Chega de saudade

From the shore, one could hear the bubbles, the voices of the fish conversing. At the slightest sound of footsteps, they would dive quickly, something Elias could hear. As a boy, they say, this countryman would spend hours conversing with the children of the waters and, moreover, learned much from them. As an adult, Elias made dolls and stuck them on stakes along the most inaccessible banks, for they wanted someone guarding the shoreline.

The country folk used to say that, seeing it from afar, people would think "there were people there," and that way they wouldn't spoil the river with old sofas, debris, and bad manners. These creatures were one of the passions of Seu Elias – an iconic figure of Piracicaba, as were Nhô Lica and many others, to whom we owe our familiar perception of these parts. They cherished the value of their lives and indelibly marked the damp ground. The river is indeed a "stunning view," as real estate advertisements say. However, country folk don't just look; they experience the river in all its splendor and its ravines with their rich flora and rock carvings.

Today, as the country folk say, "the river is forgotten," they only want to build buildings and make a fortune off of them. They don't respect the soul of the place.

The coastal area, the plain, is valued by environmentally conscious people, but others prefer to write nostalgic poems, wearing hats, and run from the struggle like a slippery catfish. The centuries-old problem in Piracicaba-SP has been nostalgia, instead of preserving our water sources and genuine traditions. What remains then? A tearful nostalgia, a river of salty tears, without fish, without comfort, without life where it all began.

We must learn from the children of the waters, who ascend with maximum effort during the Piracema (fish migration) and against all odds, even risking being pecked by a wading bird, to spawn and fulfill our destiny. Elias dos Bonecos learned this. When he was alive, even without the explicit climate appeal, Elias had environmental awareness, love for nature, and solidarity with his neighbors, friends, and children.

This fight is not about left or right, it's about both sides united for our greatest good: a fluid life. Tomorrow may be too late. The destruction of coastlines, riverbanks, and the sea in important cities of the country has been recurring. Afterwards, it's no use feeling nostalgic; reversing the damage is very difficult and riddled with economic interests. The spiritual good is destroyed, and only nostalgia remains.

Today, dear readers, if you hear the murmur of the waterfall, the bubbling voices in the water of some newborn fish, do not harden your hearts like stone. Nostalgic ones, these waters are not merely panoramic views, but realities, perceived, touched, understood – this cannot be bought. What good is the distant and sad view through the glass windows of a high-rise apartment where solitary life does not flow and fades away? Below, on the riverbank, the river celebrates and touches our souls; this is real. That is why, after so many floods, the river dwellers always return to inhabit the banks and, even after so many accidental deaths involving the legendary river girl, they continue to go to the waters, navigate, swim, live, die, and fish.