"I don't think either of you ever tried to offer me a neat narrative. I know that time has passed and whatever you two said, before I could remember it, was said in bits and pieces. So I had to put the pieces together and make a story myself. Not for you or my mother, I'm piecing together this story for myself. I need to get your absence out of my body and turn it into life. And to do that, I can't limit myself to what you've told me, or to what little these objects tell me about you. I don't think it's enough to just look at the logic of facts. I prefer an invented truth, something that can put me back on my feet. I know this story might only exist in my head, but it is what's saving me. I don't like death. I don't like goodbyes. But you taught me not to be afraid of death. And not liking the end is important, if you want to make something of your life, you once told me."
Growing up is tough to do. And one of the most heavy hearted lessons we learn is to accept endings, especially those we do not wish for. One of those tragic losses, is the loss of a parent. I have been fortunate to not suffered that loss yet, though I have a growing number of friends who have lost parents, mainly due to the fact of myself and my peers getting older as well. In Jeferson Tenório's The Dark Side of Skin, we find Pedro in his father's apartment clearing the belongings and picking up the pieces of himself and his father lost amongst not mental and emotional clutter that such a loss brings.
"Moments of crisis are some of the best in our lives, because they're when we reassess when we take a moment to evaluate our own behaviour. And the very best part is that once the crisis is over, everything gets better. Crises are what move us forward."
By going back and telling the story of his parents and their parents, the narrator attempts to make sense of the nonsensical, which in us humans seems to be almost as common as breathing some times. Hurtling on this rock through an ever expanding space, and coming to terms with trauma oftentimes feels insurmountable and attempting to reconstruct to get to a place of healing is messy and imperfect.
"You who once thought that at fifty-two you'd know how to deal with the ends of things. But pain doesn't care about age when it wants to hurt, you thought."
Whether we have lost a parent or not, or whether we have been victims of racists mistreatment, Tenório writes with consideration for all of us. Whether it is a death of a loved one, a break up, some other loss or even maturing, we all have the possibility to come to see ourselves out of the narratives that we have been stuck in for how long. And perhaps there is no narrative as skewed and entrenched the racist one. These crises often times, offer us the opportunity for evolution, growth and transformation. None of us know what we are doing on our best days. No one has the answers. The best we can do is keep showing up. This spirit of resilience and courage pervades through the entire book. On top of a moving message, this book is so well written that I would not be surprised to see this on the International Booker Longlist in March.
"Until the end, you believed books could make a difference. You stepped in and out of life, and it remained bitter. Objects still hold memories of you, but it seems whatever's left of them can either only hurt you or comfort me because they're remnants of affection. Silently, these objects speak of you. It's through them that I imagine and recover you. Through them that I try to find out how many tragedies a person can take. Maybe I'm reaching for some truth. Not as a destination. But as a journey that will sweep through these rooms and give me the first piece of a puzzle."
"War will be part of his life."
"The difference is that you can choose to have this problem, I can't tear off my own black skin."
"Childhood gives us certain wounds and they're what we fight with."
"Children are a mindless and meaningless invention."
"And sometimes in adulthood, you dreamed of recovering that feeling of innocence, without fear or hesitation. But as time went by, you started to feel that the possibilities of pain were only increasing and restricting your freedom. Living became a matter of avoiding pain at all costs. Day after day you were haunted by a fear of discomfort, living in a kind of self-imposed imprisonment."
"Understanding a parent's actions takes years, sometimes a lifetime."
"You weren't steady enough. You were balancing on a tightrope. The tightrope as the foundation of your love."
"White people never think a poor black boy may have other problems besides hunger and drugs."
"We don't know how to evaluate our failures. Because it's tempting to attribute all our weaknesses and failures to racism. And you need to draw strength from God knows where and build within yourself a kind of ethical scale in order to not fall into that trap, and it's hard to explain how this shit works, you know? [...] And sometimes you don't want to have that courage. Even so, no matter how honest you are with yourself, no matter how much you shoot down your own delusions, there's always that doubt about your true abilities. And that is the perversity of racism."
"As time went by, your growing disenchantment took over your life. You turned into a sort of factory worker. Years and years of believing that you were doing something meaningful then came more years and buried your expectations. The insecurity of the school won out, and you were tired."
"At the start of a relationship, you just never think it'll end because one of you will die."
"The changes were always small and quiet."
"This story is still an open wound. It's a story to heal me of the absence of what you stopped being."