A few days ago, at EMEF José Dias da Silveira (Vila Cordeiro, São Paulo/SP), a teacher, a colleague, asked me to write a poem to be presented at a soirée, at the school itself. The focus of the subject would be Japanese immigrants. She even asked me if my father was Japanese. I said yes. Talking, we decided that I would address a personal topic about immigrants in the form of a sonnet; since the presentation at the soirée would be made by a student, also of Japanese descent. We know that in the sonnet we have only fourteen verses, in addition to the rhymes; which would facilitate declamation. This was my opinion. So, that's how I did it.
IMMIGRANTS
I was born in Brazil, I'm Brazilian
But, my father came from eastern Japan
At the age of eleven, in favor of immigration.
Travel by sea, an adventurous dreamFrom my grandfather and family. Then search
From a new country, new home, money
And, who knows, a happy treasure
To be able to return to your corner.How other immigrants adapted
To the new homeland. My father grew up, got married
He raised children and lives in Brazil.Congratulations immigrants who stayed
In this Terra Brasilis that sheltered
Various people, nations and a thousand dreams!(SP, June 13, 2016)
The student who presented the sonnet did very well and was highly praised by fellow teachers and those who participated in the soirée. I didn't participate in the soirée, but I was aware of the events.
Inspired by the events, I decided to take advantage of the opportunity and write about one of my family members. I chose what I consider to be the most Brazilian of my uncles on my father's side, precisely, the youngest. Registered as João Issamu Matsuda. He had a name in Portuguese, something his other brothers did not have. And a Japanese name that didn't start with K like my grandfather, my father, other uncles and my brothers.
Born on November 5, 1940 (05.11.1940) in Itariri/SP. He died on June 26, 1989 (a Monday) in Miracatu, coincidentally, on my birthday. I remember that my mother called that day, after two o'clock in the afternoon and said that her uncle had been in an accident. He had been hit by a vehicle while trying to cross the highway in front of our house, but it didn't appear to be serious. And quickly my mother congratulated me on my birthday. It was weird. Before hanging up, my mother said she would keep me informed of developments.
Some time later, she called again (my brother answered) informing me that my uncle passed away in the hospital. A lot of sadness. He was still young, not yet fifty years old. The next day I attended the wake and burial. Lying there in the coffin he looked good, as he was slightly pink and seemed to be smiling. He looked like a big child. There were a considerable number of people.
I found it strange because in life this uncle didn't seem to be that esteemed. However, this incident, added to a personal perspective of changes, my parents (already advancing in age) alone in the countryside (this uncle was the closest relative in this countryside city) and some other factors were decisive so that, at the end of that year , I moved to the city of Miracatu. But this is another story...
The last time I met my uncle, still alive, in 1989, he seemed like a sick person, he was out of touch, but when he made contact with us, he smiled humbly. I was later told that he was taking very strong medication. It would not be the first time...
His last disappearance was possibly the longest. I believe he was out of contact with his family for years. We learned that he did everything he could to survive. He was a flannel, a beggar, a homeless person, among others. Sometimes he was admitted to psychiatric hospitals in greater São Paulo, such as Juqueri and Franco de Rocha, and during these periods he was subjected to traumatic treatments such as electroshock. These absences were cultural, social, family mismatches and care needs (medical or otherwise).
My uncle was different. It was special. He was not violent. I was even able to work for a while. At times he needed medication to maintain his routine. In others it remained untreated. In others, it disappeared from sight for some time and when found and treated, it was brought to Miracatu.
Although I lived in the city of São Paulo from the mid-1970s onwards, I rarely met my uncle there. I found it before, when I was a teenager and lived with my parents in Miracatu. Found in times of festivities or ceremonies, mainly. My uncle's appearance changed a lot. Many times he was very thin, other times much more obese. It was a time when I hardly smoked or smoked excessively. But he was always laughing and affectionate with us and he always seemed happy and sometimes hummed some songs. He participated in our games and recreational activities.
I knew that my uncle had problems and he was criticized a lot by his family, but I wanted to help him. Despite the criticism, everyone wanted the best for them. So I didn't really understand why things weren't working out.
When I was a child, I remember my uncle being admonished by my grandfather. Maybe, something unusual he had done. There was once an incident in which I was also involved. I was very young. I still didn't really know what was right and wrong.
My uncle had taken some brand new, high-value money from my father's drawer. I think it was a secret place, a hiding place. Because I caught my uncle with those notes, he gave me a new one. He told me to fold it well, put it away and not talk to anyone about the note. He gave a note like that to my older brother too.
At first it was nice to have that brand new bill folded in one of my pockets. Then I got sick of the bill and gave it to my grandfather, who opened his eyes wide behind the thick lenses of his glasses. He quickly called my father who went to check the drawer. Finally, I talked about how I had earned that grade. Everything resolved and grades recovered, we were grounded on a large bench that had been placed against the wall, in the dining room: my uncle, my brother and I.
I learned from family members that my uncle was never a good student, although he had very beautiful writing skills. They told me that my grandfather invested in his younger children's education. But my uncle João Issamu was unable to take advantage of the opportunity, after all, today I know that it was not a special opportunity. They also said that when my uncle was still a child, he galloped on the back of a horse with his arms outstretched and without holding the reins, he seemed to want to fly and he also swam like no one else in the region in dangerous and deep rivers. It caused a lot of concern to family members.
This image is what I like most, without ever having seen it. My uncle João Issamu with his arms open like a bird, at full gallop, flying towards his special happiness that only he could feel.
© 2016 Osvaldo Matsuda
