1 year in Portugal
Hey everyone, welcome back to my journal.
Today’s a kind of anniversary post — to remember with emotion and style the saddest day of my life, but also to retrace the path I’ve walked since then. It’s also the first article I’m publishing in silence, away from the blind frenzy of Instagram, where followers drop fake support through empty promises. In other words, I’m stepping back a bit from those social networks I despise — a break from that frustrating, lying world of pure bullshit I already tore into in a previous article.
Today, May 10th, marks the day I arrived in a foreign land — or more accurately, in a land where I was a foreigner. Not that far from my native country, France, you might say. But even if the two aren’t that distant on a map, the experience has been intense enough to shake up my little world entirely.
If I had to sum up my 2024-25 year in a single phrase, I’d say: the prize of courage.
You know, I arrived with a spark in my eye, 22 years old, right in that weird time of youth where I couldn’t see the point of my studies anymore, which I ended prematurely. Everyone could see I was smart, full of potential and ideas, but I had zero motivation to sit in a classroom or deal with annoying authority figures.
I arrived at 22, didn’t hesitate for a second, didn’t feel afraid for a single moment. And yeah, a lot of people will say things like, “It takes a lot of courage to go abroad that young, to a country where you don’t speak the language, with no family around to help.” I get where that’s coming from, but truth be told, it never felt like it took any courage* at all — precisely because I was never afraid. Traveling, discovering the vastness of the world, that’s always been what I wanted. It’s partly why I aimed for top schools — to get the chance to study abroad. And come on, “so young”, you say? Like we’re supposed to wait our whole damn lives? I don’t have time for that kind of overthinking. Not only am I not the kind to care about other people’s opinions or ask for permission when it comes to things that concern ME alone — but time doesn’t wait. One day your body’s gonna get tired and you’ll no longer be able to go chase the world’s cultures and wonders. If you want the adventure, take it now. Don’t wait for 38 planets to align to start living the life you want.
*no worries, I’m not contradicting myself. wait a bit, that’s not the point yet
Our parents are from Gen X, or even Boomers. That whole “get a job, hold on to it, that’s security” mindset. Or: “wait until you have a stable income and savings to start traveling.” That’s not me. Not only do I not have the time, but I’ve got too many damn talents to box myself into one job, or worse, shrink my ambitions. Only my true passions deserve the level of devotion a craftsman gives his art. For the rest — kindly keep your outdated advice to yourselves. I left with nothing in my pocket, and look, I’m still healthy...
Okay, okay, I’m acting like I’ve got it all figured out, saying I’m healthy and all, but let’s be real — it hasn’t been all sunshine since I landed here.
💔 Love: the slap I needed
Maybe I’m starting to sound like a broken record at this point — it’s the third article in a row I’m talking about it — but being the kind, authentic guy I am, I got my heart broken. Twice. In a row. I know the unspoken rules of the flirting game. But I’ve always preferred to follow my heart. Until I realized: even the nicest ones eventually have to play the game. I had to accept that the king of chess didn’t rewrite the rules — he just mastered them better than anyone. Sad, but true. And now I keep my distance from girls just to avoid having to overuse my brain in this hypocritical chess match — this strategy game I like to call “a service of evil.” These days, I pour my small smartness into figuring out how to be accepted by a girl when you’re not the tallest, not the hottest, not the richest, and not the worst bad boy either. It’s no easy task, let me tell you. But let’s be serious, I’m not powerful neither to go against the untold rule by myself. The current and the metagame are way stronger than I am, even with my brain and kind of cleverness, I always feel like I have to tap into that dark energy (you know what I mean) just to seem appealing. Like being soft, kind, and taking care of what little beauty you’ve got just isn’t enough. But we’ll dig into all that in more detail in two weeks, in Pause Café, on a different tone.
🧠 Language, culture, identity: the chaos in my head
On the language and cultural front, my laziness — and life’s little punches — kept me from progressing in Portuguese as much as I could’ve, or exploring the country like I had planned. Truth is, when you fall into a depressive slump early on, and people constantly push you to speak your native language or English, the immersion part of the adventure just doesn’t hit the same. That’s probably the biggest “to improve” of this first year: I need to make more effort in language, travel, and discovering cultural sites. Which sounds kinda ironic, since I already speak a bit of Portuguese (I even started learning it before I got here). But again, my potential isn’t average. And unlike many others, I know I have what I need and I also have the proper resources to level up fast. I will try my best to stick to it.
🌍 Real life struggle : loneliness and housing
Like any young adventurer playing life on hard mode, I had to deal with housing problems. Beyond just crashing on a few friends’ couches last summer while I was waiting for my new company’s apartment, I was genuinely in a tough spot. December — spent with a guy I’d only known for a few weeks, who kindly took me in. January — homeless. February — in a sketchy hostel. March — back on the street, semi-camping on the campus where I worked. April — slightly better, in a guest house. After 5 straight months without a stable roof over my head, after hustling just to survive and scrape together savings, I finally moved into a chill little apartment in a shared residence. Clean, well-furnished, peaceful neighborhood, terrace, pool — the works. As if life was finally saying: “Alright, after the heartbreak, the foreign country struggle, the drama with coworkers and my employers, the internal war and the housing mess — here’s some well-deserved peace.” All that XP I racked up in the game of life, finally turning into some comfort.
It’s that classic “if I have to go through hell to reach heaven, so be it” vibe. Life throws things at you with no warning, just to test how bad you really want it. Your drive, your soul. That kind of struggle, the one that shows up uninvited, it’s the one that reveals who you really are and that’s in this kind of moments you have to prove your speech and show not only yourself, but also your relatives who would’ve prefered you to stay you’re right. Most people would’ve taken the easy way out — gone back home to mom, or just quit some other way. It’s easy to say “I spent a few months abroad” after chilling under the Portuguese sun for a summer. It’s a whole different story to say, “I packed up my life, moved to a new country, faced hella problems for months, and no one even knew — and I got through it solo.” I grew up with Naruto, and the biggest thing he taught me is: never give up. Shōnen spirit, you know the drill — I kept my patience, kept my faith in myself, and pushed through.
Eventually, I made a few friends here in Portugal. We’re not BFFs, but I met some cool people I vibe with. The funny thing? I met all of them on nights out. Wild, considering just two years ago I hated parties and had never even stepped into a nightclub. These friends know who they are — no need to name names or rank them. To those of you walking alongside me on this path: thank you. Thank you for making life less bitter, for softening the pain of struggles I rarely speak out loud, and for lighting up this journey I now hope becomes more permanent by your side. I came thinking I’d stay a year or two… but now, I feel like I want to travel the world temporarily, but live permanently near you. I love you all. <3
🕊️ The goodbye : the saddest day of my life
Finally, how could I write an anniversary post about arriving in Portugal without paying tribute to the saddest day of my life — the day I said goodbye to my mom. Ironically, it wasn’t the first time. I’d already left for a year to study at SKEMA, under the sun of the French Riviera. And even though that year brought its own hell — a deep depression from November to April and some scary thoughts — back then, when we said goodbye, we were both proud. I was starting business school after two brutal years of study and library-only life (yep, literally), and she, despite a pinch in her heart, was happy to see her son taking a step toward adulthood.
Quick note: calm down. I say “study,” but I was seriously depressed. That’s why I didn’t get into anything “higher” than SKEMA, even though it's already a top-tier, well-ranked school (yeah yeah, still bullshit, but not the point here).
This time was different. I’d barely woken up when my big brother Floris came to say a few quiet words before heading to work: “Alright Wil, I’m off. Take care of yourself,” and a few other things I can’t quite remember — but his low profile voice set the emotional tone for the day. See, this brother of mine, four years older, the one I’ve fought with since childhood — my best enemy but above all my best friend — we never talk like that. In our family, we’re not really — I mean we’re barely' — expressive when it comes to emotions. But hearing “take care of yourself” from him… that hit like the strongest “I love you, little bro” he could’ve said.
Later that morning, I finally got up. I stayed quiet. Just me and my mom — I’d refused her offer to come to the airport because I didn’t want too much emotion. I didn’t know where to place myself, what to say in those final hours. Silent, reserved, I had no idea how to interact with her without letting the tears take over. We shared one last lunch watching our favorite midday quiz show. Then came time to get ready. She made sure I had everything. I listened. I followed the routine. Shower. Get dressed. Pack. And then, her signature phrase before any big event, once I was ready: “All set?” She walked to the end of the hallway, near the front door. I stood in silence, waiting for her last words.
Jaw clenched. Head down. Heart shattered. I couldn’t hold back anymore. My mom’s voice trembled as she whispered, “Don’t cry, or you’ll make me cry.” Too late. The tears streamed down my face like a river — a river of mother-son love, heavy with the bitterness of the hardest goodbye. We stood like that, arms around each other, for long minutes. She gave me a flood of advice, encouragement, love. I can’t repeat it all, but one thing stayed with me:
“Use your intelligence to do good around you.”
That line alone sums up the life I’ve been trying to live these past years. I know it’s hard for her, more than anyone, to accept that I quit school before graduating. Despite the countless qualities my mother has, among which the deep kindness I inherited from her, she never had the chance to go far in school — she became a mom young and always put her six kids first. I was the one my family — and a bit more — pinned their academic hopes on. And yet I walked away. Because this fake world of ours just hurts me too much — even if, let’s be honest, school always came quite easy to me. It took time, but eventually, my mom understood that I was hurting. And that despite everything, I could still make it. She accepted that I might have a future outside the academic sphere. And that’s precisely because she never got beyond secondary school, that I know she believes in my brain more than anyone else on Earth. And “do good around you” — that was her humble way of giving me a mission. To have an impact. To be a nice boy. When I think that my dad — who’s 100 times more cultured and smart than I am — never made it big, I realize: to make an impact, I need at least to surpass him.
It was also heartbreaking because we both knew the pain of being far from each other, in particular in a context she knew afterwards how hard it was to live far away and how bad and sad I felt the first time. She knew the pain I was going through again, and yet, she let me go. Once you know all of this, not surprising to hear that I couldn’t hold my tears until getting into the plane to Portugal.
Today, a year later, my life is stabilizing in Portugal. I’ve got a job I don’t love, but it pays well enough that I’m no longer struggling. I’ve got a few side projects bringing in money — not a millionaire, but I’m surviving just fine. I live in a peaceful neighborhood, and I’ve met people I hope to soon start talking to entirely in Portuguese to be friends with. My goals haven’t changed: open my own café — because that dream fuels my journey through the world of coffee and everything around it. And become a French teacher — because I love my native language, because it’s part of my personal challenge to outshine my dad intellectually, and because that’s how I choose to use my intelligence to do good.
It’s been a year in Portugal. And in the game of life, I’ve gained experience points I can be proud of. With this newfound knowledge and these new strengths I can be proud of, I feel ready to face this new year with a renewed determination, a self-confidence even more certain than before and a serenity that is only waiting for overcoming new challenges. I already know that everything won’t be a quiet path, but that’s also why I’m writing to y’all. That's because of its uncertainty and because we face a lot of twists and turns that a story is formidable to tell.
So I'd like to thank you for reading our review of this first year, and look forward to seeing you on May 10, next year.
Take care and bye bye,
Wilou, your favorite blogger.
