What a New Years in Brazil Might Look Like

Midnight in Copacabana

On New Year's Eve, Brazilians go to the beach and wait for the firework show. Many times it is an informal show done by the neighbors, but in Copacabana Beach, the government spends millions of dollars to light up the sky. Different families find a spot on the packed beach and wait til the clock strikes 12. While they are there, they deposit various offerings into the ocean as wishes. Palloma has seen many families throwing coins and messenger bottles into the ocean. While there, they will either wear their best clothes to wish for wealth or white dresses to signify a new start.

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Copacabana beach, Rio de Janeiro. It’s News Years Eve, and I am seven. The smell of alcohol permeates the sand. The beach is full of laughter. Coconuts are being opened up with machetes before plastic straws slurp up sweet water. Children run around, their white clothes getting dirty with sand. I can hear them laugh in that way Brazilians laugh when they encounter good experiences. It all comes from the chest. This sound echoes with hundreds of families and their tios*. My family is here too. We are the closest to the water, but far enough to run when the saltwater tickles our feet. In my familia*, I am the farthest out, with seashells being unearthed by the water. I go to pick them up and throw them back like flowers before running away from the tide. I gave my sandals to my mom, and my feet slapped the ground. I am buzzing. The energy of today is loud, but my Dindo* grounds me. He is watching me, making sure that I don’t intrude on another family’s plot of land. And when I do, he gently grabs me and takes me back to vovô*. I am in his arms, looking up while I shiver in my dress. No stars shine back, but that’s okay.

Soon the fireworks will light up the sky. Dindo assures me that it will. He set a five-minute timer back home. I ask for the time, and he grabs me by the waist and throws me over his shoulder. I shriek. My mother screams back in words I don’t yet know, but everyone around me seems to flinch. Dindo doesn’t listen and runs into the sea. I manage to twist myself out and land feet first into submerged sand. I hold my white dress up, terrified that the flowers will dye it. I don’t want to linger with last year’s energy. Flowers float by me, roses and daisies and tulips, all full of wishes, go by and farther into the ocean. I look for my seashells, hoping God can accept them as offerings.

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Translations:

*Tios (TEE-os): Aunts and Uncles in Brazilian Portuguese and other Latin Languages, but Palloma has seen many family friends being called tio/tia as a form of endearment.

*Familia (fah-MI-lee-ah): Family in Brazilian Portuguese.

*Dindo: Slang for godfather in Brazilian Portuguese; however, Palloma uses it as a term of endearment towards her youngest biological uncle.

*Vovô (vo-VO): Grandfather in Brazilian Portuguese.