The Quiet Resilience and Belonging of Being Portuguese

If being Portuguese has taught me anything, it is the art of survival. As Pessoa wrote in Livro do Desassossego, "Life itself is dying, because we do not have one more day in our life without, in that, having one day less of it."

Life itself is a slow process of losing time, but it is in this bittersweet reality that we find resilience. I’ve overheard countless Portuguese complain—loudly—about their homeland and whoever happens to be in power that week. But I don’t think I’ve ever heard a Portuguese person claim that Portugal is the greatest, the best, or most exceptional.

Growing up in the U.S., where a brand of nationalism thrives on declarations of greatness, this kind of humility felt almost foreign. The Portuguese love for their country is more intimate. We acknowledge the virtues of other European nations—higher wages, bigger economies, better infrastructure—but the love of being Portuguese is not about comparison. It’s about a deep, quiet sense of belonging to what is ours, not because it is better, but because it is uniquely Portuguese.

Whether it’s a cold Sagres, a bifana, fado, or a meia de leite at a café, there’s something deeply comforting about the everyday rituals that make up Portuguese life. These things add a spice to life that, while not for everyone, like a plate of caracóis (snails), is unmistakably ours. It’s captured in the words of Camões: "This is my blessed land, my beloved" and echoed in Mariza’s fado: "Oh people of my land, Now I understand, This sadness that I carry, It was from you that I received it."

It’s hard to process almost nine centuries of collective memory—so much of it false, reimagined, joyful, and bitter. And yet, I am constantly amazed by how many foreigners wish to live in our beloved land. Portugal speaks to them in its own voice, full of both joy and sorrow, but always with a sense of magic and potential. Portugal makes us Portuguese, if that makes sense.

While many ex-pats are quick to criticize, more and more people are starting to understand that Portugal and its people are survivors. The world that saw the nation rise nearly a millennium ago has little in common with the world today. But in 1,000 years from now, while it’s hard to predict anything much about the future, I’m certain of one thing: Portugal will still be there. And in that future Portugal, someone will be roasting sardines and complaining about the government. And in that, I take solace.