As I find myself in a place foreign to me, I ponder the many versions of me that could have existed. My sit spot in front of the tangled tree is home to a black cat whose meow is high-pitched and scratchy. I find it silly that, more than likely, this cat is more fluent than me in Portuguese and that trees and animals become one with the people’s culture. It’s not a tree; it’s an arvore; Brazil is the kind of country that is so proud of its uniqueness that an English song is rare. Like the tangled tree, the culture is rooted deep and so stable. I think about the soil beneath the roots. It plays a huge role but isn’t visible to the eye. Brazil’s weather is tropical, meaning 80-degree weather can bring heavy rain. The heavy rain keeps the soil always damp. The trees grow tall and make sure to disperse the heavy rainfall to avoid flooding protecting itself for survival.