I miss you

You bad, bad mood! Roll over and play dead!

Keep smiling. Stay below the speed limit. Don't stop. Don't cry. Don't feel anything. Don't tell anyone. Don't forget to pay the bills. Don't talk to strangers. Don't eat that. Don't forget to close the door. Don't be yourself. There's no place for humanity on Earth. Headshot! - Hypocrisy wins.

O senhor que contava anedotas

Era uma vez um senhor idoso que tinha um cão.
De Setembro a Novembro o senhor levava o cão à caça uma vez por semana; o resto do ano fazia-lhe festas e passeava-o no quarteirão, às vezes com os netos, outras vezes sem. O resto do tempo ia à ginástica, a jantaradas com os amigos, lia, viajava, via filmes, apanhava linhas presas na alcatifa e arreliava a esposa. E contava anedotas. Sempre as mesmas, sempre diferentes. É que este senhor tinha um dom: conseguia contar qualquer anedota, por mais simples que fosse, de maneira engraçada e, pasme-se, apropriada para qualquer audiência. Quando não era uma anedota completa era uma interjeição no momento certo, uma referência, uma punchline inteligente ou uma abordagem nova a uma piada conhecida. E tinha sempre piada.
Um dia o senhor começou a ficar esquecido. Esquecia-se das chaves do carro, dos óculos escuros e de metade do que acontecia nos filmes, nos livros e no resto. Começou a dizer bom dia, boa tarde e boa noite duas vezes.
De vez em quando dizia que tinha que ir para casa, que a mãe estava à espera dele, e um dia foi.
A esta hora devem estar os dois a rir a bandeiras despregadas, porque mesmo contadas pela metade as anedotas do senhor nunca deixaram de ter piada.

Pssshhht... já pisei uma gasosa!

Once upon a time

My journey, just like everybody's journey, is unique. I've been many things and seen many things, and the things you live have the power to change you. And here some people say: don't let them! and other people say: it's inevitable, if you have a shitty life you'll be miserable and perhaps even a bad person, and vice versa. I say things do change you, but you do have a say in the direction that change takes.

I was born loved, healthy and cute. Then I was raised by weird (erhum, somewhat alternative) standards that set me apart from the flock and made me a target. And I was (and still am) an emotional person, and was not ready for or aware that people could be so mean for no apparent reason. As I grew, I grew further apart despite all my frustrated attempts to fucking belong somewhere. I tended to be bullied everywhere, from the playground to the cafeteria, to the kids in my own neighborhood, including the ones that were supposedly my friends. I felt ugly, lonely and desperate. I also always feared I might be crazy. I felt different, in a very bad way. I thought the problem was me and when i finally tried to reach out to my parents at some point in middle school they inadvertently reinforced this idea. You see, my father has his own journey and he taught himself that when he did things "right" everything went OK (and it did) and no one would even think of bullying him or scolding him (like, society as a whole wouldn't "dare" or "have a reason"). As I grew up, this thought of being perfect ("right") took over me without me noticing it, and paradoxically made me feel like whatever was wrong, was actually ME, because I'd tried everything else and I kept on getting bad results at life (not at school, I was a year ahead and I didn't even try - I didn't get good grades but it was easy to be average at that point and I didn't give a fuck about grades anyway since it didn't count for anything until you got to high school). 

Then things changed. High schools in my hometown are separate from lower level schools, so when you get to high school, you always change schools - and there's three different ones to choose from so people mix and match and I knew virtually no one of my new classmates. Suddently, people didn't call me by the same names, didn't chant in the hallways, they didn't know! And surprisingly, when they didn't know they also didn't notice anything weird, or different or wrong. But I was making an effort to fit in anyway, and at the same time trying to understand who I was and why I sometimes still didn't identify completely with the flock's views or ways. I studied hard, partied some and got into vet school. Life was good.

When things finally got bad, it wasn't social, or this or that. It was actually me. You see, you can't choose what happens to you, but you can choose how you see it. The ways I reacted to this later in college - when I failed a year and lost the only real base of my self-esteem at the time: school smarts - were catastrophic and caused me to seriously fuck up my college experience. I was a year in deep depression and the fact that I'd failed was only half of what was going on in my head, the problem was the rest. The old, buried parts. Silly stories of kids on playgrounds could induce panic attacks, self-hate, loss of appetite, feelings of worthlessness and this rage... this furious anger that was growing inside me. A feeling of unfairness and of having been wronged. Then there's the crisis and no one can get a job around here without mad skills in something or a serious college education. Preferably both. And here I was fucking up my opportunities and managing a house full of college "teenagers". Practically a homemaker or a maid. And for free (circumstances for another day...). These are pieces of my head at the time. It all scared the shit out of me. 

Well, my point is, I'm not mad anymore and I'm not scared anymore. And I don't think I ever will again. Not like scared of a beast or something, that would still scare me, and that's healthy xD - like scared "trapped in your head" scared. Scared shitless of life as a whole. I now understand that everyone has a journey and choices to make. All of these nameless "characters" in my journey are people with a journey and choices to make. Now you say: "thank you captain obvious" (read with a bored, disappointed tone). And now I say: right, but that means that maybe I could have avoided the escalation if I had really understood what that meant at the time. And so, it also means that I can still remember now, that the people who mistreat you for whatever reason don't always mean to and when they do, its their choice. Your choice is what you make of that, but knowing that people tend to act out of fear or its products (anger, power, over-protectionism...) I find that those are their motives; independent from me unless I give them a reason, like retaliating or enabling them (like perhaps bursting into tears when someone's motive is power). That doesn't mean I don't try to be better, but I'm not defending myself anymore. I'm not reacting like that anymore. You know, I'm not religious but Jesus was right, Gandhi was right, Buddha was right. You cannot change others but you can be a better person everyday, and be compassionate and when someone is a shitty person or you see them as a shitty person try to remember that they have a reason even if it's not a good one and stay calm, don't perpetuate the cycle. There's no point in being angry or, paradoxically, in forbidding ourselves to be angry. Feel what you feel, then don't be scared to let it go when it wants to go and understand instead. Be at peace. It's their choice. Make yours. I've read somewhere that gay people from the initial movements used to say: when someone insults you, OWN that insult. Make it into something good. Once upon a time my bullying name was Cinderella - I know, that's very weird, doesn't sound bad at all, but never underestimate the power of creativity. When this (recent) internal change started, I met hurricanewithwings​ who spawned out of the blue to empower that change in unexpected ways and one day, we were probably in the middle of some wilderness and I was probably wearing fake primark pearl earrings and shivering from the summer night's breeze in my navy high waisted shorts and she mockingly called me a princess. Then she stopped and said, wait, you are a fucking princess! Like, suddently in a good (obviously metaphorical) way. Isn't that ironic? Own yourself. Empower yourself, because even a princess's name can be a bad thing if "they" want and you believe it. Are you a slob? Maybe because you have better things to do? - be a disorganized genius instead. Are you aloof? Be dreamy. Are you fragile? Be delicate. Empower your best qualities, do what makes you happy and fuck what others think respect everyone else's right to be who they are and to make their own mistakes. Be kind, keep an open mind and become part of the solution.

- An ESFJ's views on life, society, self-growth and happiness. 

Major kudos for anyone who has the patience to read trough this wall of text xD

I woke up in the middle of the night and you were not here. Your pillow was there, so were your slippers, and your cell phone charger was by the bed. It appeared tidy and lived in, but you were not there. I looked and I called but I didn't find you, I'm scared and I don't want to go back to bed. It's dark everywhere and you're missing; I miss you. In the morning I put out ads but no one had seen you. Time has passed, I've put away everything but I keep finding your stuff, like it grows from mine, like it sprouts everywhere. A few days ago I found one of your mom's tupperware's in somebody else's house. Some days I just find tiny stuff, like a whiff of your perfume trapped inside some drawer or stuff you wrote on my walls. You wrote all over my walls, did you know that? You wrote on the inside of walls I'd never shown anybody. But you didn't tear down any walls; neither did I. Now I'm trapped inside all of my walls and no one knows their way through this labyrinth, so no one is coming to rescue me. There are no helicopters in one's mind, no way to avoid finding one's way the hard way.

Ghost

There's a parallel reality
In which you don't exist
There's also the once upon a time
To which I can't resist

Stuck between two worlds
Where I've always been
Can anyone really live
Without a home to live in?

When I look around I don't see you
Only the hole that you left
When I'm not trying I hear you
Maybe I'd rather be deaf

Golden leaves are coming soon
I thought it would be banal
But after this spring and summer
Is this the part where I fall?

Dream Shop

- Good morning, I'd like some dreams, please.
- Of course, and what kind of dreams are you looking for?
- Huh... I'm not sure, maybe a starter kit?
- Hum... I'm not sure we have any left but let me check the back.

Do you wanna build a snowman?

(it doesn't have to be a snowman...)

Waking up empty

All day I chased oblivion, all night I chased you. There was my cat and there were your kittens, there was a bunch of crazy people. I finally found you and your face looked different, but I knew better than to trust that. I trusted my gut and it led me nowhere, you still thought you were someone else. A thousand adventures through apocalypse, the feverish world exploding with detail - stories crossing, people passing... A few times we met, a few times we split, and when I thought it all was over... a door woke me up. How silly, I thought, it was so predictable - but still my mind has an odd way of thinking.

Why do I have to be crazy?

I pretend I don't care, but I pretend really badly.
I would like to propose we kill all those who damaged us. Who am I kidding? I'd forgive everyone in a split second. Do I cry so others know they hurt me? Do I cry because I need to? Do I cry because I'm crazy? This mess is killing me, this mess is drowning me; am I drowning myself? How do I stop this? Fuuuuck, I don't want to be here again. Could I find another shoe that fit if I needed to? Could I live barefoot forever? Everything is going to be ok, everything is going to be ok, everything is going to be ok. Nest-egg progress: 95%. Exam progress: 39%? Total progress: How the hell do I calculate that?! I hate this city, I hate the traffic, I hate the stressful speed, I hate everything. I miss having a home. I miss being really tiny and really smart and really loved. I miss not knowing the world was going to hate me since the day I put my foot outside my front door and into the evil social mess that is the world. I miss believing in myself. How did I go from "overachiever" to desperate housewife? How did I go from A+ to F-? How did I go from popular highschool girl to fat college failure? Why was I born with a "mess with me" sign on my forehead? Always scared of everyone, of everything, always on the sideline? It's going to get better, the cliché says. Is it? Ever? How? I've been here before, I know there's a light at the end of the tunnel and everything... just not a very bright light.

Tempo

Às vezes não há tempo. Não há tempo para um abraço, para um beijo, para um toque, para um olhar sequer. Às vezes não há tempo para se ser feliz. Às vezes não há tempo para se fazer alguém feliz. Às vezes há dias que não existem, nunca aconteceram, não sabemos para onde foram, escorrem pelo meio dos dedos e nem os tentamos agarrar porque não existem. São dias translúcidos, em que os pratos têm reflexos estranhos e os desenhos dos azulejos e as rachas das paredes nos entram pelos olhos dentro como se tivessem significado. Como se fossem interessantes ou de alguma forma contivessem respostas. Os azulejos de cabanas parecem-me sempre ter desenhos de patos azuis e amarelos em dias destes. O requiem do Labirinto do Fauno toca de fundo. A Sofia morreu outra vez.

Vou mesmo fazer outro post destes?

Inception

What is the most resilient parasite? Bacteria? A virus? An intestinal worm? An idea. Resilient... highly contagious. Once an idea has taken hold of the brain it's almost impossible to eradicate. An idea that is fully formed - fully understood - that sticks; right in there somewhere.


I'm going to improvise. Listen, there's something you should know about me... about inception. An idea is like a virus, resilient, highly contagious. The smallest seed of an idea can grow. It can grow to define or destroy you.

Obrigada a todos os que tornaram este dia tão especial.

Prejudice

It's in the color of your skin and in the length of your skirt.
It's in the money you make and in how you spend it.
It's in the doctor you see and in the drugs you take.
It's in the country you're from and in the people you love.
It's in the god you choose and in the one you don't.
It's in their eyes and in your own.
It's in your mind and nowhere else.

"We should therefore claim, in the name of tolerance, the right not to tolerate the intolerant." - Karl Popper

A Crise e o Peter Pan

Os desenhos animados bem avisavam que andavam aí vilões a querer roubar o Natal.

When am I ever going to going to grow up (or down) to be able to act the age I actually am?

If Happy people make Crappy art, do Crappy people make Happy art?

Paris

Fala-se tanto de Paris, eu nunca adorei Paris. Talvez não tenha sido suficientemente feliz das vezes que lá estive. Da primeira deram-me uma casinha de polly pockets e cortaram-me o cabelo. Da segunda preferia ter ficado em casa e ido sair com os meus amigos, em vez de ser uma menina bem comportada e jogar jogos de palavras no carro durante horas intermináveis com os pais e um miúdo pequeno. E sem telemóvel.

A casa do meu avô era pequenina, escura, tinha uma cabine de duche funda como uma banheira e a sala tinha uma janela que dava para a entrada do prédio, para controlar quem entrava e saía. Nós dormimos no sótão do prédio, numas arrecadações ou coisa parecida que faziam de quartos para alugar a imigrantes. Era escuro e metia medo. Num dia fomos à Disneyland, outro à torre Eiffel, e num deles fomos a casa de uma senhora que devia ser da família, usava imenso perfume e nos ofereceu chá demasiado doce em chávenas brancas e douradas. Era simpática, falava muito e chamava chérie a toda a gente. 

Lembro-me sempre de pensar onde andavam escondidos os parisienses todos, porque só via pessoas sem ar de serem de lá.

E dos prédios serem baixos e as ruas cinzentas claras, com muitas àrvores e muitos cães. Aliás foi por isso que me lembrei. Vi uma fotografia de Paris, que não era da torre Eiffel, nem das galerias Lafayette, nem dos Champs Élysées; era de uma rua normal, com prédios baixos e pedras cinzentas e àrvores. E de repente cheirou-me a Paris. À casa e ao rio e a algodão doce e ao perfume da senhora e acima de tudo àquele cheiro próprio que cada cidade tem e de que eu já não me lembrava.