This blog used to be called Wallowing in Self Pity. It was thus called because that was the state of being I thought I was in, although my feelings were more aptly described as helpless, empty and frustrated. I never felt desperation, depression or other more radical ideas.
Notwithstanding, I have had to argue my point over the rationale of being able to feel whatever it I was feeling at the time, and at any given time, without remorse, embarrassment or shame. All of which, are arguments and valid points I still hold on to. Why shouldn't I be able to feel, even if it is sadness, and show it?
However, I believe that in fact there is not an English word or sentence that describes what I go through at times like that, when things less agreeable happen in my life, and I had a flash of realisation when I was thinking yesterday about the cultural differences between England and Portugal.
I have realised that what I go through is a much deeper sensation, something akin to our very own Portuguese Fado. There is no true definition or word in English that can equate and fully explain what Fado is. Somehow, I think I have been imbued with a true portuguese spirit of adventure, love of the sea and other cultures, hospitality and kindness, and resilience (even if coupled with an innate compulsion for complaining and whining!).
Fado, for me, represents a national identity, an identity of feelings, a national predisposition for apparent tragedy, nostalgia and sadness, but always, always with a remnant of hope and lightheartedness in the face of sometimes emotional and hurtful events, which means we can always overcome. Which we do, after some grumbling!
Thus, this is my Fado.