I could finally enjoy some Netflix (SPOILER ALERT: it took a couple weeks more for my computer to work. I was desperate. I had to interact with the other humans living with me. They were nice).


I can remember exactly what we did on this day because our university organized a concert (you know, Portuguese people love to throw parties) to celebrate the new school year and, for the very first time, the five of us spent the night there together. We took a picture which, incidentally (and comically) turned out to be one of the very few pictures we have all together because someone got his phone stolen when we finally had tons of them and that we liked to look at laughing because we look so different now. I mean, not me - my vampiresque genes keep me young forever - but some of us do. 

I have this picture up in my room and whenever I look at it I smile, thinking that past-me  really has no idea of what is about to come. 

Days spent at ISCSP, muttering about how freaking far that place is.
Long waits for the 723 after Portuguese classes at almost nine in the evening in the middle of fucking nowhere. 
Dinners at Illegal Chinese restaurants.
Drinks at Crew Hassan. Also way too many awkward moments there. They should be grateful tho for the many customers and free entertainment we brought there.  
Locking my flatmate out of our apartment not once but twice (two days in a row. We are not the brightest peas in the pot).
"THE KITCHEN IS ON FIRE!" (SPOILER ALERT: it was not)
Toasts, so many of them late in the night, often on the balcony because why not. Also, toasts being like 70% of my diet - the remaining 20% being coffee and 10% ginja.
Ginjinhas. Way too many I am proud to admit. 
Sunsets at Nossa Senhora do Monte, with some wine and chips. 
Nights at Nossa Senhora, because why should we move from the most beautiful place ever when we have wine. 
Meeting random people in a club, following them to their own bar, where they give you beer for free. Random Portuguese guy who asked me to dance and ended up having to put up with all my friends, I am still sorry.  
Me, dropping everything at any time, tipsy or not. 
Jara, setting everything on fire. 
Andrea, always giving out motivational speeches. 
Alice, trying to eat ramen with chopsticks...and failing. 
Tomas, judging things on the scale "it's not like Czech Republic" to "Salmon". 
Sitting on the couch watching movies. Or Stranger Things. Anything as long as there were popcorns.
Hanging out with someone who has a worst sense of orientation than me. I miss you Clarice <3
Coming back home late at night, slightly drunk, trying to open the door to my room with one hand while I was drinking a glass of water. I walked strainght into the door. I can still feel the glass hitting my teeth. I wish I could say I was alone when it happened. I was not. 
Babysitting all my drunk friends. I am a great baby drunksitter. Not one phone was lost that night...
...but many were later on.
Freezing for the whole winter because Portuguese don't believe in centralized heating. I now know what it feels like to wake up with your cheeks frozen and what prisoners in soviet's gulags felt when they showered. 
"Hey Jesus!", or our long, blasphemic tradition of laughing at sacred art.
Watching The Greatest Showman and then singing the whole soundtrack non-stop for the next two weeks.  

I have a lot more memories of my time in Lisbon, some are good, some are not, but I hope I won't forget them anytime soon. I also have a lot more people that I loved to meet there, and if they are not mentioned above, they should feel relieved as it means they had less encounters with crazy people than I did.

I am not a fan of dwelling in the past and idealizing memories and people, but dang we had a great time back then. Good memories are what keep us above the water in difficult times, aren't they? And a good base on which building new ones.

Até ja, os meus amigos. 

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