Christmas Eve tonight. A time to reflect about all the good and bad deeds of the year, about what has been given and taken and about our next steps.

The year of 2009 will go through my personal history as the most eventful of my life, for 365 days ago, my life was in a complete different place.

Rewinding to this time a year ago, the sweet taste of culminating my Bachelor’s degree was obfuscated by the bitter hours at the hospital, whilst my grandmother went through surgery and her second leg was amputated.
I will never forget sitting in the table on Christmas Day with my mother, our faces pale in a sea of incredulity, the uncertainty of a successful surgery hanging over our heads.
The surgery was successful and my grandmother soon returned to our house in a heavy wheelchair for years of disability and unhealthy ageing. Her will to live overcoming any health setback, for she is a trooper that loves life.

When Emirates Airline crushed my dreams in an early December morning, my life plans had to be reshuffled. My ex-girlfriend leaving for Dubai over a New Year’s Eve I mostly spent crying, blankly staring at the humid summer sky.

My friends played an important part in my personal recovery. I was invited to several pool parties, summer barbecues and gatherings that helped me overcome my sadness and draw a few smirks on my face, the uncertainty of my future still weighing over my shoulders like a heavy backpack full of insecurities.

I was invited to take part on a trekking trip to Cusco in Peru and, rucksack in shoulders, flew to La Paz in Bolivia, battled the dreaded soroche at the Moon Valley, drank litres of coca leave tea by the shores of Lake Titicaca, for a day cruising over its immaculate blue waters to the Isle of Sun, and boarded an overnight bus to Cusco, which for the second time in my life, looked as stunning as ever.
The trip was far from complete, the trek starting in an early January morning up the small village of Mollepata, the humid air of the green valley growing thin as the climb stepped uphill for almost eight hours until reaching the camp site in Soraypampa where, at the foot of the glacier that hugs the Salkantay Peak, spent of the coldest nights of my life.

I could notice how the thin air slightly closed my wounds, thoughts clearing at the unison of my own steps imprinted in the stony trail.
By the time we reached the highest point of the trek at over 4,600 metres above sea level, the light at the end of the tunnel could slightly be seen in the distance, my own spirits growing happier as the trail stepped down for three days into Aguas Calientes.

Machu Picchu once again did not disappoint. A millenary city suspended in a rock bed that seems to float over the early morning fog, the freezing rain at times too painful to bare, even under the heavy winter jacket. The sunshine won the battle of the Sacred Valley after lunch and pampered me with a privileged and lush view of a place as enigmatic as the culture revolving around it.
Bottled feelings are always bound to burst and I cried my eyes out at the hotel in Cusco. The next day we missed our connecting flights and accidentally had one of the best days of my life in sun-kissed Miraflores, right in the heart of the Peruvian capital.

Soon it was time to test my resilience in the concrete jungle. The plane landed in Guarulhos Airport and my heart automatically sunk. The city lacked its vitality, the memories of happier moments numbed my thoughts in waves of nausea. Sobbing like a child, I heavily made my way into the Santa Cecilia Metro Station and patiently awaited for better news knowing I would not be there for long.

Opportunity for enjoying the city without having to battle within its confines, to see friends that I perhaps would never meet again, to travel around the country to lush Florianopolis in the South and to vibrant Rio in the East. More importantly, an opportunity to close a chapter of late teenager clumsiness and an opportunity to open the one that started this blog.

The past twelve months have been full of up and downs. Personal growth has been made and comfort zone barriers have been broken several times. I have been given joy. Joy has also been taken from me.
The twenty-two year old that left Sao Paulo in December of 2008 is no longer a fearful child with big unachievable dreams, but a young man ready to take the world no matter what.

December is a holiday with no happy ending. Unable to apply for any other airline, most of my time is spent running family errands in the city centre, meeting friends and recovering some level of fitness in the same pool I spent almost ten years counting tiles on.

Decisions have now been made. In a few weeks, I will once again cross the pond. Through Sao Paulo and Paris, I will return to the cold Northern winter and once again, prove myself that I can reach my very own personal goals in a land of opportunity.

‘It’s the most wonderful time of the year’. 

Happy Christmas.