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  • Writer's pictureIsabela Schmidt


I think I would have learned to samba. Or maybe would kept that New Year's resolution that came from a place of sheer pettiness. But probably samba.

After all, I'm Brazilian, and every good old Brazilian carries with their hips the paradierotic movements inherited from the tempting Capitus and Gabrielas. We carry the weight of large hands that hold and stills our bodies against our will, which we release with the swing to the sound of the provocative anthem of Mangueira (samba performative school in Rio de Janeiro).

However, isn't this isolation the period of reflection and learning, of knowing one's origins? Nothing more natural and normal than neglecting health aspects and accumulating educational insistence to go and expose my young promising flanks on Main Avenue. Isn't that what Executive Carnavália taught me?

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