Bitter: Life of Hergy, #1

By Hergy Tomatala

Bitter tells the epic coming-of-age, true story of author Hergy Tomatala from his early childhood in the early 90s to his late twenties in the early 2020s, in his quest to find true love in Luanda, Angola. Ever since an early age, finding true love was all he ever wanted, but little did he know that life isn't always what you expect. He describes — in first person perspective — various short stories of his numerous rejections, relationships, and adventures that were filled with a lot of plot twists, pain, joy, happiness, drama and comedy in crude, but undeniably funny details and style.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hergy Tomatala
• Release date: Mar 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781386616108

Book preview

BITTER

(second edition)

Hergy Tomatala

Copyright © 2020 Hergy Tomatala

Cover Art: Hergy 90º

Cover Design: Hergy 90º

License Notes

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, digital electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or conveyed via the Internet or a website without prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles, and reviews. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite retailer.

Thank you for your support.

NOTICE

Dear reader, the events portrayed in this book are true and based on the life of author Hergy Tomatala. Some names were changed for anonymity. There is also substantial content of sexual nature, mild violence, and strong language. Therefore, if you’re a sensitive butthurt, do not read this book, otherwise, enjoy.

Rejection is a part of man’s life. If you can’t accept it and move past rejection or at least use it as writing material, you’re not a real man.

— Jiraiya in Naruto.

To anyone who wants to know

CONTENTS

— PRE-SCHOOL YEARS —

CHILDHOOD

SEXUALITY

GOAL

CARROUSEL

FIGHT

FLASH

WHITE

AMBER

— HIGH SCHOOL YEARS —

SCARLET

ORANGE

GRAY

INDIGO

LILAC

HAPPINESS

GOLDEN

— COLLEGE YEARS —

GREEN

PINK

VIOLET

RED

BLACK

HOLLOW

SEPIA

SUPERSTITION

BEIGE

RED - PART II

WEDDING

BLACK - PART II

PURPLE

SCARS

LAVENDER

BLUE

PURPLE – PART II

BLACK - PART III

JADE

— SHITTY YEARS —

YELLOW

MAGENTA

YELLOW - PART II

MAROON

CYAN

YELLOW - PART III

RUST

TURQUOISE

VIOLET - PART II

BITTER

AUTHOR’S NOTE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CONNECT WITH HERGY TOMATALA

OTHER WORKS OF HERGY TOMATALA

— PRE-SCHOOL YEARS —

— CHILDHOOD —

"Wish we could turn back time

To the good ol’ days

When the momma sang us to sleep

But now we’re stressed out."

Stressed Out — Twenty-One Pilots

— 1 —

I was born in December 24th 1992 at 00:00 in Dundo municipality at Lunda-Norte province in Angola. My mother is from Congo and my father is Angolan; I’m their firstborn. In 1992, a civil war between the MPLA and UNITA parties had erupted in Angola, which made my parents flee to Angola’s capital, Luanda, when I was only one month old. Because of it, I was registered as a Luandan, where they misspelled my name in the birth certificate as Hergi instead of Hergy.

And so began my series of misfortunes.

I don’t remember when my mother was pregnant with my brother Richter — which they spelled correctly on his birth certificate — but I remember how he was like a few months later after he was born in 1995. Chubby and quiet.

I also remember where we lived at the time and a few things I did. According to my mother, my earliest memories were from when I was three years old.

Years later, we moved to Hoji-ya-Henda borough, and on July of 1997 my sister Sara was born.

— 2 —

A few months later, my mother took my siblings and I to the Democratic Republic of Congo to visit her mother which she hadn’t seen since she migrated to Angola. My father stayed in Luanda because of work.

We travelled by airplane and I remember how I cried when I was separated from my mother for a few seconds while we were boarding the bus that took us to the airplane.

It was my first time in an airplane.

I sat to the window side and don’t remember anything else except the view from the window; the sight of Luanda disappearing and seeing the sea.

We landed at Cabinda province, rode in the back of a truck to the border of Angola, and the Democratic Republic of Congo. On the way there, the truck ran over a large black boa that was on the dirt road, and caused a little commotion with the other passengers.

When we arrived at my grandmother’s house, we were informed that she wasn’t home. She was elsewhere in the country, and wouldn’t be back for a while.

We only found my mother’s younger sister and her children. We spent three weeks there and the experience was amazing, because I walked all over her municipality, saw a variety of new things, and had a lot of fun hanging out with Magda — my aunt’s second child.

On our way back to Luanda, we boarded a train to get us to the airport. It was a green train. When I went to urinate in the bathroom of the train, I could see the tracks in the hole of the toilet, that for me, at the time, was a surreal sight.

When we arrived the airport at dusk, we boarded a small and gray airplane that didn’t have enough seats for everyone, so we sat on the floor.

While waiting for the plane to take off, I looked out the window and saw a bus driving next to the plane. A basketball team that I didn’t knew from which club they belong boarded the plane and took most of the seats that were reserved for them.

While on the air, one of the players was eating bananas, and offered me one; I accepted. We landed at night in Luanda, got into a taxi, and arrived at home where we found our father on the living room.

I remember those days which such nostalgia, because those first years of my life were amongst, if not the happiest years of my life. I didn’t have worries, self-doubt, anxiety, heartbreaks, depression, and the misanthropy that I later developed.

It’s a bittersweet feeling, because I know I’ll never have that innocence again, but I’m glad I had those moments.

I’m glad I was happy when I was a kid.

— SEXUALITY —

"A criança é como uma flor

Vamos cuidar da criança como uma flor

Na nossa terra, crianças felizes

Belas e saudáveis, cheias de felicidade."¹

A Criança É Como Uma Flor — Venâncio Prata

— 1 —

The year was 1999 and when you grow up living in Luanda, Angola, in the good old late nineties, you don’t remember much except a few good things such as the cartoons, low prices, and happiness.

Also, for some reason, in my case, I remember those days in sepia tone.

I was six years old when I became interested in girls — no, I wasn’t experimenting homosexuality, bisexuality, or other rainbow gender fluid sexual orientation with unicorn sprinkles.

I was a dark skin, skinny WAWBIK (Well Adjusted, Well Behaved, Intelligent Kid), and lived near a Sonangol gas station in Hoji-ya-Henda borough, at Cazenga district with my parents, and siblings.

Before the interest in girls, I was only focused on playing, drawing, and going to school. I was on the second grade at the time and studied at the Monimambu School Complex.

I had friends, was shy, yet somehow was also an extrovert — a contradiction, I know — however, I spent most of my time watching a lot of television, and hearing a lot of music on the radio. I grew up around it.

My parents didn’t let me play outside or taught me things about the world. I think they were afraid I would get hurt; they were overprotective and since I was sheltered, most of my knowledge of the world at the time, came from the television, and the subject which interested me the most was love.

The television — mostly by Disney’s animated movies and telenovelas — taught me that true love existed and it was the most amazing thing there was.

And because of it, I promised myself that one day I would find true love.

— 2 —

At the beginning of my quest for true love, I came across a problem. Although I always heard that love was a great thing, I didn’t know much about it. Let alone how to express it or if I even felt it, but I knew I had to express it to a person — back then I didn’t know about self-love — and according to television, since I was a boy, I had to express it to a girl.

Another problem was that I still didn’t know how I felt about girls. I mean, I knew I was a boy — had the wiener — but how was I supposed to approach girls in order to find and express true love?

What did love feel like?

What were the steps to achieve it?

When I asked my parents or other adults about it, their answers would be similar to what I heard on the television. They were very generic.

Since I couldn’t find answers that pleased me, I decided to focus on being a kid, and better explore love and sexuality later on in life, but that turned out to be a bit of a conundrum, because at the time, there was the Angolan kids’ game Papá e Mamã which literally translates to Daddy and Mommy. The game was the equivalent to playing House, except the Angolan version was much more hardcore.

There was no limit on how much players or pretenders could play. However, there would only have to be one Daddy, and one Mommy. It was a war to decide who would be either, because although some kids didn’t mind being the children the Daddy or Mommy roles were the most coveted, because they came with a perk.

The Daddy and the Mommy, once they ordered the children to go to sleep, both would hide in room — or made up shed if they were playing outside — to kiss, grope and dry hump — that’s right, you read it.

Imagine a group of five to ten years old kids playing around pretending to be adults with a buck load of kids, then two of them — a boy and a girl — would hide away to go kiss and dry hump — the little fuckers.

That perk made Daddy and Mommy the late eighties and nineties number one kids’ game in Angola — data provided by IMSA (International Made up Statistics Association) — followed closely by freeze tag and football — and by football I mean the game which you play with your feet, not American football, where you run around a field with a weird shaped ball that the quarterback carries like a purse, running away from everyone who’s trying to tackle him, like it was the best purse deal on Black Friday.

Luckily — as far as I know — no little girl got pregnant playing Daddy and Mommy. I presume that it was because most girls hadn’t menstruated and weren’t fertile yet, or because kids didn’t know the sword was supposed to enter the sheath.

Fun fact: Vagina means sword sheath in Latin.

However, not actually performing sexual intercourse didn’t stop the kids from trying — so, sorry butthurt moralists, but even a kid can get sexually aroused.

This chapter isn’t pedophile fantasyland, so stop masturbating.

The Daddy and the Mommy could be anyone — I’m still talking about kids — it didn’t matter if it was your cousin, neighbor, friend or a kid that just wanted to play. If those kids were feeling horny, chances were, they would hump.

Unfortunely — or not — not all kids humped. Some poor kids didn’t even know what they were supposed to do. Dry humping between siblings was an exception, because for some reason our libido-controlled bodies crossed a line there, and that was good.

We were sexually premature libido zombies, but we hadn’t reached south of USA — *coughs* Alabama — level of incest…yet — well, maybe in the less developed areas of Angola its common.

If Daddy and Mommy was a board game, it would spell DADDY AND MOMMY – THE BEST WAY FOR YOUR KID TO DRY HUMP! – AGES 5-10. Yes, some adults knew the true nature of the game, but turned the blind eye, because most of them also played it when they were younger, and some parents encouraged their children to play Daddy and Mommy — and dear reader, I also have no freaking clue why — but other parents forbid their children from playing Daddy and Mommy.

Daddy and Mommy was sort of an unofficial — and strangely accepted — coming-of-age ritual filled with bad sex and pee stained undies, amongst Angolan children. Spin the Bottle had nothing on this shit and Truth or Dare is for pussies, because with Daddy and Mommy you could go from first to fourth base before you could even understand what an erection is.

Ah…childhood.

Anyway, back to the main topic, that’s how I — and assume many other boys too — started getting interested in girls, and realized I was heterosexual without even knowing the definition of the word.

— GOAL —

"Once, I was eleven years old

My father told me

Go get yourself a wife

Or you’ll be lonely"

7 Years — Lukas Graham

— 1 —

We had entered the new millennium and it was the year 2000. Backstreet Boys’ 1999 Millennium album was rocking the radio charts in Luanda and I was a seven-year-old kid singing to I Want It That Way without understanding a word.

I didn’t know how to speak English back then, also I was still on the Daddy and Mommy playing age — no early retirement for me.

I’d graduated to the third grade when we moved to a new rental house still at the Hoji-ya-Henda borough in General Monteiro street. It was a white two-bedroom house and was located only a few meters — yes USA, meters — down the Ngola Kiluanje road.

— 2 —

A few weeks later, before the school year started, I went to enroll at my new school. My mother told me to enroll at Santo António Pre-School, since it was the most reliable and close to home around at the time.

Some parents enrolled their children themselves — because 70% of Luandan kids were dumb as fuck — while I, being a WAWBIK (Well, Adjusted, Well Behaved, Intelligent Kid) went to do it myself.

On my way back from the secretary, I saw a former classmate of mine from Monimambu School Complex which I liked. She was wearing a brown blouse, short jeans skirt, and was light skin.

Most dark skin Africans are crazy for light skin, and Caucasian people. It’s so weird that if you date or marry one, you’re considered a master or something. Light skin or Caucasian women are basically trophy wives around here. Even I dreamt of marrying one, but I grew up and realized how childish that mentality was.

Anyway, she was cute and I liked her. She was taller than me, but it didn’t bother me, because at the time I was basically the same height as everyone my age, and didn’t standout, but to my surprise, she walked towards me.

Hi, she greeted me, smiling.

She didn’t say my name because she didn’t know. Also, it was hard to pronounce my name at first — because it’s rare name in Angola —  and most people seemed to forget my name the first two minutes after they heard it.

But she knew who I was, and for me that was enough.

Hi, I replied. — Didn’t know her name too. Never asked. Shy as fuck.

Are you enrolling here? she asked.

Yeah, I am.

Cool.

For some reason, so far, I hadn’t frozen or stuttered.

Are you going to enroll here too? I asked.

She crafted a cute smile. No, she replied. I’m going to study at another school.

Her answer saddened me a little, because I knew I would never see her again. If I had the guts to tell her I liked her back then, maybe I would have a chance — and that’s where my curse began. I just didn’t know it.

Too bad, I said, trying to hide my sadness. Which school are you going to?

I don’t know yet. My mom just told me to ask around for the prices.

Okay. Well, I’m going home.

Let’s walk out together. I’m going home too.

Cool.

We walked out of the school side by side and went to the main road to cross it. Back then, the Ngola Kiluanje road besides being narrow it didn’t have any road signs. It was like someone just dropped a sheet of asphalt on the ground and left — the very definition of Luanda road construction — but it was one of the most circulated roads in Luanda because it connected more than five large boroughs.

I was a kid, but knew how to cross the road alone — mad skills — and although I shorter than her, I wasn’t going to let a girl help me cross the road. It was a matter of principle, emasculation, chivalry, and another made up reason. And while I was looking at both sides for a gap in the traffic, she suddenly grabbed my hand.

At that moment everything became quiet, I couldn’t hear the noise from the cars, people or the dog farting next to me. It was a sunny morning and for some reason everything became mildly golden just because she held my hand.

I was a Daddy and Mommy player, but back then we were libido zombies, and we just did what our bodies told us to do, because there wasn’t any love, only pure infantile lust, this however, felt different.

The girl I liked — whose name I never knew — was holding my hand, then a sudden rush of dopamine filled my body, and I became the happiest kid in the freaking world — happier than a kid who won a gaming console.

Let’s cross the road, she said, smiling with a golden aura surrounding her face.

Okay.

The second we crossed the road — and I don’t even know how we didn’t get run over, because I wasn’t paying attention — she let go of my hand and ran towards what I assumed was her street.

She turned around smiling and waved at me.

Bye, she said, then continued to run.

Bye, I said, quietly, keeping the farewell for myself.

I looked at my hand, closed it, then smiled.

I was so happy. I never saw her again. Never had the chance to tell her what she made me feel, but I was freaking happy.

She — the unnamed girl — was the first who made me feel I could do it, that I could find true love. She was the first who made me realize that it was possible to find true love and in order to do that — as taught by telenovelas — the first step would be to get a girlfriend.

Love is destined for me and I will achieve it, I determined.

That day I promised myself I would do my best to achieve my — quite modest — dream of finding the love of my life, graduate, get a stable job, marry the love of my life, build a family with her, and live a comfortable life.

That was all I wanted.

Little did I know that life does not always work the way you planned. There were so many variables and lessons it needed to teach me first, but as a kid, I didn’t know that. However, I was so committed to my plan that I ignored all the downsides, and so began my quest to fulfill my dream, and my unknowing road to bitterness.

Step one: Get a girlfriend.

— CARROUSEL —

"E começa com o c, (c,c,c)

E a seguir vem o a, (a,a,a)

Vem o duplo r, (r,r,r)

O, s, e s e o e o l.

E como se lê então?

Carrosel"²

Carrosel — Sónia António

— 1 —

During the third grade, I barely remembered with whom I had fallen in love with in school during those serial falling in love years. There was no one I had a crush on at school. Maybe someone had a crush on me, but I wouldn’t be able to notice because I was too busy pretending to be the red power ranger.

Back then, in the year 2000, there was a Pokémon and Power Rangers frenzy amongst kids in Luanda. We still had VHS tapes — google it — and would buy Pokémon episodes on VHS, and often watch the Power Ranger: Turbo movie on television.

You had to have either a Pokémon pogo, Pokémon playing cards, episodes on VHS tapes or Power Rangers action figures, and they were everywhere.

My parents never bought me a single action figure of any kind, only toy cars, and some lame toys.

There was also the Malhação frenzy amongst all ages. Malhação was — and still is — a Brazilian teen’s telenovela, which was the longest running teen telenovela in Brazil, and ranked number one back then — IMSA.

Brazilian telenovelas were also big back then in Luanda, nowadays the Spanish, Turkish telenovelas rule the brains of people. You didn’t even need a clock, because the moment you heard the guitar intro from Te Levar Daqui by Charlie Brown, playing on a television anywhere — because Angolans have the annoying habit of turning everything up to eleven — you had to do two things: Get your ass home back home because it was 6pm — natural curfew back then — and watch Malhação, because the next day all your classmates, friends, and occasional eavesdropper would be talking about it — sort of the Spartacus or Game of Thrones back then, minus the excessive nudity, gore, dragons, and a captivating plot, which they fucked up in the latter seasons. Shame.

I watched Malhação like any other kid, not really understanding a thing, blushing in the kissing scenes, and many characters in the telenovela had their own theme song.

A very popular one was Te Ter Aqui by Quattro. Kids in my class would sing it every day. Among many others there were also: All the Small Things by Blink-182, Don’t Look Back in Anger by Oasis, Don’t Let Me Get Me by Pink, Sk8ter Boy by Avril Lavigne, and Ordinary Day by Vanessa Carlton.

There was also the popular Angolan kid’s show Carrossel (Carrousel) where in every episode a group of students from the same school, would serve as audience then they would select a boy, and a girl to participate on a trivia regarding the theme of the day, which was lectured by the day’s guest.

— 2 —

One day our school was invited to participate in the show, therefore, our class coordinator told our teacher to select the brightest students from each class. I — being WAWBIK — was selected not only has one of the group, but also as the contender who would represent the boys in the trivia — being a WAWBIK actually paid off…Well, back then, it did.

Not only was I one of the selected, I was going to be on television — which was like Christmas for an eight-year-old Luandan kid with no big aspirations in life, except have a girlfriend, marry her, have kids, and live a comfortable life.

The television show Carrossel was like this: Besides singing the theme song, playing games, and Fantasy World — where they showed an episode of The Mysterious Cities of Gold, which I loved — the guest would come, and have Q&A regarding the theme of the day with the hostess, the audience would listen, then the hostess would randomly choose a boy, and a girl to compete at the trivia game about the theme of the day.

Days before the shooting — I mean of the show, not a school, so chill USA — the class coordinator selected me, and a light skin girl — yeah, light skin, son! — from another class, and bombarded us with the answers from the theme of the day’s episode, which made me realize that the trivia was a sham.

When I was a kid, I didn’t know about prerecorded television shows, heck, I didn’t even know why people pooped. I thought that every show, telenovela, and news were live. Not movies of course, that much I knew. Because who would seriously get killed the same way over, and over again?! That’d be stupid.

My mom was excited because her son was picked to participate on a television show. I just wanted to be on television; I would have memorized all the numbers of Pi just to be on television.

— 3 —

On the designated day, the sky blessed us with a beautiful warm weather, clear, and blue sky all over. During the last week — after the coordinator made us memorize the answers more than an Asian parent — I was nervous, however, I was excited, and ready to devour the answers of the fixed competition.

We — myself and some school classmates — were there early to wait for the bus that would take us to the studio.

The bus arrived to pick us up and in an orderly fashion we boarded it. The trip was fun. It was the first time I was on a bus for a school trip, because on the second grade at Monimambu, my, and others classes from the second grade, visited SOPÃO by walking towards it in a long Indian line from the school to the pastry.

We saw the process of making bread, then at the end of the tour they gave every student a loaf of bread, without butter or milk.

Once we reached the grounds of TPA — Angolan Public Television — we left the bus in an orderly fashion, and went inside the main building. Passed through the set of a cooking show, which was next to the stairs, and waited at the end of a hall.

Minutes later a person — presumably a producer — walked us to the set.

When I first saw the set, I was a bit disappointed, I saw behind the cameras for the first time, and television lost a bit of magic. But who cared? They were going to film us and I was going to be on television.

I thought we would watch a Mysterious Cities of Gold episode right on the set, and began to wonder where the giant television was.

When the hostess came, she greeted us, then after a few minutes the producer — I assumed — told everyone the recording would start. We heard the theme song playing, and carried on recording that episode.

We did the all shebang. I and other audience members, made our — skillfully — memorized questions to the guest to show our parents back home, and the world we were freaking smart.

I knew that after the guest lecture part was over, the Fantasy World section would be next. When the guest got the heck out, the hostess said. And now, let’s go to fantasy world!

She cheered, we cheered, but no television.

When I watched Carrossel in television, there was a colorful cut back before the episode showed up, when the episode was over they would show the audience cheering in return. There was no television, no Mysterious Cities of Gold. It was fake. It was I when I realized television can fake some things — also known as editing.

Afterwards, we were randomly selected to compete — the hostess had asked us off air who were the competitors — but since we were both good at memorizing our lines, we both won; it was a tie — yeah whatever.

— 4 —

After the shooting — and again I mean shooting of the show, not a school, grow up USA — was over, we were sent home — no treats or even a pat on the back — we boarded our bus, and returned to our school.

I felt I’d completed my mission. On the way from the television station it was explained to us the concept of prerecorded shows by our class coordinator, which made feel kind of stupid.

After I came back home, my mother was all excited, and barely stayed quiet throughout entire day. I was a little disappointed, because besides being all staged, the set from another perspective looked sad, and the Fantasy World was a freaking lie — the name actually gives it away, but I wasn’t necessarily Sherlock Holmes — at least I would be on television tomorrow, and would watch The Mysterious Cities of Gold.

I didn’t lose on the trivia and when I got back to school, I would be a superstar.

— 5 —

The next day right after I got back from school to watch the rerun — because the geniuses at TPA air a kids’ show on the exact time most kids are in school — I found out they edited out one part where I made my question to the guest — the motherfuckers.

When the episode of The Mysterious Cities of Gold ended, it was time for the trivia. I saw myself, in all my glory, on television. I was actually satisfied and mentally prepared myself for superstar fame in school the day after.

— 6 —

The next day at school, no one recognized or complimented me. Nobody came to say he or she saw me on television, not even my goddamn classmates. No girls fighting to be my girlfriend either. It was just a regular day, and I, a regular nobody.

— FIGHT —

"It’s the eye of the tiger

It’s thrill of the fight

Rising up to the challenge of our rivals

And the last known survivor

Dances his way in the night

And it’s why you must fight

With the eye of the tiger."

Eye of the Tiger — Survivor

— 1 —

The next year, in 2001, I was still living in Hoji-ya-Henda. I graduated to the fourth grade and was still attending the Santo António Pre-School — not to mention that my Daddy and Mommy playing days were nearly over — when my older cousin Paulina who lived at Uíge province came to live with us in Luanda.

She was my father’s niece and we actually got along, then months later my other older cousin, Celestina also came to live with us. She was also my father’s niece and we all slept in one big bedroom.

— 2 —

Months later on a scorching hot — skin burning — day, I was standing in front of the front corridor door guarding Paulina’s candy stand which faced the street. She tasked me because I was a WAWBIK, meaning, I was reliable, but also because she had to go out, and left me home alone.

The street was deserted, the people were hiding in the shade at their houses, while I was trying to enjoy whatever shade I could take from the — clearly not designed for hot days — light-colored umbrella, and was hungry.

My neighbor Xêxão — sheh-shan-oo — who lived across the street, and was about my age, approached the candy stand. Xexão had been provoking me for weeks by calling me names.

I avoided him every single time because I didn’t want to play his game.

That day however, he insulted me again, and took candy from the stand, then said he wasn’t going to pay. It was a scorching day and Xêxão came to provoke me one more time, which was not the best thing to do, because at that point I was hangry (hungry + angry).

I sighed and stared at him.

Xêxão, return the candy on the stand, I asked in a very cool manner.

He looked at me with a smug expression on his face.

No, he said, then grinned.

Xêxão, please return the candy.

I won’t return anything, he said, defying, and continuing to show his smug grin.

I could tell that he wanted to fight, but I was still avoiding that outcome. However, when he opened the wrapper of the candy, I calmly snapped.

I walked towards him to retrieve the candy, but he slapped my chest.

I clenched my fist and — aggressively — punched him in the face. He fell down because of the unexpected punch, looked at me in dismay, then in anger.

It was at that moment I realized I had to rise up to the challenge.

*cue Eye of the Tiger*

He got up and grabbed my shirt trying to execute a kata³. I avoided the kata by moving fast in front of him and punched him in the stomach. It didn’t have a big impact, because I poorly delivered it. Then he pushed me to the middle of the street and I started backing away to distance myself from him as much as I could.

I hit my back on the wall of a house across the street and Xêxão came running at full speed towards me. I panicked for a moment when he reached me then we grabbed each other, and started delivering — rather weak — punches.

At that point, somebody screamed BILÔ! — which is the Angolan equivalent of someone screaming FIGHT! — then kids, adults, and dogs came rushing to see the fight. Low class Angolans love watch street fights, they can leave everything they’re doing just to watch a fight, it doesn’t matter who’s fighting.

Xêxão and I were rolling on the wall taking turns on who was going to be on the wall delivering or receiving weak punches. It was uncertain who was winning at that point, because I wasn’t even sure if I was getting hit — maybe it was the adrenaline — but I kept on grabbing, punching, and the people just cheered.

After rolling some more, the wall ended, and we fell on the ground in the front yard of a neighbor’s house with me on top of him.

Then, the slaughter began.

My punches somehow became more effective and precise. I pinned him on the ground with a rapid shower of damaging blows. My confidence was high. He was trying to cover his face, but every punch I delivered destroyed whatever defense he was putting up. I was dominating him and back then there were no smartphone camera culture, or someone to yell WORLD STAR.

Soon enough, people of all ages formed a circle around us, cheering, and those who knew my name where shouting it — pure infantile UFC scenario.

Xêxão started crying, but I didn’t care. I’d gained a blood thirst and continued to punch him mercilessly on the ground. I realized I was actually good at it, my blood was pumping, everything else blurred, only Xêxão was on my sight, and the panic I had before, completely disappeared.

I was solely focused on destroying him.

I got up to deliver the final blow — which was to kick him while he was down, because I had no mercy for thieves — when suddenly, I felt something on my left shoulder, and my right leg.

Then, for a microsecond, I was in the air, and saw the sky, which seemed surreal because I was just looking down at a beaten Xêxão crying in despair.

I hit the ground.

Right afterwards, I saw Xêxão’s older brother.

It’s over. It’s over. The fight is over, he said while picking up a crying, dirty Xêxão, then took him away.

Then I realized that what I felt, were from Xêxão’s brother hands picking me up, and throwing me in the air while I was too focused on preparing myself to deliver the final blow.

Cheater.

I got up from the ground I cleaned the dust from my body.

The fight was over and I’d clearly won. The people returned to their shades and I returned — feeling victorious as fuck — to Paulina’s stand, then sat there like nothing had happened.

That was my first fight and I won.

— FLASH —

"Someone must have sent me to heaven

Blue Madonna down by the pool (aah)

Just wanna make you feel like a virgin

A version of the self that she once knew (ooh)."

Blue Madonna — BØRNS

— 1 —

The same year, on yet another hot summer day, I was waiting for my older cousin Celestina to come out of the only bathroom in a house of seven people. I was seated in the living room, wearing only a towel on my waist. I also wanted to take a bath and was playing with the body lotion on the table while wating for her.

I had the habit of putting lotion in the bathroom right after I bathed.

When Celestina came out of the bathroom wearing only a light blue towel covering her — boner activating — parts of the body, I really didn’t get aroused because I wasn’t interested, she was my cousin — chill Alabama — and puberty hadn’t hit me yet.

All I wanted to do on that hot day was to take a bath.

Celestina walked to the bedroom and I went inside the bathroom.

Once inside the bathroom, I felt I had forgotten something, but couldn’t remember what it was. I stood there for a few seconds trying to remember, but nothing came to my mind. So, I decided to leave the bathroom and retrace my steps.

When I opened the door, I saw Celestina’s bare breasts.

There they were, two big beautiful bags of meat, and fat that somehow cause erections in men since the dawn of time.

While she was standing on the dining room taking some of my body lotion — which I then remembered was the thing I forgot — on the dining table.

She was only wearing her purple tong, and was facing me, however, she wasn’t looking at me, because she was too distracted taking some of my body lotion — innuendo not intended — that she didn’t notice me in front of her.

I stood there contemplating the beauty of her breasts — do keep in mind I was nine at the time, and she was a hot dark skin slim nineteen-year-old with nice breasts — and I stood there for three seconds that seemed like an eternity — or heaven — then, for some reason, I got back to the bathroom, and slammed the door behind me which made her realize that I saw her.

I heard her laughing, then she walked to the bedroom to tell Paulina about what happened, and they both laughed. I felt embarrassed and kicked a big plastic bucket on the bathroom floor.

I didn’t know how to process it — didn’t even get a boner — it was strange territory for me, and Daddy and Mommy didn’t prepare me for such situation. I sighed, took my bath, and since it wasn’t a really big deal, we never talked about it.

It was my first boobs flash.

— WHITE —

"A recordação vai estar com ele aonde for

A recordação vai estar pra sempre aonde for

Chorando estará ao lembrar de um amor

Que um dia não soube cuidar."⁴

Lambada — Kaoma

— 1 —

A few years passed, it was now 2003, and still didn’t have a girlfriend. I was shy and unexperienced in the art of flirting. I didn’t know what to do and since my crippling shyness situation prevented me from getting a girlfriend, I focused on school.

The one thing I vividly remember from 2003 is that I fell in love with White.

— 2 —

The first time I saw White was on my street when I, my brother, some neighborhood kids, and her were playing a game of throwing each other chunks of red sand which disintegrated on contact — while others had snowball fights we had, and still have this.

It wasn’t better than Daddy and Mommy, but still fun.

She was light skin — you know it — had long, beautiful black hair, and buck teeth. The two front teeth popped out whenever she smiled, but damn she was cute — like a rabbit — it was part of her charm, and she reminded me of a girl on the Lambada music video.

White stole my heart the very first moment I saw her and I wanted her to be my girlfriend. Therefore, I — the WAWBIK — decided to get her attention by throwing the big chunk of condensed red sand at her — smooth.

I threw it at her and the chunk didn’t disintegrate when it hit her leg. I panicked. Well, I honestly didn’t know what to do, I wanted her attention, and I got it. Now what the hell was I supposed to do next?!

I haven’t read the manual on flirting.

Luckily for her — and me — she didn’t get hurt. She got up, laughed, and continued to play like nothing happened. I was both relieved and disappointed. She didn’t get hurt, but c’mon! She should’ve at least try to return the shot, be mad at me or come and express her feelings for me too — something! — Instead, she carried on.

Distracted in my thoughts, I got headshot by a chunk of red sand, and fell.

— 3 —

The next year we moved across the street to live on the first floor of a rental three-bedroom colonial house. I haven’t seen White for days since my smooth attempt to get