By Sofia Jesus

There are sounds that are smells, smiles, smoke, smooth-talkers. Like the bells of Macau’s Cathedral.

The bells of Macau’s Cathedral may toll for all alike. But I always felt they whispered directly to me. For they offered me home when I arrived to what was then a strange land.

The bells of Macau’s Cathedral smell like pine trees; smile like aunt Lila; exhale the remains of burned woods; smooth-talk me into believing there’s no place like home.

For they remind me of my childhood vacations in Gerês mountains, in the north of Portugal.

Note after note, they make me float weightless all the way back to those green and black hills, to those endless summer days, to those awakening river swims.

The bells of Macau’s Cathedral first made me long for home; then, made me feel at home; today, they are home. And the song they sing is me — floating in the world, note by note, believing the echo is that something that links everything together. For home is where the bells ring.