Besides any political belief, football team or musical taste, all Brazilians can agree in at least one thing: we own the most beautiful word of all languages – and it has no translation. Saudade. Foreigner Bossa Nova fans might try to translate it as “the happy sadness of missing something”. The Romantics of the 19th century might have thought that it was about nostalgia, but none of it can properly translate it.

Although I have been in London for almost six months now, it was only when I arrived in Toulouse that I realized that saudade had really got me. Not only because after the “bienvenue” of the police officer my eyes were wet, but because of all that being there represented to me.

It was twenty years ago in January when me, my parents and my brother first landed there. I was five years old and probably didn’t understand much of what was going on. My father had been granted a PhD scholarship and we would spend three years living in the capital of the southern region of Midi-Pyrenées*. I couldn’t know but these years ahead would have a profound impact in who I would become, my values, beliefs and even in choosing this MA.

In one of the hundreds of salmon-coloured buildings of Toulouse, la ville rose, more precisely in the neighborhood of Montaudran, we lived, celebrated birthdays, witnessed my parents going crazy over Brazil’s FIFA World Cup victory, played with toys in the living room, experimented with French pastry recipes in the kitchen, spent three cold Christmas and finally, welcomed my baby sister to our lives.

Of course I couldn’t aspire to compile in one paragraph all the memories of my childhood spent in Toulouse, but I hope it does depict a bit of what was in my heart when I landed in this very city for the first time again, almost eighteen years later. It was 10 p.m of a slightly cold night when I entered the tram and my dad texted me “we are waiting for you at the Palais de Justice”.

Because there was that: on top of all the crazy reencountering feelings I was having with the city, I would also meet again with them. My father and my baby sister were there, waiting for me. And I had not yet realized how much I was missing them until we finally met, hugged and cried together. Even though my brother and mother could not have come from Brazil as well, it was somehow crazy that the three of us were there, together, after so long.

The following days were filled with mixed feelings. The memories mixed with new discoveries of the city, the streets, the buildings… We visited our old school, our old home and old friends as well. And we ate well, oh, so well. I must say, actually, that the Brits are great in many many things, but they lose terribly to the French when it comes to food. It does not matter the restaurant, price or type: every food in Toulouse was amazing. I mean it. It actually made me more certain that good food is one of the deepest saudades that I feel living in London…but this is another story.

In many ways, Toulouse was still the same. But in the most important, it was not. I was not the same. Neither were my dad and my sister – whose 18th birthday we were celebrating, I must say. And how amazing was experiencing all that.

Having flown back to London, I feel that part of me stayed there. It is something that I cannot really explain. I have had so many important moments of my life in Toulouse that somehow the city seems to be part of my own foundations.

Maybe deep down my bones are pink-couloured, just like the buildings. Or my hands can only stay fully hydrated when dipped in a very buttery-crunchy croissant. Or else – who knows – my stomach has a love affair with goat cheese, red wine and baguettes. And in my most intense moments my brain processes words in French. But as someone who has grown in different countries, one thing is for sure. Saudade will always be a part of my soul.