“Life is movement”, a friend of mine always says, so let’s move on. Ten days ago, I moved to Sao Paulo, the largest city of South America, trying to achieve some of my dreams. The biggest one: another chance to work as a journalist. It hasn’t been an easy task since the crisis that affect press around the world seems endless. Anyway, no job will knock on my door, so I keep searching an opportunity constantly.
During my job hunting on the streets, something caught my attention and touched my heart. Some days ago, I saw a girl beside a subway station selling bombs. The scene is typical in big (and unfair) metropolis like Sao Paulo, but it’d have been impossible to ignore the advertisement in front of her. On a paperboard, she wrote by hand the price of each sweet, as well as the information that all the income would be used to pay her treatment against cancer.
I glimpsed the girl (with a kind of scarf on her head, evincing the presence of the disease) before going into Saúde Station (actually I just wanted to check a map of the region, as I don’t know those places very well). Immediately, the girl reminded me my own parents, who produce and make (delicious) sweets to sell in the region where they live. However, her story is way too dramatic to be compared to my family business. She has cancer and she needs to sell sweets to raise some money to fight her disease.
I left the station behind and she was still there. I thought I should buy her a bomb, but my legs and the city’s bustle carried me away. It was Friday, and I was in a hurry to deliver some resumes. However, I couldn’t help thinking about her. When my task was done, I came back to the same point where I had seen the girl. She was still there, talking on the phone. I entered the station again to check my transportation card balance because I didn’t want to disturb her. Those minutes were enough, and she was finally free to talk to me. I bought a bomb with “brigadeiro” (a filling made with chocolate, one of the most famous Brazilian specialities) while I asked if she had made the sweets. She confirmed nicely, and then I asked her about her problem. She told me that one cancer developed in her intestine some time ago, and the medicines are very expensive. It’s possible to ask for some governmental aid, but the service responsible for this kind of request is paralysed these days because of a strike. As a brave girl, she faced up the difficulty and found her way to beat off the disease. I said goodbye and our conversation ended. Unfortunately, I didn’t ask her name.
I came home wondering at her courage and strength. And if I were in her place? I’m healthy and I can walk the whole day looking for a job and admiring the city in the meantime. I’m graduated, an experienced professional who travelled around Europe recently and speak three languages. Furthermore, I have a family that always support me. I’m passing through a difficult time, but it’s nothing in the big picture. I’m sure I’ll overcome this bad period as soon as possible. That girl who sells sweets near the station has a huge problem and she’s fighting boldly to survive.
God bless her, that’s all I can say. She doesn’t know, but she made me a big favour showing that life deserves to be lived and I’ll be grateful forever. People like her are fucking wonderful to die such a young age, so I hope she will resist and win in the end.