What About Me 65°

Author

Micael Balioni
March 05, 2026

WHAT ABOUT ME?

Micael

e cada cachorro que lamba a sua caceta

 

Hi Tanamesars,

The time has come to talk about one of the most special trips I've ever taken. And I want to do it properly, so brace yourselves.

A few weeks ago, I received one of the most meaningful gifts I've ever gotten. It wasn't wrapped, and it didn't have a bow. It was a plane ticket to Rio de Janeiro — and the words: we want you there.

Let me explain:

Last November, I spent a month in Brazil between jobs — one of those rare, slightly chaotic windows of time where life pauses long enough for you to actually breathe. And while I was there, my friends told me they were planning their fourth Carnival in Rio, and they wanted to do this one right. They wanted me there with them.

I said no. I had just started a new job. I had just spent a month and a lot of money. Going back two months later, just for a week, just for Carnival — it felt irresponsible. Beautiful, but irresponsible.

They came back to me anyway. They said: if you can get the days off, we'll take care of the ticket and help with the accommodation. Just come.

So I went.

  • Here's something I've been noticing for a while now: the longer I live outside of Brazil, the more Brazilian I become. Which sounds like a paradox, but anyone who has ever left their country will probably understand exactly what I mean.

When I lived in Brazil, I wasn't particularly connected to Brazilian music, Brazilian cinema, or Brazilian food in any conscious way. It was just... there. Like water to a fish. But once you live abroad, something shifts.

I became the Brazilian one in the group. I started speaking more about my roots, feeling homesick, missing flavours I never thought twice about. Listening to Brazilian music I didn't even used to like. Feeling proud of things I used to take for granted. Brazil became something I had to choose — and choosing it made me love it differently.

Carnival was the culmination of all of that.

If you've never been, let me try to explain: Carnival in Brazil is not a party. It's a marathon. Blocos that start at seven in the morning and carry you to two in the afternoon. Decisions to make — beach? rest? another party? — before the night starts all over again. Every single day for a week. You don't stop. You don't sleep enough. You don't want to.

Our group had been preparing for months. We planned our costumes for every day, customized our camarote outfits, and arrived in Rio with the kind of collective excitement of a slightly unhinged family. And the magic wasn't only in the week itself — it was in the preparation, in the WhatsApp threads, in the photo-sharing aftermath where we relived everything we'd just lived.

It was in the fact that I was only there because people who love me looked at the barriers and decided to remove them.

That's what I keep coming back to when I think about it. Not the samba, not the costumes, not even the Sambódromo at night — which, by the way, is one of the most breathtaking things I've ever seen. What stays with me is the feeling of being chosen. Of someone saying:

❝

this moment would not be complete without you.

Brazil is trending now, and I love that the world is finally catching up. But what I found in Rio wasn't a trend. It was something I'd been slowly building from a distance for years — a relationship with my own country, my own culture, my own identity — and a group of friends who gave me the chance to live it fully, even if just for a week (probably one of the best weeks of my life).

I've been feeling more Brazilian than ever lately. And more loved than ever, too. Maybe that's the same thing, isn't it?

With love,

Micael.