This Has Nothing to Do With the Books. But It Made Me Laugh So Hard.
We're taking a small detour today. No books, no publishing updates, no copy editing news. Just a story my dad accidentally triggered by sending me an old photo of himself, and the scene that immediately played out in my head like a very short, very funny film that I am now legally required to share with you.
My dad moved from Uruguay to Brazil when he was a teenager — with his mom and his brother. New country, new language, new everything.
📝 A NOTE ON MY RESEARCH SKILLS
I should confirm exactly how old he was when this happened. I keep meaning to ask. It keeps slipping my mind. Every single time. I, a person who writes books about migration, cannot confirm the basic migration details of my own father. We move on.
So. He sends me this photo. Him, young, newly arrived in Brazil. And as a migrant myself — someone who knows exactly what it feels like to walk into a room in a country that is not yours — a scene immediately constructed itself in my head, complete with soundtrack and everything.
His mom, pulling him aside before they left the house: "Blend in. Don't draw attention to yourself. Just… blend in."
Now, if you are a person with what I can only describe as immigrant dog syndrome — that instinct to make yourself small, to not stand out, to quietly disappear into the background of a country that has not yet decided what to do with you — you know exactly what his mom meant. You learn it fast. Or people teach it to you, one sideways glance at a time.
I have been yelled at. Looked at funny. Had the specific experience of mispronouncing something and watching a room clock you as not from here in real time. The good old classics. Xenophobia, she never misses a season.
So yes. Blending in. A very real, very reasonable survival strategy. My dad's mom was giving solid advice.
🫥 THE IMMIGRANT BLENDING-IN TOOLKIT
Standard issue. Everyone gets one.
🗣️ Speak carefully. Rehearse sentences before you say them. Laugh at things two seconds after everyone else. It's fine.
👀 Don't look lost. Look like you absolutely know where you're going even when you have no idea where you're going.
🧍Take up less space. Walk smaller. Sit smaller. Exist at a volume that won't remind anyone you are there.
😐 Neutral expression at all times. The face of someone who has always lived here and finds nothing surprising about any of this.
My dad could have done all of this. He was willing, presumably. His mom gave the briefing. The plan was solid.
There was, however, one small problem.
⚠️ THE ONE FLAW IN THE PLAN
His height.
There is no place to hide when you are that tall. Zero. None. The room announces you before you open your mouth. His mom had done everything right. Physics had other plans.
I laughed so hard at the picture. Not at him — with him, retroactively, across decades and borders and the very specific comedy of trying to be invisible when your body simply will not cooperate.
There's something that really got me about it. The intention was there. The effort was real. And yet — he walked into every room in Brazil and every room immediately knew. New person. Tall. Where is he from?
Migration humbles you in all kinds of ways. Sometimes it's the language. Sometimes it's the paperwork. Sometimes it's just the fact that you are six feet something in a country where that is genuinely remarkable, and no amount of neutral expression is going to fix that.
Dad, if you ever read this — which you won't, because this blog is in English and you know exactly what you're doing — thank you for the photo. It gave me everything.
And to everyone who has ever been told to blend in and done their best: I see you. I am you. Some of us just had taller odds to work against than others.
Still laughing,
Jessica Gabrielzyk
✦ COMPLETELY UNRELATED TO THE BOOKS · AND YET SOMEHOW VERY RELATED TO EVERYTHING ✦
