As an estrangeiro permanente, I have to visit the FP within 30 days of arriving in the country. Today is day 30. We cut it so close to the deadline because that was their instruction the first two times they turned us away. "They said come back on the last day," Dani sighed twice as we made our way to a cab, to the Red line, transfer to the Blue and then home.
The Federal Police building is about the size of a small shopping mall. You don't really see any cops there. Just paperwork and waiting rooms. Imagine a DMV the size of a mall.
Prior to going there, we had to patronize a cartorio, which is another Brazilian government office where paper gets pushed around. Well, we had to visit three of those before we found one that would take our documents and money. Then we had to come back a week later to pick them up.
And before all of that, there was the three or four months it took to acquire my visa that would let me live in this country. And the months of research, planning and decision making before that.
By the end of the morning, after some elaborate fingerprinting, I walked out of the Police Mall with my own RNE number. It's a close equivalent to a social security number. The fact that I arrived one month ago and already have this is a rare luxury among the ex-pats living here.
Most of them arrive on a tourist visa and just overstay their 180-day limit. They apply for the RNE, but that can be about a one-year process if everything goes your way. I did most of my work before getting on the plane. Still not simple.
Among the perks of having my RNE is that I can now buy health insurance. The past month has been the only in my life where I've gone without it.
It's hard to express the sense of accomplishment of having this small string of numbers and letters. This is the hardest I've ever had to work for anything. I'm living abroad, but not in a college program kind of way where I can talk to my coordinator if something goes wrong. I'm emigrating to a new country. As of today, I'm much more Brazilian than before.
-Portuguese is a struggle depending on the situation I'm in. Firstly, living in a new country isn't some kind of Rosetta Stone cheat code. So many people told me that prior to coming here. "Ah, a few months and you'll be speaking it fluently."
Speaking has never been the problem. I can say practically anything I need to say. It's understanding the Brasileiros that's so difficult. The speed. The slang. The offhanded way all of us in any language exhale whole sentences in a muffled breath. I know now that I'll only ever have this relationship with English. Portuguese will forever be the next door neighbor that I let borrow the step ladder.
There's not a damn thing easy about any of it.
There's also the risky element of embarrassment. By that I mean the words for coconut and shit are spelled exactly the same. Only an accent mark atop a shitty O separates them. It winks at me, knowing that I'll forever have to settle for frozen pineapple cocktails.
Also, the word for drink is dangerously close to an extremely derogatory term for gay people. Awesome. I love doing a triple take in my head before offering a buddy a beverage. Or something much, much more intimate.
-There's a decent amount of clowns in this city. I see about one a week. They stand on the street corner, full-on face paint, and walk out into the crosswalk at red lights to juggle. Lots of people make a buck this way. You've got everything from the classic squeegee washer to a guy I saw juggling swords. That's exactly the weapon I want to see on the street.
A lot of people are afraid of clowns. Come here. You won't be scared anymore. There's too much other stuff to worry about to fear clowns.
-I've binged on my share of violent video games in the past. I think that's over now. Violence in movies, in music, I can't digest it as easily now.
-Daniela is a queen. I realize I haven't written much about her lately. Everything is awesome.
There's no way I'll ever mess this marriage up. If she left me in Brazil, I would be lost. If she left me in America, I'd only be half alive. In this small little apartment, buried deep in these millions, we're closer each day than the one before it.
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