Did Lisbon Have a Total Eclipse of the Heart?

Recently, in the middle of the day, the sky over Portugal went dark. The sun was swallowed by the moon, and for a few brief moments, the entire city stopped to put on cardboard glasses and look up. The total solar eclipse threw us into an untimely darkness, a sudden twilight that silenced the traffic and the usual chaos of our streets. But as I watched the city plunge into that cold penumbra, drink in hand and eyes fixed on the sky, I couldn't help but wonder: Did Lisbon have a Total Eclipse of the Heart?

Let's be honest, the romantic darkness of this city settled in long before the moon decided to meddle in front of the sun. Lisbon has become a desert of affection disguised as a tourist paradise. Romance, once the great protagonist of our nights out drinking in narrow alleyways, has been replaced by apathy and convenience. Cupid has fled the co-op (Thanks, Carrie.)

Sometimes, when I analyze the coldness with which we navigate dating apps, collecting rejections and silences as if they were stamps, I feel a pang of collective remorse that leaves me totally breathless. Being born in Lisbon has, definitely, made me a worse person. It taught me to always expect the next disappointment before the dessert even arrives to the table.

There is no longer room for boundless naivety. This is how they walk, the Lisboners: with broken bones healed slightly crooked, intertwined with one another. We carry our old emotional fractures into new beds, hoping no one notices we are held together by duct tape. There was a time, in a past that now seems to belong to another life, when I actually thought I could like someone so much that it would ruin them, and me too. An overwhelming passion that would destroy us beautifully. But today? Today, the mere idea of being ruined by love seems to require an energy that no one has anymore.

The truth is that Lisboners started focusing on everything they shouldn't. They like to drink, they are lazy, they have no God, no politics, no ideas & no ideals. They've adopted a sort of 'non-state', which they've accepted quite naturally. They don't make interesting people. Not that they want to be, let's face it, because that is too difficult and requires an effort that doesn't fit into our schedule.

Deep down, no one wants to live a grand cinematic romance or a passion that changes the course of History anymore. We've stripped love of its glory to turn it into a mere real estate and logistical transaction. What the average Lisboner actually wants is a two-bedroom apartment, close to the center, quiet, and to be left alone.

The eclipse passed. The sun once again illuminated the peeling facades of our old buildings, and the city resumed its noisy march. But, as I threw my cardboard glasses into the trash, I realized that the true shadow over Lisbon doesn't come from the sky. It comes from us. And for that darkness, unfortunately, there is still no forecast of when the light will reappear.