I’ve never watched Ayrton Senna on the track. Not at the Interlagos circuit, and certainly not on my dad’s old tube television.

In fact, when I came into this world, Brazil was mourning the sixth anniversary of the death of a national hero. In the year 2000 when I was born, Corinthians lifted the trophy for the first FIFA Club World Cup held at the Maracanã Stadium, and later we watched in shock as the bus of Line 174 was hijacked by Sandro Barbosa do Nascimento, who held ten hostages for four hours in the Jardim Botânico neighborhood of Rio de Janeiro.

Time passed, and things happened, as is natural. Except for Brazil.

Brazil remained trapped in the painful memory of loss and succumbed to the endless questioning of whys and what-ifs. Why did the San Marino Grand Prix go on? What if he had refused to race, as he had indicated he wanted to do?

The truth is that the Brazilian people questioned Ayrton’s death so much because we were unable to develop the same affection for any other athlete. People at the time feared the replacement of the image created around Senna, and the natural ebb and flow of iconic figures did not help either.

The journey of the three-time Brazilian champion’s heroism was followed by millions of people, and his rise was a story that was bought, applauded, and defended by the entire country. Seeing a man from Santana, São Paulo, win was a relief on weekends during a time that offered little solace to the average Brazilian.

Despite his seemingly cold demeanor, Ayrton occasionally revealed glimpses of sweetness. He was, above all, a transparent man, capable of delivering controversial statements in interviews or sharing authentic thoughts with a reporter in the paddock. Regardless, he was a good person. He was friendly, fearless, and saw things with great clarity, whether it was the state of a car or the state of education in a country, for example.

Ayrton Senna da Silva was real. Perhaps that is what hurts the most when we remember that the country lost him. We lost someone who said beautiful things, like:

“To all of you who are watching now, I say, whoever you are, whatever your position in life, from the highest to the lowest, have as your main goal lots of strength, lots of determination. And always do everything with much love and faith in God. Someday, you will get there. Somehow, you will get there.”

He was also someone who confessed frightening truths, like the fear of dying.

We lost someone who flooded Brazil with joy in the 1980s, a bronzed-skinned star in the midst of a crowd of pale Europeans. A man who, one day after the defeat of the Brazilian national team in the 1986 World Cup, waved the green and yellow flag in Detroit, Canada.

As if to say, ‘Hey, we lost on the grass, but on the asphalt, we’ve got this!’

What a joy it must have been to watch Ayrton Senna. I never saw him race, but I miss him.