By Leaving home to pursue dreams comes at a price – a price I never expected to have to pay.
No mom and dad around. My childhood friends are thousands of miles away.
And my new friends only know a small part of who I am.
This story begins when I am 15 years old living in Sao Paulo, Brazil, in 2016. Life was going pretty smoothly, but with a life-changing choice approaching.
Seven years later I’m almost 22, living in Helena, Montana, and playing basketball for Carroll College. Life is going smoothly.
But the journey from Sao Paulo to Helena was a long and winding road.
At 15 I studied in the morning and played club basketball in the afternoon. I was part of a club team, the highest level available. I dreamed of playing professional basketball.
I knew that eventually I would be forced to choose between school and basketball. If I continued to play club ball, I wouldn’t have time for studying. If I wanted to pursue an education, and build a future, I needed to devote myself to school.
I did not want to give up either school or basketball.
I am going to make mom proud.
I loved playing basketball more than I liked studying. I actually wasn’t a big school guy at all back then.
That’s when I began hearing stories of Brazilian players moving to America to study at American colleges while playing basketball. That choice would be a no-brainer for me: study while playing ball. Perfect.
And so I began dreaming of playing ball at an American college.
But what seemed like a win/win at first, slowly became more stressful, when I thought about leaving home.
I would have to leave all my family, friends, and my hometown behind. I would need to mature quickly if I wished to write my life story by myself.
But I knew that if I wanted to be the best player I could possibly be – if I wanted to be great – I would need to move to America, where college players move to the NBA and their dreams come true.
I knew, eventually, I would have to take that leap.
The calendar pages kept turning… 11, 12, 13, 14, and then 15.
That’s when my dad picked me up after practice. Dad driving me home was weird, because my mom usually picked me up. I knew something was up.
And I was right.
During that car ride, my dad asked me about practice, and how my day was. But when I asked him how his day was, that was when he broke the news.
He told me that he had lunch with one of my personal trainers, and one of my trainer’s friends, who was a mediator of players from Brazil going to the United States to play basketball.
He then told me that they had been meeting, without my knowledge, to come up with a plan for me to play ball in the United States.
After all of that, he finally asked me if I was OK with all of this.
“Yes, of course,” I said, trying to sound calm and composed.
On the inside, I was ecstatic and excited on the inside, already imagining what living in the United States would be like.
Dad did warn me not to get my hopes up. He said this was all only a possibility, nothing concrete yet.
But after that talk, in April of 2016, everything cooled seemingly for an eternity.
My dad never brought the topic up again.
The only thing he asked a few days after that conversation was where in the States I would like to go. I told him I would like to go to California.
My mom never mentioned it.
I didn’t want to bring it up on my own.
I even questioned whether the deal had broken down. I would go through my parents’ phones (without them knowing, of course) and read their group chats with all the people coordinating the move, to see if there was still a chance I would move to America.
I found out that I could be heading to Cathedral High School, a Catholic all-boys school, close to downtown Los Angeles.
I did a lot of praying on my own, hoping that the move would go through, that I would be able to live my dream. There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t dream about the future.
A few months went by, and then the first official curveball hit me.
Back in those days, I wasn’t the most studious person, far from it, actually.
I fell into the stereotype that “athletes were not great at school.”
I earned a lot of Cs, some Ds, and some rare Bs.
Eventually, that caught up to me.
I remember the day mom and dad called me into the living room. It was a random, hot Sunday. I had been playing video games in my bedroom.
They said they wanted to talk, and they didn’t seem happy.
My dad was blunt. My GPA was so bad, that it was actually right below the school’s minimum accepted GPA. Everything was put on hold, while the board discussed my case.
I was scared, but that conversation marked a turning point in my life. After that, I told myself that I had to become a better student, to study harder, if I wanted to be something in life.
A week later, the next Sunday, the board informed my parents that they had decided to make an exception for me.
On that day, I made a pledge to myself: “I will not let academics be the reason why I don’t achieve my basketball goals.”
But more obstacles lay ahead.
Days, weeks, and months kept passing by, and I still hadn’t received my student visa.
We had been waiting for the school’s final decision in order to start that process.
Even after we got the yes, the Consulate was booked for another few weeks.
School started in August, and the end of July was approaching. I was finally able to schedule a visa appointment for the first few days of August.
And even then, I still had to be approved, and wait to get the visa back.
But everything went smoothly during that final stretch. I was set to come to Uncle Sam’s land.
The days before leaving were hard. I was a 15 year old leaving everything behind.
My fears kicked in stronger than ever.
I was about to take this leap of faith towards my dream.
Saying goodbye to family members was hard. I didn’t really want to say bye to my friends, because they were in school, and I didn’t want to be a distraction for them.
At least I thought so.
The weekend before I traveled, I was given a surprise party. My mom and a few of my best friends planned a last farewell.
That was a little tough for me. Some of my friends gave me goodbye letters wishing me good luck, which I still keep with me to this date in my documents binder.
But nothing was as hard as being at the airport, and having to say bye to my mom.
My dad was coming along for the first week to help me settle in, but my mom realized that she was saying bye to her one and only child. She would not be able to see me on a daily basis anymore.
I was about to move thousands of miles away from her. She cried a lot as I was about to go through security. Seeing her hurting like that hurt me, and I cried, too.
My dad then tried to cheer me up.
“Gui, why are you crying? The fun part is just about to get started!”
I understood what he was saying, and agreed, because at the end of the day, my dream was finally coming to life.
So I processed that, and I told myself:
“I am going to make mom proud.”
And so the dream, that at the moment seemed like madness, began. Having my dad close to me for that moving week was great help. He definitely eased the transition.
I ended up landing in Los Angeles literally the day before school started, on August 16, 2017.
The first day in the City of Angels gave me a preview of what the madness would be like.
I arrived early in the morning and started scrambling with my dad to get everything I needed for school. The school was paperless, so we had to find a Best Buy to get an iPad. Then we had to go find dress up clothes.
Then I moved into my new house, unpacking everything I had. By the time all of that was done, it was time to go to bed and get ready for school the next day.
The day came when my dad had to head back. I could only briefly say bye to him due to my overpacked schedule.
Of course, I was bummed that he was leaving, but at the same time, I was ready and confident to start this journey officially by myself.
Prior to heading to LA, my dad was super skeptical that my English was good enough, that I would have a hard time blending in because I am naturally shy, and whatnot.
But seeing me figuring stuff out on my own without his watch made him feel better.
On that goodbye, I joked with him, and asked him: “Are you still worried about me?”
And in the proudest, calmest manner possible, he answered: “Oh, I’m extremely relaxed now. Seeing how you are handling everything, I’m 100% sure you got this. Not worried at all”
After my dad headed back home, I was on my own.
That first month in America was incredibly hard for me.
I was still a 15-year-old kid away from home, where all my family and friends were, playing an incredibly different and harder style of basketball, while trying to reshape my academic habits. By the time my days were over, I was extremely stressed. My head was steaming. I was fatigued both mentally and physically.
I knew I had to restart the same routine the next day.
Weekdays started bright and early at 6 in the morning with lifting followed by conditioning. Then we would head to class from 8 a.m. until 1:30 p.m. After class, we would have practice, followed by a shooting workout, followed by study hall. We would be done around 5:30-6 p.m.
All of that while speaking English, a non-primary language for me.
I was praying a lot every day, which included emotional cool-off calls with my mom crying. I was trying my best to do my best in all aspects of life.
The calendar pages kept flipping, and I kept getting more comfortable.
I was becoming more familiar with the new environment and making more friends. Everything seemed to naturally fall into place.
I arrived in California as a sophomore. By the time I graduated, I was on the League’s First Team and League MVP.
It was gratifying to see all the hard work being rewarded.
I had become both a disciplined basketball player and a disciplined student. I was leaving the institution with an average 4.1 GPA.
I was awarded a scholarship that would make my dream of playing college ball in America come true. I would study and play basketball at Carroll.
New challenges lay ahead. A boy from Sao Paulo, Brazil, one of the biggest cities in the world with more than 12 million people, was moving to Helena, Montana, the smallest city I ever lived in with about 30,000 people.
But I was confident I could handle whatever surprises were in store for me.
Even a pandemic.
But that’s a story for another time.
