Focusing on immigration to Portugal and real-life matters: living in a Portuguese household, accompanied by an 18-year-old Portuguese landlord. A few days ago, the landlord's mother returned to her own home, which is also where we currently reside. Perhaps for me, this is just a residence, but for her, it is that beloved, cherished home.
In the blink of an eye, I have been living at the landlord's house for over two months, leading a mundane and uneventful life. Aside from the landlord's dog barking wildly whenever we arrive home, occasionally relieving itself and making the whole house smell, and shamelessly rummaging through the kitchen for food when no one is around, everything can be described as a "habitual" life.
I never thought that everything would change so easily. On the day the hostess returned home, the dog was incredibly excited. As soon as she entered, she gave our young landlord a big hug, her face beaming with happiness and satisfaction. She warmly greeted us with cheek kisses. We all felt she resembled the landlord's sister.
Since the hostess returned home, this house has truly begun to have the flavor and vitality of a home.
She tidied up the house to perfection, especially the kitchen, to the point where I felt the weekly cleaner could be let go. The rag that we had always complained about was clean and bright, as if it were new. Our own two rags, which we initially couldn't find, she said had a bad smell and she took them to wash. The things we had neglected or were too lazy to do for so long, this mother noticed keenly and meticulously and immediately took care of.
She went to the market early in the morning to buy fresh vegetables and meat, preparing to cook us dinner. It turned out to be a sumptuous meal. I rushed to the kitchen to offer my help, but she said it wasn't necessary. I mentioned that I wanted to learn how to cook Portuguese dishes, and she patiently opened the oven, explaining how to roast a turkey, accompanied by potato chunks, onions, and lots and lots of olive oil, along with white wine. I watched her as she cleaned and prepared so many vegetables while chatting with her. Her Portuguese was clear and slow, seemingly to help me understand, and although there were some words I still couldn't catch, I felt it was a joyful experience to converse with her in my clumsy Portuguese.
Aside from using Portuguese in class, I hardly had many opportunities to practice. The landlord's Portuguese was fast and not very clear; she preferred to communicate with us in English, which she found more convenient, despite our repeated requests to converse in Portuguese. She showed us the Christmas gifts she prepared for her children from Brazil, colorful ceramic tile paintings, and asked us how Chinese people celebrate Christmas. She inquired if we missed home and if our parents missed us. This was a mother's concern; I wondered if she, having lived in Brazil for many years, often felt such longing, and if my parents back in my hometown were also thinking of me. She said she didn't want to go back to Brazil; she preferred to stay here and live with her daughter, but her job and her husband were in Brazil, so she had to leave her hometown. Just like she said she didn't like cooking, but as a mother, she had to do it.
She really liked Chinese culture; I think she enjoyed everything new. She asked how to pronounce our Chinese names, how to say the names of our President and Prime Minister, and even learned a few Chinese words like "chopsticks" from us. She asked me to teach her how to use chopsticks and then took out a few exquisite pairs, telling me their origins. I explained to her a pair of chopsticks inscribed with the scenery of Guilin, saying that Guilin is a picturesque place with mountains and rivers, and I also explained the meaning of another pair with mandarin ducks that said "a hundred years of harmony." These chopsticks seemed to be about 30 years old; she said she vaguely remembered asking for them from a waiter at a Chinese restaurant near Coimbra University when she was my age.
She told me that her family loves eating vegetables, which she learned from her grandmother back home. She said that during Christmas, over 20 people would gather around a table to eat. She mentioned that the landlord's daughter particularly loves small animals and doesn't want to see animals being slaughtered, so she doesn't eat much meat. At the dinner table, she served us rice and vegetables, letting us choose which piece of turkey meat we wanted, and in the end, she took the smallest piece for herself. She even helped me cut the meat, to the point where the landlord's daughter teased her for treating us like five-year-olds. At the dinner table, she bantered with her daughter, and the landlord's daughter wanted to feed the leftover meat to the dogs, but she tried to stop her, arguing that the dogs were too fat for their health, leading to a small dispute between them. Then she told us about the two dogs, both gifts from others, with very different personalities; one was cautious and well-behaved like a princess, while the other was lively and rude like a stray dog, but very resilient. She also shared that they once adopted a nearly dying cat, nursed it back to health, and it often played with the dogs before being sold to a pet shop. She asked me what I found most difficult to adapt to in her home, and I said it was the dog. She was quite surprised and even asked me to walk the dog with her the next day. The landlord's daughter once wanted to keep a lizard, and upon hearing the name of that animal, she shrank back in fear like a child, insisting that such creatures should only be outside and not kept at home.
We talked a lot; she really enjoyed conversing with us. It felt as if she regarded us not merely as unfamiliar tenants but as friends and family. I was deeply moved; although we had only spent a short day together, it was enough for me to grow fond of this mother, this hostess.
Later, I reflected and gradually understood. Perhaps I was missing home, missing my mother. In a foreign land, through this Portuguese-speaking mother, I saw the shadow of my mother far away in China, the same love for her children, the same diligence and attentiveness, and the same "chatíssima" as she would say. The little quarrels between the mother and daughter at the dinner table made me unknowingly smile with greed, as if my mother were right beside me, and I was sulking and arguing with her.