Isso é normal?

Walking around the desolate streets of Lins on a Saturday morning, one might wonder what has happened to the people.  Shops are closed, streets are empty and birds can be heard chirping in the trees.  But as the sun begins to set something strange happens.  Voices begin to be heard, music starts to play, showers start to turn on, as the Brazilians leave their houses and enter the streets.

Last night Valeria (a friend who speaks a little English) invited Rachel and I to go out with her and her friends.  A car arrived to our house around 8pm and Valeria introduced us to Façao and Nubia.  I introduced myself and attempted my best Portuguese in an attempt to speak with them. "No speak English," they replied, confirming my fear that my accent is in fact, terrible.  Façao (imagine my struggle to pronounce that) drove us around the town for a bit meeting some more of Valeria's friends and stopping at a house so that Nubia could purchase five pairs of shoes.  Afterwards, Façao dropped us off at Nubia's house where we met some more friends.  After leaving the car, I asked Valeria if Façao was dating Nubia and she replied, "So, so."  "So, so?" Rachel and I questioned.  "He buy her things.  She kiss him.  She no like him.  She has other boyfriend," Valeria explained.  I guess that's how the girls do it in Brazil...

After spending an hour or so posing as a show-and-tell item for Valeria's friends, as they asked us to repeat phrase after phrase of Portuguese and proceeded to imitate and laugh at us, we headed to Valeria's house to get ready.  It was around 10pm and Rachel and I assumed that we would be leaving soon.  After about ten games of Uno, an intense game of battleship and a failed attempt at pickup sticks, it was midnight and Valeria decided it was time to shower and get ready.  The next few hours consisted of us waiting for more of Valeria's friends to get ready, and a trip back to our house so that I could change out of my flip flops and attempt to explain to a flabbergasted Valeria that I do not own a pair of high heels.  We arrived to the disco at 2:30am.  Valeria and her friends were wide awake; I was patiently waiting for my second wind to kick in.

From this point on, it might not be too hard to imagine the scenery.  A bunch of Brazilian girls with straight hair, dressed in high heels, fancy dresses, and covered in hours worth of makeup, standing amongst a crowd of Brazilian men about the same height dressed to impress in the same outfit they wore to pick up girls the day before.  All inside a room that is too dark to be able to actually see.  Most hands are bare of any rings, some hands with rings are shown confidently holding their drink, and others hands are sneakily hidden in their back pocket.  (*In Brazil, boyfriends and girlfriends wear rings on their right hands to signify that they are dating- the ring switches hands once they are engaged).  But most people are there for one main reason, to dance...

I am not sure whether or not it is due to the language barrier, but the Brazilian men seem to be a lot more forward than any other men I have ever encountered.  A typical encounter might go something like this...

"Oi," they say as they approach you.
"Oi," I reply back.
They then say something in Portuguese that I don't  understand.
I reply "Nao falla Portuguese.  Falla ingles."
At this point, they cut right to the point and ask "Voce tem un namorado?" (Do you have a boyfriend?)
To which I reply "Sim, meu namorado vives em Estados Unidos." (Yes, my boyfriend lives in the United States), depending on whether or not they are attractive (just kidding, Dan).
They then proceed to attempt to dance with you anyway, or push their luck like one guy and in their best English ask, "Can I kiss you mouth?"

After a few hours of some failed attempts at dancing and some bruised knees as a result, it was 4:30am and time for Façao to take us home.  Or so we thought...After about twenty minutes of driving in circles around the block, Rachel asked Valeria what exactly we were doing.  "Driving," she replied, as if there was nothing strange about driving in circles around the block at 5 o'clock in the morning.  "Well, can he drive us home?" Rachel asked.  "Okay," she acquiesced, "but it is early," she replied with a genuine look of confusion.  After a grand tour of the city, we finally arrived home as the sun was just about starting to rise.  "Boa noite," they told us.  "Bom dia" I thought.

Um mes

Have you ever had one of those moments when you feel like the world has stopped? Time seems to freeze and you are alone with the thought, how did I get here? Well, after one month of living in Brazil, amongst people speaking a language unknown to me, I had my moment. Riding on the back of the motortaxi, on my way back from a long day of teaching, it suddenly hit me. What am I doing here? Less than three months ago I had decided to get certified to teach English as a foreign language. A year ago I had been waitressing in Sydney, Australia. A year before that I was interning in New York City. And just a few years before that, I had never even left the country. It's amazing how much of the world there is to see and learn about. And although it stresses me out and sometimes gives me anxiety, it is also a bit thrilling not knowing where my life will take me next...

Frustração...

For those who have always wondered whether or not teachers have favorites, I can easily confirm that they do. After only one month I have already determined both my favorite students and my favorite classes. I can categorize my students into a few main groups. Some of my students are beyond eager to learn, constantly asking me questions and meticulously copying every little word I write on the board: these are my favorites. Another small portion of students look at me as if I am literally insane, laughing with every attempt I make to physically demonstrate a word meaning: these students don't fall too far behind. And then there are the students who show up to class without a piece of paper or pencil, seemingly more intrigued by the girl next to them than anything I have to say. Yes, these students are typically boys, and typically handsome, but I bet you can guess where they fall on my list.

This past week one of my teenage classes refused to stop speaking to one another in Portuguese, disobeying my one and only classroom rule (my biggest fear is that my students eventually come to the realization that they can bluntly speak about me in Portuguese without me having any idea what they are saying). My first instinct was to speak louder, and I gave it a try, but the louder I spoke, the louder the students seemed to get. Unsuccessful. My second instinct was to call on whichever student was talking to answer the next question, but it seemed as if the moment I called on one student, a new student took over the conversation. Experiencing my first moment of frustration, I decided what I needed to do as I marched over to the air conditioning switch and turned it off. "Awwww, teacher!" the students sighed. "When you stop talking, we can turn the air conditioning on," I told them, unable to hold back my laughter and my discipline of choice. Due to the 100 degree weather (yes, 100 degrees in the middle of winter), the trick worked and my the class quieted down. Unfortunately, I too had to suffer as a result.

aprender mais a cada dia

So, I am officially a member of the Lins women's futsal team. Joining was simple; I just replied "yes" when asked if I wanted to play futsal on Sunday. I showed up not knowing what to expect and was given a bright red uniform, about seven sizes too large. The team consists of girls aged nineteen to twenty eight, all with dark hair and measuring in height from 4'11" to 5'3". You can imagine how ridiculously I stand out in the team huddle. Only one other member of the team speaks English so she stands by my side and acts as my own personal translator. When asked what position I played, I replied "defense or midfield," and added "in the back or in the middle" when they looked at me with confusion. "Penalty" they said as they pointed towards a line about ten yards away from the opposing goal. "You. There." Apparently I was playing forward.

The teams we played were not very good as we went on to win our first two games easily. I managed to score five goals from my new position, each of which received a standing ovation from my team members.

Between each game, players on the team would attempt to speak to me and laugh hysterically as I stared blankly at them as if they were from another planet. "Voce pode cantar?" they asked meaning "Can you sing?" "Nao," I replied "Eu terible." "Cantar a cancao nacional estados unida" they begged me. "Claro," I gave in. "Oh say can you see, by the dawn's early light..." I began, my voice cracking with each note. "Quero ouvir a música de Brasil?" they asked. "Sim" I replied, relieved that my singing time was over and excited to compare the Brazilian national anthem to the American one. The team started clapping and bursted into the most exciting national anthem I have ever heard. "Opa," (or "wow") I exclaimed when it was over, embarrassed by the slow pace of the American anthem.

Our team went on to win the semi-finals easily and the finals after a 3 on 3 shootout (luckily I did not have to take a shot!) When the winning goal was scored, the team sprinted towards the shooter and began jumping and chanting. Apparently, this was an important tournament. As we lined up to receive our medals, the team asked me if I would be at practice next Saturday morning. "OK," I replied as I took my spot in the back of the team members and smiled for the local newspaper photographer.

On another note...

- The people of Lins (or Lins-ians which i will call them from now forward) have been brainwashed into believing that air conditioning can make you sick. When asking why the gym doesn't have air conditioning, I was explained that the sudden change in temperature makes Brazilians sick, so they avoid air conditioning in most places. I guess heat stroke doesn't bother them...

- Driving a motorbike is even more exhilerating than riding as a passenger. Especially when the owner informs you as you are driving that the breaks haven't been functioning properly...

- Brazilian country music, or Sertenejo, is very catchy and I have a feeling it will be appearing on my iPOD once I return home.

- I have grown to love tomatoes, when smothered in a flour-like salt, drizzled with oil and the juice of a lime.

- Gerard Butler just isn't as cute with a dubbed Portuguese accent.

- Brigadero is the most delicious chocolate snack I have ever eaten (Okay, perhaps tied with New Zealand Moro bars).

Onde está o meu ritmo?

I have always known that I am a terrible dancer. No matter how hard I try, once the music turns on my body freezes, my hips glue in place and my arms never seem to know the proper direction to swing. But there was no better way to confirm my lack of dancing skills than by visiting a Brazilian "discoteca."



Last night upon returning to my house from a night of futsal, I noticed a student of Rachel's was parked outside the house. "We are going to the disco, want to come?" Rafaela asked, speaking slowly and practicing her English skills. "Well, I just got back from futsal and I am sweaty," I replied gesturing to the sweat beads glistening down my forehead. "We will wait," she replied.

I 

I rushed inside to change out of my soccer clothes, and in a matter of five minutes we were off. We went to a local bar to meet up with some of Rafaela's friends first for a few drinks, since apparently in Brazil, people do not go to the discos until 1am. Lins is a very small town with a slim selection of bars, so imagine my surprise when I walked into the bar and the first person to spot me was one of my students. "Hello, teacher" he said, as he gestured towards his fellow classmates sitting at a table in the distance, who were eagerly onlooking our exchange. "Oi, Bruno" I replied with a smile, pretending not to notice the beer in his 17-year-old hand.

After spending a few hours eating my fourth meal of the day, we made our way to the disco. On the way Rafaela informed us that it would be salsa night at the disco. Just my luck...

Walking into the disco I didn't feel too much out of place since a good portion of the girls had dyed their hair blonde and were about the same height as me due to their 3 inch heels. It wasn't until reaching the dance floor that I remembered I was in Brazil.

Rafaela tried her best to teach Rachel and I how to salsa. Rachel seemed to pick it up right away, while I struggled to find my rhythm (which I have been missing for years), and ended up looking as if I were doing soccer moves in the middle of the dance floor. Lucky for me, with the disco lights glaring and the fog covering the dance floor, it was difficult to see anything except those closest to you. I prayed that none of my students were in the crowd to witness my massacre of Brazilian salsa music.

I danced for an hour or so before making the conscious decision to sit amongst the men and leave the dancing to those who knew how...Perhaps one day I will try again, but for now I'll stick to soccer...

Brazilian pride

After living in Brazil a couple of weeks now, I have come to the realization that Brazilians possess a great deal of something that Americans are lacking: national pride. The people in my small town of Lins are not ashamed to walk around in t-shirts advertising their homeland. Soccer jerseys with famous players are not hard to spot and the bright colors of green and yellow can be seen everywhere. Perhaps there is some good reason behind this national pride...




Brazil is the fifth largest country in the world, in terms of area as well as population. Some of you might know this, but I had no idea. (Russia, Canada, United States and China lead the list...)

Brazil is known to produce the world's best coffee. Unfortunately, I do not like coffee, so I am unable to test this out.

Brazil has more species of monkeys than any other country. My goal is to see as many as possible, but unfortunately most of them are in the north.

Brazil has won five World Cups, more than any other nation in the world. Brazil is also the birthplace of one of the best soccer players of all time, Pele.



Brazil is home to the Maracana Stadium, the largest soccer stadium in the world.

Brazil has the 2nd highest Christian population in the world, which definitely seems to be true. Around 74% of the Brazilian population is Roman Catholic and about half of the Jesus memorabilia resides in the house I live in.

Brazil has the 2nd highest number of airports in the world. Unfortunately, none of which are located near Lins.

The Amazon Rainforest, which is located in Brazil, is the world’s largest rainforest and covers an area of 2.3 million square miles.

Portuguese is the 8th most widely spoken language in the world, mainly because of Brazil’s large population. This makes me feel a little bit better about my struggle to learn it.

Jogar futebol com os Brasileiros

One of the main reasons I chose to travel to Brazil is my love of soccer. Although soccer is popular in most places in the world (aside from the United States), the tradition of soccer in Brazil is unmatched. Brazil has won the World Cup five times, more times than any other country and seems to have a never ending stream of great players. The Maracana Stadium in Rio de Janiero is the largest stadium in the world. When Brazil is playing a World Cup match the stores are shut down, people have off from work and all other things stop as the entire country gathers to watch.



Brazilians also excel at futsal, a five-a-side version of soccer played indoors with a smaller, slightly heavier ball. I have learned that futsal began in Uruguay and Brazil since a shortage of playing fields forced people to start playing small sided games. This past weekend I decided to give futsal a try...

One of the teachers at my school invited me on Saturday night to play futsal with some of his friends. Well, to be honest, I knew that he played soccer and purposely mentioned that I was looking for people to play with and he mentioned that he would be playing on Saturday, probably thinking that I would decline the invitation to play with a bunch of men. Apparently in Brazil it is not very common for women to play soccer with men. But, I decided to give it a go.

So, are the stereotypes true? Are all Brazilian men great soccer players? Are they as chauvinistic and vain as others have described?

Well, yes and no.

When I arrived to play soccer there were about 15 people, 12 men and 3 girls including myself. The men decided to create three teams of 5, with a girl on each team, to make things equal. Although they spoke no English, I could tell that they were hesitant to have me on their team. Perhaps because I was a girl, perhaps it was lack of a Brazilian soccer jersey, perhaps because I forgot to pack my indoor soccer shoes and showed up to play in my sneakers...I had butterflies in my stomach, wanting to prove to them that I knew how to play.

We took our places to start the match and the men on my team directed me to the side of the field where I would be marking the one girl on the other team. I started the game there, but as the game went on I eventually made my way to a new spot, angered that just because I was a girl, I was expected to mark the other girl the entire game. At first the men on my team were extremely hesitant to pass the ball to me, despite my running around in circles and yelling, "Aqui! Aqui!" After I scored my first goal, I think they began to realize that I had in fact played soccer before.

The games continued on for two hours, before it was time to go home. At the end, my teammates came over to me and finally asked me my name. They told the teacher that had invited me something in Portuguese that I couldn't quite understand and then waved goodbye. As one guy boarded his moto-bike to drive home he yelled out to me, "Mesmo tempo, no proximo sabado," which means "Same time, next Saturday."

I guess I have found something to do on the weekends...

So, today I bought a soccer ball.

The conversation went something like this...

Diane: "Quiero compro uma futebol..., umm, ball" (a mix of Spanish, Portuguese and English).

Sales lady: (States something in Portuguese)

Diane: "Nao fala Portuguese."

Sales lady: (Laughs and goes to get another salesperson who doesn't speak English either)

Diane: "Futebol..., umm, ball...muito barata" (I am trying to say, "Soccer ball, very cheap").

Sales lady: (Stares at me with a look of pure confusion)

Diane: (I create an imaginary spherical shape with my hands and I repeat slower and more confidently this time)..."Fute-bol, mu-ito barata."

Sales lady: (Now officially thinks I am nuts)

Diane: (I then take 50 reais out of my pocket and point to a soccer ball on the wall)

Sales lady: "Ahhh, bola de futbol por cinquenta reais!"


Later in the day I discovered "baratO" means cheap, and "baratA" actually means "cockroach."

I was, in fact, stating, "Soccer, very cockroach!" No wonder they thought I was insane...

Interesante...

"When I was very young a big financier once asked me what I would like to do, and I said, "To travel."
"Ah," he said, "it is very expensive; one must have a lot of money to do that."
He was wrong. For there are two kinds of travelers; the comfortable voyager, round whom a cloud of voracious expenses hums all the time, and the man who shifts for himself and enjoys little discomforts as changes from life's routine."
- Ralph Bagnold



Rice and beans go surprisingly well with every meal. Even mixed in with steak parmigian.

Riding on the back of a moto-bike in a jean skirt is both exhilarating and embarrassing.

Cold showers are very difficult to get used to. For those of you who know how often I showered back home, you can imagine how much I shower here in Lins.

Watching "Eclipse" is Portuguese is even more entertaining than watching it in English (but be prepared to miss about three minutes of dialogue due to Brazilian teenage girls screaming every time Jacob appears on screen).

After a week, your body can become used to eating dinner at 9:45pm (as long as there is a snack around 6pm), but it's tough to become used to only eating a slice of bread and a banana for breakfast.

Male Mormon missionaries might become very uncomfortable when females enter into their close vicinity. When taking a picture with them, make sure there is enough space in between to fit an imaginary person.

It is almost unheard of to be agnostic in Lins.

Despite the language barrier, Brazilians seem to be very friendly. Rachel and I will be attending a wedding that we were invited to later tonight.

Mosquitoes have an unrequited love for me and after much research I have finally determined why. For those that are curious, carbon dioxide, and chemicals within human sweat seem to attract mosquitoes. So, if you are active and emit a large amount of carbon monoxide, or if you have a sweating problem like me, mosquitoes will be naturally more attracted to you. Mosquitoes are also attracted to lactic acid, a substance found within milk products, fruits and fermented foods, and also a byproduct produced by the muscles after exercising. So if you exercise a lot or drink a gallon of milk a week like me, make sure to have your mosquito repellent handy.

Todo bem...

So, my first week of teaching has gone surprisingly well: knock on wood, it has gone better than expected. During the day my classes are full with teenagers varying in age from fourteen to eighteen and at night my students are older professionals. My classes vary from small classes of six students to classes of seventeen students.

No matter how many times I tell them not to, my students still insist upong calling me "teacher." Even the adult students. Imagine how surprised I was when a forty year old man walked into my classroom, picked up a desk and placed it only a few inches away from my feet. "Teacher," he said, "What will we learn today?" Or when I was at the gym and I heard "Hello teacher" coming from a student running on the treadmill directly next to me. I have told my students numerous times to call me Diane, (or Diane-E as they say it) but to tell you the truth, I am beginning to like being called "teacher."

There have been some minor communication problems such as the time when a student asked for water and I thought he wanted me to give him the classroom tape recorder. Or the time an older male stated what sounded to me like, "I am Leonard and I am po-leesh." I asked him when he had immigrated over from Poland to Brazil and he looked at me with a confused expression on his face. "Were you born in Poland?" I asked. "No" he replied. "But you said you were polish." "No, po-leese officer," he explained.

At times I feel like I am an actor, or a clown, putting on a show for my students, because the only way to get students to understand certain words or phrases is to act them out or do my best visual representation of the word on the board. My facial expressions and sound effects probably seem ridiculous, but they have to be in order to get the point across. How can I possibly explain the phrase "the whole nine yards" without using other common idioms such as "over the top"? Does that phrase even make sense? Make sense- what does that phrase even mean? How can I define the word mean as in angry without saying "Mean means..."? How can I explain what meditation is without getting on the floor Indian style, closing my eyes and making a hmm...noise?

There are times when I find myself questioning my own use of the English language. Some words are harder to define than I thought, especially when I am limited on the words that I can use. And grammar lessons are the toughest. How can I possibly explain the difference between "you ate dinner" and "you have eaten dinner." The closer I look, the more I realize what a ridiculous language English really is.

As Rachel and I spend more and more time together, we are beginning to notice a change in the way that we speak to each other.

"Rachel, what time are you going to go to the gym/sports club/place where people exercise, today?" I ask, speaking slowly and making sure that each word and syllable is fully pronounced, adding in extra synonyms to emphasize my point.

"I am not sure," she replies, pausing between each small word, conjugations completely eliminated.

Let the classes begin...

"If you can speak three languages you're trilingual. If you can speak two languages you're bilingual. If you can speak only one language you're an American." ~Author Unknown

I came across this quote when searching for quotes to decorate my classroom with. And the truth of it made me laugh...

So, today was my first day of teaching. I woke up this morning with the first day of school jitters, a feeling that I haven't experienced since I was in elementary school when I would slip on my brand new glistening white shoes that my mom bought me at the start of each new school year, and walk out towards the bus stop. Here I was, after almost eighteen years of schooling, about to take that giant leap from the desk to the front of the classroom.

So, how should I do this? Should I come across as that strict teacher at the start who always ends up being the best in the long run? Let's face it, me, strict? I have never yelled a day in my life. Should I try to be that cool teacher that is familiar with the latest Brazilian teenage trends? That might be easier if I weren't so awkward. After much debate, I opted to just be myself and hope for the best.

The first day was filled with conversation and ice breaker games. The hour and a half classes flew by as we discussed everything from popular soccer players in Brazil to the scariest thing the students have ever done. I was impressed with their knowledge of English and thankful for their eagerness to answer questions and learn about me. Each class seems to have the quintessential smart boy that the other students look to when they are confused, the shy girl that managed to somehow contort her body in a way so that she could shove herself into the corner desk, and the soon to be trouble maker that whispers in Portuguese while others are talking.

I had some trouble pronouncing the student names at first, despite some of their English spellings (figures Bruno and Breno would sit next to each other!) I gave up and decided that I would give the students American names. I had endured being called Diana (pronounced Dee-ana) all throughout Spanish class in high school, so my students as a result will endure the same. Matheus became Matthew, Joao with a squiggly line above the "a" became John without a squiggle and Ana Laura was pronounced the way I was used to. I told the students to call me Diane, but they insisted upon calling me plain old "teacher."

"Bye, teacher," they repeated one by one as they exited the classroom.

"Bye, students," I replied.

It's going to be an interesting five months...

Um Despertar Espiritual...sort of?

Rachel and I decided to explore Lins a bit more today in an attempt to find a park that we discovered pictures of when researching Lins. It is tough asking locals for advice since we do not speak much Portuguese, so we have resorted to looking things up on the internet, drawing out our own maps, putting on shorts, loading up on deodorant and wandering the streets.

After getting lost and exploring a new area of Lins once again, we found ourselves walking past a building that appeared to be a theater. There were teenagers hanging around the building chatting, as we glanced inside and continued to walk past. But something about us must have caught their attention. Perhaps it was our blonde hair, or maybe it was the fact that we were wearing shorts and t-shirts in the middle of winter; something made a few of the teenagers chase after us, yelling out words in Portuguese that we didn't understand. We stopped and tried our best to translate what they were trying to say. "Nao folo portugues," we explained as they smiled and giggled. They ran back to the building and came back with a young boy.



"Speak English?" the boy said as the girls looked on in awe.

"Yes," we replied.

"Come with us."

"Onde?" (Where?) we asked, still trying to make use of the few Portuguese words we knew.

"Youth group. Come play," he stated in broken English.

"Are you acting? Do you want us to watch? Ver?" we pointed at our eyes.

"Starts at four hours," he tried his best to explain.

Rachel looked at her watch. It was 4:00pm right now, it must be starting.

"O.K.," we said and followed the teenagers back to the building.

We entered a room filled with chairs and a podium in the front. We took a seat towards the front and the teenagers gathered around us, choosing the seats directly next to and in front of us.

"The preacher," the one boy who spoke some English pointed at a man in the corner.

It was then that we came to the realization that we were not about to watch a play, but instead we were gathering for some sort of mass.

The preacher approached the podium and begin reading from a book that we later learned was the "Universal Bible." The teenagers placed their hands over their hearts and we followed, not sure what to expect. They repeated after the preacher and then closed their eyes and proceeded to partake in some form of prayer. The passionate expressions on their faces made it seem as if they were having a controversial debate with an imaginary figure standing right in front of them. They repeated after the pastor in prayer, and then in song...

Suddenly and seemingly out of nowhere, the music began to quicken and the teenagers led us to the front of the room and began dancing. They stared at us out of the corner of their eyes as they watched two American girls trying their best to keep up with their Latin rhythm. I apologized in English for lack of rhythm, but knowing they didn't understand, nor really care, I joined in on the dancing anyway. After about a minute of dancing, we took our seats and continued with the service. The pastor stepped out from behind the podium and began giving a very animated lecture, that I honestly wish I understood. "Sim ou nao?" he repeatedly asked the teenagers to which the answer was always, "Sim."

Then it once again was time to sing. "Pode haver milagres quando voce acredita..." they sang, as I came to the realization that I had in fact heard this song before, but not in Portuguese. "There can be miracles, when you believe..." it was Whitney Houston.

The service continued and ended with an organized dance that was a mix between runway style walking and the electric slide, with some hopping thrown in between.

Once it was over, the Portuguese pastor, piano player and teenagers surrounded us on all sides and began asking questions. We came to the realization that we best understood each other by communicating in broken Spanish, since that was a second language to both of us. I felt as if I was a gorilla confined to a cage at the zoo, as the teenagers laughed at our terrible accents and stared at us.

"One, you're like a dream come true. Two, just want to be with you..." the piano player began to sing and then paused, "Three, hmm. Three..." and I catch on to the song. "girl it's plain to see, that you're the only one for me," I continued in a half-singing, half-talking voice.

"Brian McKnight!" he exclaimed, ecstatic that I knew the words to the song.

We spent the next half hour talking about music and singing the American songs that we both knew. Before we knew it, it was 6pm and another mass was about to begin. We promised to come back again on August 15th, but the town is so small, I have a feeling that we might run into each other again before then...