I think I need to start telling some stories from my life. I'm nearly 60. I'm on the descent.
If I leave anything behind, let it be my art and my stories, a garden that no one will care for when I leave, cats that may outlive me, and, hopefully, no dogs. After the last dog death, I have promised myself that no more dogs. I am tired of loss.
I guess I will start by telling my earliest memories in the small town where I was born. A small town in the heart of Brasil.
These earliest memories took place at the hotel my grandparents managed. I don't recall anything ealier than at that place. Hotel Lincoln. It doesn't exist anymore but I went on Google Maps and was able to find the street and "walked" along the whole street, trying to pinpoint by intuition where it used to be. Memories are a haunting, odd thing. They are traces of things that no longer exist. They are a sort of magical surreal fictionary hologram that lives in our heads. Often, the memories have been corrupted. You can have 2 people who witnessed the same event and they will tell it differently. This phenomena increases with age, whereas even a mother and her adult child, or sibblings, will remember things totally differently, and each one thinks their version is the accurate one.
The hotel seemed big to me but it was probably because I was small. I used to raid one specific guest's drawers when he wasn't around because I knew he kept candy in them. Why wasn't I given my own candy and had to steal?
Once, I ate acid because I thought it was sugar. Clearly, my former sugar addiction started early. People in Brasil put sugar even in fruit salads. On the day I ate acid thinking it was sugar, I had friends over. I probably wanted to show off. There was a bag with white stuff inside, up in a tall shelf. I decided I was going to get that bag of "sugar". I found a way up there, and stuck my finger inside the bag and into my mouth it went. Instatly, it started to burn badly. I yelled bloody murder; grannie came and yelled at me that it was poison. They probably washed my mouth with soap. I can't remember. That was probably my first time at death's door. There were many more to come. It's not just cats that have 9 or more lives. I've been near death many times, and, once, I crossed over for a few minutes which felt so so wonderful. I miss it. If that's where I will go, I will go happily.
Hey, my youtube channel really could use more subscribers.
Also, I am offering seeds on eBay from my garden. Hollyhocks have been listed. 
My new art shop
I gladly accept best offers. Contact me if you want to make an offer.
I retain all copyrights, always, even on commissions.
(C) 2025 Cris Melo / Melo Earth
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