The forgotten photograph.

     Para a versão em Português, clique aqui.     

     Once upon a time in the future, and she can't remember a single thing. Can't remember her wedding day, nor the many trips she did, nor the places she went to. Can't remember her children's birth dates, nor their first days in school, nor the days they left home. But she does remember their faces, can't forget their names. She kept the people, but forgot all the facts.

    
     Nothing is as important as the story it carries within, but hers isn't hers anymore. Everyday, she holds on to whatever others tell her about the adventures of her lifetime, even though not everything seems true or right. She can't guess if she would really climb a mountain, but she can't remember if she was ever scared of heights. Some stories seem so simple she can't believe she could have forgotten them. But that's what she got - she fell asleep, and, one day later, everything was gone.
     

     "Have I so far lived a life worth living?"

    
     With love, every weekend, she would sit down with her husband, children, grandchildren, siblings and friends and examine all of the memories she kept all those years. And they would tell her about prom dresses, first kisses, family trips, parties they went. The photographs were many, the objects as well. Luckily, she has always been a storyteller. All of her children and grandchildren could tell where she had bought each of the snowglobes in her collection. And they would retell her the same one she first told them, so many times, before she forgot everything. They all knew the first drinks she had in every glass and mug she kept, and why some book covers were dirtier than others. She would smile, hearing about a life that was hers, as if it was someone elses's. Maybe tomorrow she would forget that as well.

    
     "Nana", her third older granddaughter, nearly grown-up, asked her, one day, "do you remember the people in this picture?"

    
     It was a small photograph, slightly blurry, but no one there could tell much more about it. "These were good friends of mine, my dear. But I don't know why.". The landscape seemed cold and bucolic, but they were all smiles. Rocks, yellow winter fields, and a grey foggy sky. Anyone smart enough would have guessed they were in the English countryside. "I would guess this is in the English countryside, ma", her smarter daughter spoke, "but, unfortunately, I have reasons to believe all these friends have already passed away. I can recall having been to at least one funeral with you".
     
     She careful and sadly examined the photograph. If they were all gone, as well as her memory, who else could remember that day? Five beautiful happy young people, but no one could tell the reason they smiled. The frozen moment would last forgotten. The whole room remained in silence, for much longer than it was usual in that family.

    
     "Nana", her only great-grandson, almost gone through childhood, that dreamt of being Peter Pan just like she used to, "I can make up a story for your picture, then you can be happy like that again! Could I, please?"

    
     He rapidly sat down next to her. He was quite clever. His mommy told him nana would no longer remember that they would read Peter Pan everytime he would stay at ther place for the weekend. He kept bringing the book with him, though, but he would read her stories about Neverland. And, now, he would read a story in the subtle lines of that picture no one knew a thing about.

    
     "You're all smiling, nana, because you've just eaten magical delicious food that makes you feel really really happy! You and your two friends are sitting down on the rocks because you ran a lot to get there! You would stop by to play with every animal on the way up! Your friends standing would shout at you all the time 'Girls, come quickly, before it's too cold!', but you didn't want just to get on the top, you wanted to have fun! The grass is only half green because winter came just like a wave, that destroyed just little by little, and that's why only half of it has been burnt by the cold! The picture is blurry because even the person who took it was very cold, but forgot to bring gloves! And I'm sure you left home very early, to have the most fun before the Sun was gone! You may not be holding each other, nana, but I know you were holding each other in your hearts, because I think you really loved these friends, nana. I'm sure you loved them a lot, just like I love you."

    
     And she really loved them. That, she could tell. She loved them all - the friends in the photographs, the children, the grandchildren, the great-grandchild, the husband. She couldn't remember a thing, but she knew that, whoever had this much love in life, should have lived an amazing life. On that day, they stayed up later, making up new stories about the photos and objects whose real stories no one could tell.

     

     [This post is part of the 80 Somethings project. Read more about it here.]     
   

"Look at this photograph!"

   
       

Brazilian Girl in the UK - some impressions.

      Para a versão em português, clique aqui.

     I left home on the 18th of September, and arrived in the UK on the 19th. It's been six months and a half now. Six months and a half of growth, many challenges, many things learnt, many dreams come true. My life here is a blessing, for several reasons - I have good friends, get to travel a lot, feel much safer walking around the streets, and, to be honest, I love the complications of doing life on my own.
However, this is a text about one very expected reality shock.

     Leicester, in spite of being the home town of the future champions of the Premier League, is also considered to be the most diverse city in the United Kingdom, and that is by no means a lie. I suspect that, amongst the people of my acquaintance, I handle people of at least 20 different nationalities on a daily basis, from immigrants to people born british, but raised in their family heritage. I go to university with people from Pakistan to the Baltics, always chat to the owner of the Costcutter next to my student court, born and raised in India, and my british best friend, Hannah, is half chinese, half mauritian. 

     Hannah herself was the one who told me with the proper words about the impressions that I had been been collecting over the past months, of how there is so much diversity around, but so little mix, in proportion. In fact, she said that mixed races couples only became an actual reality from her parents' generation, but, still, we see the division between different people. There are very strong boundaries, like, for example, between chinese people and indian and black people; and, inside the universities, most would rather hang with other students from their own fellow country. The biggest division, though, is still between english people and non-english people.

     In this crossfire, I, one always considered white enough not to suffer with racism in my home country, have found myself caught.

     The title of this text connects my three realities - as a a girl, woman, as a brazilian citizen, and as someone who currently lives in Europe. These realities are the source of these restlessness and frustration that have convinced me to write tonight.

     As a woman, chauvinism in society paints me as an object all the time. As a brazilian woman, I carry several different heritages in my blood, amongst Portugal, Spain, Cape Verde and indigenous people. As a brazilian woman living in Europe, I am always evaluated under the specific stereotypes designed for my country, whilst still standing with the rest of the non-european foreigners as mixed-race, never good enough as those whose veins carry blood subtly called pure (I assume no one has been reading Harry Potter with the right approach).

     Working in pubs across the city, it was never that hard to understand that most of english boys would rather buy drinks from my english friends. I've heard the most absurd comments, such as "how brown" my eyes are, and, once, I was asked twice if I was asian. Actually, they so eagerly ask about the heritage of non-english girls, as if there was a checklist of different races to be tasted.

     The current impression is that, in their eyes, regardless of how sucessfully we could fit in their society, we would still carry the badge of foreigners. Exotics - that innocent word that turns people into objects to be appreciated. The ones who leave their countries to steal jobs and husbands from others. Samba dancers, carnival. The girlfriends their parents would not approve.

     My refuge, in this frustration, is being sure that God is the One with all the answers that I need, and this subject is not an exception. My life, my destiny, my paths, everything has been surrendered to the Almighty. And my citizenship is in Heaven, as Paul said in Philippians 3:20. As long as I'm on Earth, I will always be a foreign. Long live us pilgrims!
   
   
     

Single Awareness Day

     Para a versão em Português, clique aqui.
 
    One of the most irritating comercial celebrations must be Valentine's Day. The "Single Awareness Day" pun fits well the situation, in which we are forced to cope with Love being in the air everywhere we go. This year, living in the UK, I had to experience Valentines Day twice in 8 months, between the brazilian 12th of June and today, the 14th of February. I believe that the short amount of time and the fact that I actually had a boyfriend last year have made me quite thoughtful.
     

     Thinking about everything that I've ever been through, from the distance of experience, has made me realise how I've already allowed my needs to guide me to poor life choices. Relationships with bad endings weren't necessarily bad relationships, and every experience is an excellent opportunity for us to learn a lot about ourselves and others - but, maybe a little bit more thinking and pondering would have kept people from going forward in situations that were clearly made to step back. However, we are easily deceived by our eyes, and some situations just seem so ideal that we are not conscious enough to see the fragile base on which the love we believe to be building stands.
     

     It's this same need that saddens the lonely hearts on Valentine's Day. It's hard not to catch yourself staring blankly at your bedroom window after scrolling through your Facebook and Instagram feeds, questioning whether Mr. and Mrs. Right will ever come to you. And that's one serious issue, because a lot of very nice people are getting hurt in exchange of cheap gifts and late night "I love you" texts. And not only the young ones, I'm afraid.
     

     I've already heard so many speaking about the perks of being single and how important it is to enjoy this time of our lives, but most of them still don't quite get the point of it. I believe that human beings were created to be in groups, to live in pairs, but, at the end, we are individuals, above everything else. No one else is allowed inside your head, but yourself and God. And if you never learn how to turn yourself inside out, and know yourself, and love yourself, you can't possibly expect to do the same for others. Our collective coexistence is perfected in ourselves, more than in the midst of everyone, because good relationships are based in treating others the way we would like to be treated.
     

     And what would you like, anyway?

     

    

Once again, Friend's Day.

     Para a versão em português, clique aqui.
     
     A reasonably famous campaign defends that, in christian life, Christ is first, others are second, we are third. I agree with that - I've already been led to believe that I would only be fit to live in society once I could comfortably live with myself. Today, I realise that my ways are better perfected in the midst of people and the hardest trials that society can put us through.
     

     When you move out, and leave your comfort zone, you obviously learn a lot about yourself, but also about the true meaning of friendship, partnership, trust, honesty. Extreme situations have this power of revealing the best and worst about everything, and distance reveals the real intensity of the relations that are part of our everyday life. You also spend a lot of time on your own, thinking about nothing and scrolling through your Whatsapp contacts list.
     

     That's not necessarily wrong, or bad. We may be social beings, but we are still individuals, essentially, and always end up on our own. I used to be someone perfectly happy with being lonely, because that was all I knew back then. Nowadays, I may appreciate it sometimes, but I've been blessed enough to meet people who accepted me with all my oddities and peculiarities, and who were bold enough to convince me to tear down my walls. The ones that I love, look up to and wants the most around me are those who have truly touched my heart, those that I miss when all that's left is the Holy Spirit and I, staring at the cars on Eastern Boulevard.
     

     I dedicate this text, first of all, to Jesus, my best friend, the One who first loved me; to my family, the first ones to have my back when I need; to the old friends, those who have been loving me since I wasn't quite loveable myself; to the friends who stick closer than brothers, always welcome at my own home; to the everyday friends, the ones who fight with me the battle of reaching adulthood; to the friends that are with my in this pilgrim's journey in this land, the ones who use my toilet and with whom I share the bread, the tears, with whom I eat salt; to the friends in faith from home, the ones who were kind enough to believe in me when I couldn't, and who always cover me with their prayers; and to the friends in faith from my new land, the ones who daily reassure me that, as hard as things may get, I'm finally making my way in this world.
     

     Not every friendship is meant to last forever, but any friendship can be amazing while "forever" seems to fit within a few weeks, months, years. I am very thankful to every person that was, is and will be part of my life. I'm also happy to have been part of the lives of so many incredible people, and I hope that I've touched their hearts as deep as they've touched mine. At the end, this text is dedicated to all those who offer me memories that make me look back sometimes, just to realise how worth living my life has been. Thank you. 

     

     

"The Ugly Duckling" is not about Beauty.

     Para a versão em Português, clique aqui. 
      
     Blame it on the filters, the make up and the gym membership, but most of us seem to carry within this feeling of having been one very very ugly duckling, now grown into the most beautiful swan in the pond. Honestly, any self esteem is good for the heart, and I won't be one to question people's search for an evergrowing love for themselves.

    
     However, growing up and understanding how much harm can be caused by the social perception of beauty has made me reject its importance in my life. You can blame it on Funny Girl, maybe, but the last thing that I want to be important about me is how pretty I am or am not. I enjoy having and expressing one very loud personality, louder than anything else - not necessarily screaming, but mostly. 

    
     I was thinking about this as I watched the dozens of swans living on the river right opposite to my student hall.

         

     One very interesting thing that studying Art allows me to is overthink about things, to the point of being capable of extracting from them hidden meanings and purposes theretofore nonexistent to me, but real enough for my subconscious to learn from them. So, Hans Christian Andersen was most probably only talking about his past as an ugly child, and rejoicing on the beauty and glory that the years had brought, but I'd rather understand The Ugly Duckling as a story about identity.
     

     If you have never seen swans, know that they are huge birds, constantly cleaning their white feathers, and usually spill water on those who don't feed them (but I'd guess that's an specific feature of the ones who live next to me). Their babies are greyish and could be the clumsiets and fuzziest creatures swimming on fresh waters. You can tell that swans and ducks don't belong with each other, even though they can be seen hanging together.
     

     After being rejected by his mother, sublings, and basically every other creature he ever met in his life, the duckling strongly believed he wasn't much more than one very unlucky bird. Even though he had already seen the swans, and was aware of their existence, he couldn't see himself as one of them, because he couldn't think of himself as anything other than what he had heard his whole life. His identity was distorted, as a fogged mirror in which he could only see disappointment.
     

     Life can be really ungrateful to those who take a longer time to finally fit in, because there is a rush; the world won't stop spinning around for you to go somewhere else and try to figure out yourself. Then, we can all relate to the unfortunate events in the life of the duckling. Some may say that the tale enhances the idea of superiority between different types of people. I'd rather highlight that the duckling's biggest joy wasn't discovering himself as one of the beautiful birds - or even the most beautiful of them all - , but having found a place to belong, to feel welcome and important, instead of freezing to death alone in the winter.
     

     One of the greatest joys in life, for me, is that, after so much pain and trials, I know who I am and I have found a place, several places, in which my presence is desired, in which I can grow into a better person, and help others as well. I could say that, now, I am a swan surrounded by so many others swans, but we could be ducks, seagulls, bears, bees, ravens. And I may not always feel happy, but I am happy to have a purpose, a focus, a direction. The ugly duckling flew his way into the sky, and I've just spread my wings and followed his path. I hope that you will join us someday.

     

     

You don't miss a thing.

     Para ler em Português, clique aqui.

     There is a mystery behind His eyes.

    
     To be fair, there's a mystery behind every pair of eyes, once we were made in His own image. How we amazingly see each other through so many different lenses, how I wish I could see myself through other people's eyes, and how I wish I could lend my own eyes to others, for them to see as much value as I see in such simple things. 

    
     But the eyes of the Lord - they run back and forth throughout the whole Earth. We're 7 billion now, but our Mighty God has seen every single person that ever walked on this planet. Every now dead being got caught in the eyes of the Father once, twice, so many times. He sees it all, praise His name. He knows it all, glorify His name. There's nowhere to hide that His Love wouldn't find us - for the Lord is no Big Brother watching us, but He watches over us. 

    
     As I lay here awaken, way past my bedtime, and wonder about who I am, I still find it amazing that the Lord has seen me, and chosen me. I can't blame those who find it hard to believe that God loves them and has a plan for them - although plenty of milleniuns believe the world revolves around them, depression and low self-esteem are getting higher every year. The world is toxic to us - to our identities, to every single special trait of ours. Everything is taken away. I have been there - hopeless, weakened, no direction, no purpose, so many fears, so many doubts.

    
     But, in this crowd of seven billion, He never misses a thing. 

    
     To be fair, I am not much of a big deal. None of us is, we can't do a single thing on our own. We are limited, but He does for us everything we couldn't do. When we fall, when we don't know, when we can't say, when there is no other hope, He is always there, waiting for us to to cry to Him with our voices. He is the Light that burns brighter than the Sun. And I am just a tiny little thing, making my boast in the Lord. I celebrate my life, celebrate the years behind me, the years ahead of me, the year I'm living now. I celebrate the hard days, I celebrate the pain of coming and going, because He goes before me every step that I take.

    
     I believe that the mystery of godliness lays in how the glorified God places us safe in His arms, and has a plan for us. He speaks only the truth, and His truth sets us free - for when the world tells us we are weak, and small, and buries us under fake notions of unattainable perfection, the Lord is merciful, and His mercies are new every morning, and we rejoice in being weak, for His power is made perfect in weakness.

    
     Years may go by, but my heart is permanently amazed by this unstoppable Love that saved me, and saves me every day, and that I will never be deserving of. I was born for the glory of the Lord! My Father loves me. Let the whole world hear that I am loved, let all the bullies, the highest, the lowest know that I have a shield around me, a best Friend who lifts up my head and takes me by the hand when everything falls apart. There was a mystery behind His eyes, and I have solved it, as I looked into them - I am His, and He is mine.
     

 
     

When words fail

     It’s hard for me not to think about the time I’ve been abroad whenever I try to write down my feelings and ideas, because that’s basically the most important thing going on in my life. 81 days now. Trying to explain how fast it’s going is pointless and hurtful, because I’ve caught myself thinking of how I could just stay here and never return to the mess that my homeland has become a lot more times than I wish I had.

     

     Anyone in this same position of not only leaving home, but moving to a whole different country, will definitely waste a lot of time complaining about all the comfortable things one has lost when deciding to go on this life-changing jouney. Luckily, I’m not anyone to complain on how I miss my car and my warm weather without speaking first of all these new things I’ve figured out about myself. That’s why I think that most of us eventually end up with some huge text posted online. Internet has made it easier for anyone to catch up with our latest experience. That’s phenomenal. We just love to tell the world how we are.

     

     I ocasionally end up talking a little bit about my experiences here on my snapchat, not just because it’s a fantastic social network (yes, it is) because of how quick you share things and they disappear forever shortly after, but also because I know that there’s a lot of people who care about me and that expect me to tell them what’s going on with my life on a daily basis (hi, mom), and snapchat just makes it a lot easier, closer, more human. I could actually be doing this on snapchat, recording my words and the weird yet funny faces that I effortlessly do.

     

     But this is a reflection about writing. And writing demands words to be typed, read, felt together. God bless those who made it possible for blind people to read with their own hands. The inner feeling we get with our eyes is surprisingly comparable.

     

     I’ve tried to understand what writing actually means to me a bunch of times. I believe that I may have finally and inadvertently assembled a rather satisfactory answer to that question, while renewing this blog’s layout. “Escrever é meu mapa pessoal do tesouro de ser feliz” (“Writing is my personal map of the treasure of being happy”), and I am the land to be explored.

     

     The truth behind that may be the key to this wonderful self-awareness I have developed over the past years. As complicated as I may be, as uncontrollable, unstable and emotional as I may get, I would have never been able to acknowledge that through any other way than literature. I may have abandone my tales and poems for a while, but I still see myself in each one of the characters I created, and I ocasionally think of them and wonder how their lives would be now if they were alive somewhere else than inside my head. But, still, I can’t help but write all the time.

     

     I haven’t been exposing myself lately in a desperate attempt to protect my own heart from my own stupidity, but I must say that I am most certainly tired of covering my feelings up. I have too many, and they just don’t fit inside this body of mine (even with all the weight I’ve gained since moving out). I live in a constant overflow of feelings. Even if my words never reach the paper, never get typed, I write all the time inside of my head, as if my gray matter demanded imaginary words written on its surface. My passion for the Arts and the Sciences may be high, but I am a writer, after all. I may be writing at you right now, actually, on the lines of this beautiful colorful iris of yours that I’ve been staring at for so long.

     

     A picture may be worth a thousand words, but I only know of music speaking whenever words fail. But that’s something for a different moment. For now, words are enough for me.

Frowning

- Are you sure you want to do this?

- Oh, Harriet, stop this drama. It’s just a birthday letter. Letting me read it won’t kill us at all.

- Ok, fine, I’ll let you read it, but do it out loud. And don’t forget what I’ve told you before.

- What have you told me?

- *sigh*Honestly, Elise?

- It doesn’t matter. I’ll just start it, before you take your words back.

- Quick, please.

- “Dear Harriet,”

- Oh, here we go.

 - “It’s undeniably interesting how time runs slower or faster according to one’s point of view. ”

“You know, dear, reality is just a matter of perception – time and space perception, to be more specific. A person can, eventually, unwittingly pass through its entire life believing that living miserably and mediocrely is the undiscovered key to happiness (instead of trust and self-assurance, as The Eagles would say), and without noticing how subjected to circumstances out of its own power it is. And, of course, I don’t mean subjection to others’ power alone. I mean subjection to the undeniable and untouchable power of The Universe, supported (in its whole mean) by whatever stands behind it – I’d say ‘God’, which is true for me, but I must definitely respect your always valuable opinion; or opinions, we haven’t seen each other for a while and I’m not quite sure of what’s been in your mind. Or out of it.”

- And you wonder why I frown.

- Silence! “There’s a moment – a take-it-or-leave-it one, anyone would suppose – in which serious decisions should be taken, with no excuses allowed; it doesn’t matter how seriously committed with the truth one might be. It doesn’t matter how much love, passion, anger, or any other feeling, fulfills this one’s heart. Nothing can actually set us apart as ‘crucial moments free’, but there’s definitely something to set you apart from this misguided crowd of misguided mediocre existences; unfortunately, I haven’t really discerned what this ‘something’ is or means, once I had been looking for a general however specific and unique definition. Nonetheless, I have reached the conclusion that each useless person in this world can be a stood out – although that would be undeniably bewildering, once a crowd wholly stood out remains a crowd –, and standing out is something that can be done through one’s own individuality and special abilities, besides the help of one or one hundred more powerful people, and by powerful I mean ‘moneyful’. You may say how obvious this all sounds, but if so, there would be much more proper genius walking on this Earth and, provided I’m much of a proper genius, I am sure there aren’t many properly established around.” What?

- Keep going on, there is a moment in which everything makes sense.

- “You could wonder the reason why all those specially nearly delusional sentences were typed in the same letter, forced within the same context, running out of any sticky logic putting it together, such as sense, order, cohesion, etc. Well, dearest of them all, I have no other intention than to make you aware of how important, special and full of potentials you are. Nevertheless, don’t feel offended by me saying ‘full of potentials’. I have been watching your growth and encouraging your always mind-blowing intelligence for so long that I have lost account of time myself. And, once you’re turning 18, I believe it is the perfect time for your naturally outstanding person to turn those already bright potentials into consumed acts. Much more to-be-acts than I can actually count using nothing but my fingers and toes. If you’d prefer, I could consider my hair and arms as countable tools, but that wouldn’t be necessary whatsoever. There’s no need to count the stars, once you’re sure they’re so many they light up the sky from the brightest day to the darkest night.” This is so sweet, Harry.

- Keep reading it, Elise.

- “Year after year I send you, alongside a sweet vintage gift, one of these always long and senseless letters, even though filled with the best of kindness I can extract from myself, so I suppose the lack of sense and warmth must be getting into your mind as the most normal, sweet and full of logic stuff. If not so, please don’t let me know. There are few things which I would rather not be aware of. In general, they are considerably important things in my life and routine, so consider yourself as part of this select group hidden inside the closest to ‘heart’ I have ever had. Oh, and, of course, let me say ‘happy birthday to you’, Harriet. Being expelled from your grandmother’s uterus has never been quite of some happiness to me, but as I’ve already told you, you’re significantly significant for me to receive my cheering words for being around for 18 years after you own expel, but from my sister’s uterus, of course.”

“Keep up with the good work. You’re one of those rare life winners, which managed to be successful and happy altogether. Never lose that, or you’ll never recover your humanity – always see me as the best not-to-follow example of them all. And don’t forget that, although you have one of the most beautiful smiles I’ve ever seen, the most powerful one is hidden near your eyebrows.”

“Truly yours,”

“Your (may I dare say ‘beloved’?) Uncle S.”

- *sigh* So, what do you think?

- I remembered what you said.

- Oh, really? That fast? *laugh* So, what was it?

- You said these letters were the reason why you’d always frown.

[Pause].

- Why do you frown, Harriet?

- Well, I would say I’m just smiling, but upside down.

[Composition for english class - C1 level]