Um elogio à família (e aos Ferreiras)/ A praise to the family

Note: For the english version please scroll down

Família é onde encontras as pessoas que mais amas e odeias, às vezes ambas no mesmo corpo. É onde tens aqueles por quem darias a tua vida, aqueles que gostarias de dispensar e tudo o que está entre isso.

Não há famílias perfeitas, e quando costumavas ter tanto orgulho na tua, essa descoberta pode ser inicialmente um choque, contudo, depressa vais perceber que o que torna a tua especial não é o facto de ser perfeita mas única. À medida que cresces é natural que o que antes parecia um conto de fadas perca o seu encanto e revele as suas falhas, tornando-se uma decepção, mas se ficares tempo suficiente, se lhe deres uma hipótese vais perceber que mesmo que não seja tudo o que pensaste, o principal ainda lá está e os motivos pelos quais te sentiste orgulhoso inicialmente não mudaram.

Como tudo na vida, com a família tens uma escolha. Podes concentrar-te no lado negativo, e viver uma vida amargurada, ou guardar o que tem de melhor e ficar feliz por pertencer a um grupo tão único. Concordando com algumas das opções da minha familia ou não, sentindo que me enquadro perfeitamente nela ou não, quer os outros consigam compreendê-lo ou não, a verdade é que tenho orgulho de ser uma parte (activa) deste clã.

E talvez tenham havido momentos em que tive dificuldade em assumir o meu orulho por algo imperfeito, mas hoje posso dizer honestamente que isso é parte do que me faz gostar dela ainda mais, porque nada do que é bom acontece facilmente, tens de trabalhar por isso, e pertencer a uma familía tão imperfeitamente perfeita foi a lição ideal para compreender isso.

Porque algumas das minhas melhores memórias de família são coisas inimagináveis para a maioria das pessoas. Porque independentemente do quanto possa viajar, nada se pode comparar às férias passadas com mais de 30 Ferreiras. Porque esta é a única família que conhecço que organiza as suas próprias peças de teatro, espectáculos, campos de férias e acampamentos de verão. Porque é aquela em que as reuniões de família são esperadas com entusiasmo, em vez de uma obrigação, aquela em que podes ter uma licenciatura ou ser um artista que o nível de respeito por ti não vai mudar. Onde a casa pode estar cheia, mas vai sempre haver espaço para mais um. Porque foi onde aprendi a não me sentir especial por ajudar os outros, mas a encará-lo como algo natural. Onde aprendi a cair e levantar-me de novo, a ser independente, a olhar à minha volta e perceber que há sempre alguém mais pequeno, mais novo, mais fraco que podemos ajudar. Porque as drogas, o álcool, os psiquiatras e doenças mentais nunca foram um tabu e eu aprendi sobre eles não nas ruas, mas em casa, em primeira mão. Porque estas foram as pessoas que me ensinaram que um toxicodependente não deve não ser discriminado porque na verdade ele representa um perigo maior para ele próprio do que para os outros, as que não tiveram vergonha de contar uma história de um irmão que se perdeu no mundo das drogas, mas antes orgulho em contar como conseguiu sair dele.

Por isso, mesmo haja mentiras e brigas ou que nem sempre sinta que me enquadro, mesmo que seja triste que às vezes surjam problemas que interfiram com as relações e as pessoas não estejam sempre a torcer por ti como deveriam e prefiram afastar-se, mesmo que haja raiva, inveja e às vezes até maldade, nada disso será suficiente para apagar as lembranças e as histórias que ninguém que eu conheça até hoje foi capaz de igualar.

Há loucura e desatino por todo lado, mas há também um espirito e tradição unicos que eu nunca encontrei em outra familia, por isso no final, com tudo equacionado posso concluir que tenho orgulho de ser parte desta familia.

A praise to the familia

Family is where you find the people you most love and hate, sometimes wrapped up in the same person. Is where you have the ones you'll give up your life for, those who you wish you can dismiss and all that's in between.

There're no perfect families, and when you used to be so proud of yours, figuring this out can be a shock at first, but sooner you'll understand that what makes yours special is not being perfect but being unique. As life goes by and you grow up is only natural that what once seemed a fairytale reveals its flaws, and that can be disappointing, but if you stay long enough, if you give it a chance you'll realize that even if it's not all you thought, the core is still there and the reasons that made you love it at first haven't changed.

Like anything else in life, with family you have a choice. You can either focus on the bad and have a bitter existence or take the best it has and be glad you're part of such an unique group. Whether I agree or not with some of my family's options, whether I feel I'm a perfect fit for it or not, whether others can understand it or not, truth is I can only be proud of being an (active) part of this clan.

And maybe there was a time when I struggled to be proud about something not perfect, but now I can honestly tell that that's part of what makes me love it even more, because nothing that's good comes easy, you have to work for it, and being part of such a perfectly imperfect family was the best way to learn it.

Because some of my best family memories are things unheard for most people. Because no matter how much I travel, nothing can compare to the holidays spent with 30+ other Ferreiras. Because this is the only family I know that organizes their own plays, shows and summer camps. Because it's the one where family gatherings are actually something to look forward rather than a nightmare, the one where you can have a degree or be an artist that the level of respect for you won't change. Where you can have a full home but always find room for one more. Because it's where I learned not to feel like a saint for helping people but to see it as something natural. Where I learned to fall and get back on my feet, to be independent, to look around and see that there's always someone smaller, younger, weaker that we can help take care of. Because drugs, alcohol, psychiatrists and mental conditions were never a tabu and I learned about them not on the streets but at home, in first hand. Because these were the people who taught me that a drug addict shouldn't not be discriminated as he's more dangerous to himself than to anyone else, the ones that were not ashamed to tell a story about a brother who got lost in the drugs' world, but proud to tell us how he got out of it.

So, even if there're lies and fights or I don't always feel like I belong, even if it's sad that sometimes things get in the way and people are not always rooting for you and chose to walk away, even if there's anger and madness and jealously and sometimes even evil, still it's not enough to top the good parts. Still it will never be enough to erase the memories and the stories that no-one I ever met was able to match.

There's craziness and madness all around but there's also a unique spirit and tradition that I haven't seen in anybody's else family, so at the end of the day I'm proud to be part of it.  

Just let it run

Some days I just want to sit and write. Sometimes I wish I could pause the world and just dive into this sea of letters, words and feelings where you’re never hurt, never wrong, never misunderstood.

Real life feeds your imagination and it matters of course, but at times dealing with what’s real it’s not nearly as fun or appealing as driving the characters in your mind through the mess of their so perfectly imperfect lives.

There are days, weeks even, I think I’d be content just to be sitting here in the darkness of my room trying to figure out different ways to live through someone else’s stories, to figure about myself through someone else’s dilemmas. 

Simple pleasures

There are things in life that can’t be explained. Little pleasures that bright up your life and put a smile on your face. The safe spots, simple things that you took for granted in the past, that you almost forget in the rush of everyday but that when cross your path again still manage to bring out that peace, that pure joy.

I wanted to put in words how it felt today, touching that round piece of rubber again. I wanted to share how it changed my mood, how suddenly the 26+ sleepless hours didn’t seem to matter anymore. I wanted to put in writing how great I felt just to get in that court once again. I keep trying to find the words for it but I can’t find them… I wanted to do it so I could read it whenever I need little pick me up, I wanted to do it so I can share with you that amazing sensation but how can you explain it? How can you explain it to someone who never played the comfort (not just physical) it gives you to put on those baggy shorts? How you miss the ritual of getting your jersey on? How can you explain how soothing is the process of getting your sneakers ready and tied them perfectly? It just feels right… and right there you know you won’t regret going, right there you know you won’t feel tired, but that’s just the start. The real rush happens when you finally step in on the court, when you caress the ball between your fingers and give the first dribbles, the sound of it bumping on the floor warms you up inside. The swish sound of the first made shot echoes in your head and suddenly all makes sense… all the late nights and early mornings, the missed dinners and parties, the bruises the sacrifices, not because it was your obligation but because playing was above all a pleasure!

It’s uncanny how something that simple can change your mood in slip of a second. It’s illogical and I can’t explain it, not if you never had a passion like it but it’s good, it’s so good.

"Vindo do coração toda a gente sabe escrever..."*

Porque a essência da escrita não está na proeficiencia ou na correcção gramatical, nas palavras elaboradas ou nas frases rebuscadas, a escrita tem de vir de dentro, do mais fundo do teu ser. Toda a gente sabe escrever porque todos nós temos uma história, algo que nos move, que nos guia e nos torna quem somos. Toda a gente sabe escrever, só é preciso perder o medo de ir lá ao fundo, de tocar o intocável de explorar o que não é partilhado com mais ninguém.

A escrita não é universal, não toca a todos da mesma forma, mas há sempre alguém no mundo que vai entender exactamente o que queres dizer, alguém que partilha esse mesmo sentimento, essa mesma dor. Escrever não deve ser uma obrigação, não deve implicar esforço ou sacrifcio, as melhores produções fluem naturalmente, quando a lógica é posta de parte e finalmente ouves o que coração tem para dizer, quando perdes o medo, a timidez, quando o que os outros pensam deixa de ter importância, quando te despes de preconceitos e inseguranças e dás por ti sozinho... apenas tu e uma folha branca, sem julgamentos ou pressões, apenas um pedaço de papel à espera de ganhar vida com as palavras que correm no teu ser. 

* Título por B. Mendes

5000 visits!

A few months ago I made a special post celebrating 1500 visits on this blog, a blog that I had created in 2006, a blog that for the first years I didn’t share it with almost anybody and that suffered an almost 5 years hiatus. Little did I know that just a few months later I would be here celebrating the unbelievable number of 5000 visits! It still amazes me that a lot of you come here regularly, that you take the time to read these crazy things that come out of my head, that more often than I would expect you identify with what is written…

It’s both scary and exciting when I look at the list of countries that most visit my blog and I find that countries like Russia, Germany or France are part of the top 10 when I don’t even know anybody who lives there.

I always thought it was scary to put myself out there, to share my pieces but now I’m starting to understand why so many people take the risk, because it means the world everytime someone praises your work or gets exactly what you mean. The feedback, comments like:

“Your blog (…) make people feel peace” (Annonymous)

“Really special, a very inspiring and introspective piece of work” (Annee Tromp)

“Como te compreendo. Como é bom voltar a ler um dos teus textos” (Marco Mateus)

“Continua a inspirar-nos” (Rita M.)

“I have thoroughly enjoyed browsing your weblog posts, after all I'll be subscribing to your rss feed then I hope you write again quickly! “(Annonymous)

“Continue writing, you are GREAT!!!” (KKaytano)

“Mais uma vez espectacular” (Raquel)

“Amei” (Bagaça)

“Compreendo tao bem!adorei!” (Mariana P.)

“Claro que conseguiste puxar a lagriminha de mim” (Tânia P.)

are just a small sample of how rewarding it can be to accept a challenge. So to all of you that visit, read, comment or share this blog with others a BIG thank you! Your visits and comments light up my day. The only thing I can complain is not being able to meet you all, to know your stories, what keeps you interested, not being able to thank each and every one of you personally, so this was the way I found to do it.

Thank you for visiting, please keep coming back! And if you have you own blogs let me know so I can check them out! J

Top viewed posts to check out if you haven’t yet:

-       Operation let’s build a house/Operação fazer uma casa

-       Humanitarian Work

-       Player

-       “A vida seria melhor sem...”

-       Family is Family

Some of my personal favourites:

-       And here we are again...

-       Friends

-       Move on

-       Tonight

-       Don’t call me perfect

-       It’s all about control and balance

How about you? Do you have any post that particularly got to you? Care to share? 

“I want to take the pain away, and I know I can't and it just kills me.”*

One more of those days, one more of those moments, where you’re left without words, without action. What can you do when there’s no reason? What to say when nothing you can do will make it better?

When life is unfair and out of the blue takes away something (someone) they love, when with its twisted sense of humor life tricks you to think it was just a big scare, that it’s going to be allright and then… it’s not. Then it’s all wrong!

Is there any right way to deal with it? Is there a way to avoid feeling so useless when you look into those tearful eyes and their sorrow takes over you? It’s sad when you realize sometimes your embrace is not enough anymore and unlike before,  this time no story nor song, or game nor bet, will bring back that smile. It breaks your heart just to know they’re in pain, so you hold to them tight, as close as you can, hoping some of their pain will rub off on you, hoping that it helps having a shoulder to cry on.

Sometimes life is unfair and there’s nothing you can do to protect those you love, sometimes all you can do is be right there hoping that knowing that they’re not alone will be enough to ease their pain. 

 * Title by KaDee Strickland as Charlotte King - Private Practice S05E22

Home

Home doesn’t have to be a place, it can be a person, a sound, a music, a smile, a hug or even a habit… home is where your heart is, where you feel safe. Home is that safe spot you seek when the whole world starts to fall apart, is what you crave when you’re breaking into pieces. Home doesn’t have to have four walls and a roof, it isn’t necessarily where you live. Home is what you look for when you just want to crawl up and wallow when you’re crushed.

Home, mistakenly often by a physic place, home is much more than that. Home is where happiness, anger, frustration and true love meet and co-live in an unlikely harmony. To be home is to be in such a deep comfort that nothing you can do or say will destroy that feeling.  Home is where you can let go of your fears and just be the real you, where the mask falls and the unadulterated you can show up without reservations.

Home is like most of all important things in life impossible to describe, it is not something you put in words but simply something you feel inside. Have you found yours?

Breakdown

Note: Just another random piece that maybe one day will become part of something bigger.

She was driving home when out of the blue it hit her. It was always like that with her, she would ignore he pain, buried deep, pretend that everything was fine, fake her smile all the way, until it was impossible to hold it inside and something as simple as a song would trigger a massive breakdown. The day hadn’t been particularly hard, she had actually enjoyed most of it, so why the tears now? She looks at the car’s CD player, wanting to turn it off, but she’s hypnotized. Hypnotized by the words that seem to be written for her

I must have cried a thousand times
I've heard thousands of your lies
Walked ten thousand miles for you
So for the thousandth time don't…
Don't play with me
Don't play with me
Don't play with me no more
Don't you play with me
Don't play with me
Don't play with me no more

She heard this album a thousand times before, but only today the words are sinking in. Only today they are making her cry and once again she wonders how is it possible that someone can put in words what she’s feeling better than herself. She tries not to think about him about his lies, about his games but it continues…

If it's not what you want
And I'm not what you want
Then what do you want from me?
I'm screaming “You won!”
At the top of my lungs
So why not be done with me?
Let it burn, let it burn, let it burn
Cos boy I don't trust ya
So it's bitter when I say so
I know I still love ya*

That’s it! Word by word, a perfect description of what goes inside her… how she’s done being fooled, how she’s giving up though it hurts her more than anyone can see, how no matter what he’ll say she won’t trust him, how she just wishes everything would end. She’s not just crying anymore, she’s sobbing as all the emotions she has been hiding from seem to immerse. The pain is too real, the fear of having to face this, her whole life, the guilt of not being stronger… stronger enough to make him change. The tears don’t stop falling down and she has to stop the car as she can barely see the road anymore. She looks at herself in the mirror and the desperation in her eyes only make her cry more.

* Song by Cheryl Cole - One Thousand

Noite

Olho para noite a apaixono-me,

Pela lua, pelas estrelas, pela tranquilidade da escuridão.

Olho para o céu negro e perco-me,

Em sonhos de criança, realidades que hoje sei não existir.

No silêncio do que a rodeia,

Encontro paz no sossego do fim do dia que é sempre um recomeço e nunca um fim.

No horizonte longinquo,

Procuro o equilibrio entre o que sou e o que desejo ser.

Na noite, sempre nela,

Que os eventos ocorrem, que o bem e o mal se evidenciam.

Na ausência de luz, de vozes, de gente,

Onde se torna impossivel ignorar os gritos mudos da alma.

Olho para a noite e apaixono-me,

Pela serenidade que simultaneamente ambiciono alcançar e desafiar.

Quero curar-me

Quero curar-me,

Desta dor que trago cá dentro

Das ideias que me perseguem

Dos sonhos que me aterrorizam.

Quero curar-me,

Desta vida controlada pelo medo

Das palavras que ficam por dizer

Das emoções sempre sentidas.

Quero vencer-me,

Derrotar os fantasmas interiores

Por um fim às batalhas intermináveis

Descobrir outros lados de mim.

Quero curar-me,

Dar férias a este cérebro pensante

Aventurar-me por novos caminhos

Explorar esse vasto Mundo que é sentir.

Quero curar-me,

Mantendo o que me torna única

Melhorando o que me aflije

Procurando algo mais.

Quero curar-me,

Não mudar,

Não crescer,

Apenas curar-me. 

Facing fears

You need to stop running.

I can’t!

You need to take a chance for once.

I don’t think I can…

You’ll always wonder

Maybe that’s better

How can that be better?

It’s better to wonder than to know you don’t stand a chance

Chance of what?

Being fixed…

Aos pequenos (grandes) prazeres

Nota: Para aquelas que aconteça o que acontecer serão sempre as minhas meninas, as melhores, as mais puras, as mais especiais (Mada & Fran). Obrigada por uma tarde bem passada :)

Há dias em que as pequenas coisas nos fazem felizes, em que o cansaço e as quatro horas de sono mal dormiddas valem a pena, em que as pequenas coisas nos trazem um conforto especial. A felicidade é uma busca constante do ser humano e dia após dia buscamos incessavalmente por algo grandioso que nos faça sentir que tudo o resto vale a pena. Não sei ainda se a felicidade é algo que se consiga atingir plenamente, vejo-a mais como pequenos pedaços de prazer, pequenos momentos que nos aquecem a alma e nos fazem sorrir por dentro. A felicidade está naquela gargalhada que não consegues conter, naquele mimo que sai naturalmente, nas histórias contadas e partilhadas, nas confissões de alguém que está a crescer, na percepção de que há coisas que apesar de tudo se mantém iguais.

Talvez por sentir que a minha percepção do mundo mudou drasticamente quando cresci sempre esperei com algum receio o dia em que também aqueles que em pequenos me eram próximos dessem esse salto e o inevitável afastamento acontecesse. São circustâncias inevitáveis da vida, mas que fazem com que cada um destes dias em que sinto que afinal ainda não foi desta que tudo mudou tenham um significado especial.

É tão bom ver alguém de quem se gosta crescer, e melhor ainda poder ver o nosso carinho e orgulho por essas pessoas crescer com elas. Sentir que as crianças que há uns anos tinham afirmações convictas sobre determinados assuntos começam agora a considerar outras perspectivas mas que a adolescência apenas enaltece o que já de fantástico tinham.

É estranho este sentimento... desadequado? Talvez. Faz-nos sentir um pouco velhos, eu entendo, mas no fundo é bom sinal. Sabe bem saber que aquele colo que uma vez vos dei se pode ter transformado agora num abraço, mas que ainda lá está. Que os conselhos pedidos podem ter mudado de tema, mas ainda surjem. Que as férias passadas juntas são ainda uma possibilidade a considerar e que as confissões mais intímas até certo ponto ainda acontecem.

É engraçado perceber que apesar de sermos todas tão diferentes encontro pedaços de mim em cada uma de vocês, do que fui, do que sou, do um dia dia espero ser, quase como se fossem uma versão melhorada de mim mesma. As minhas únicas irmazinhas durante muitos anos, com o mesmo gosto pelo basket e por viagens que eu, com os mesmos olhos azuis. Os arranhões, os trambolhões, as discussões que com gosto ajudei a resolver, as dúvidas, inseguranças e desafios, que sempre acreditando vos vi ultrapassar e os sorrisos mais verdadeiros e contagiantes que irei encontrar.

A tarde de ontem não foi especial por ser diferente, mas por sentir que pouco mudou, porque às vezes são nestes momentos vulgares, não planeados, e em que o tempo vôa, que constróis mais algumas memórias para te fazerem feliz. 

If I should die

If I should die today what would I leave behind?

Should I be gone today what would be my fingerprint in this huge world?

24 years is quite some time, but what have I done with it? How many lives did I touch? How much was lost in the way?

Should this be your last day on Earth, what would you do? If you knew this was your last chance would it change anything?

Should you be gone tomorrow how would you evaluate your life? Looking back, would you be glad with where you are?

If you should die today, how long it would take for your legacy to be forgotten?

Saudades desses tempos

Saudades dos tempos em que corríamos para o telemóvel  para que, apesar de não estarmos juntas, pudessemos ver um  videoclip em conjunto. Quando uma sms não era precisa e um toque bastava para nos fazermos entender. Dos olhares confusos que nos lançavam quando de entre cinquenta canais conseguíamos descobrir o correcto. Da alegria que  aquele pequeno momento nos proporcionava. Éramos nós as únicas a fazer isto?

Saudades das horas passadas ao telefone durante as horas de almoço, no pouco tempo em que íamos a casa e não estávamos juntas. Dos almoços, dos passeios e mais tarde das viagens em que nos aventurámos. Das maluquices, dos desgostos, das gargalhadas que se soltavam por mais que tentassemos conter. Das pessoas que se tentavam opor e acabavam por se juntar a nós. Quem se lembra?

Saudades das promessas de amizade eterna. Das dedicatórias escritas todos os anos em blocos e cadernos. Dos questionários de mil e uma perguntas.  Das canetas de cores e dos cadernos organizados. Das assinaturas elaboradas e das personagens idolatradas.Dos concertos, das saídas de grupo, dos jantares de turma e de aniversário. Também os tiveste?

Saudades das brincadeiras tontas que ainda hoje não apagámos da memória. Das tardes passadas com a televisão em mute a passar videos de rap enquanto ouvíamos música pop na aparelhagem. Dos teatros, das músicas e das novelas que criávamos, gravávamos e editávamos. Das noites que passámos acordadas, das festas do pijama. Alguém consegue esquecer?

Saudades de odiar as férias e de querer voltar à escola. Do conforto de passar o dia inteiro com as mesmas pessoas, dos professores conhecerem os nossos medos, de adiar os testes vezes sem conta. De passar os intervalos na sala a jogar às cartas versões de jogos inventadas por nós. De escrever cartas a pessoas que viviam a menos de 5km de nossa casa. De não querer ir para a faculdade para não perder os amigos. Quem mais sentiu isso?

Saudades de ter mais de três meses de férias, do natal, da páscoa e do carnaval. Das apostas feitas com as notas dos testes. De quando os professores se tornavam amigos, mentores. Do descaramento em ajudar os colegas nos testes, das respostas passadas em lenços de papel. De ter ideiais, de querer mudar o mundo, de fazer a diferença. Quem partilhou estes momentos?

Saudades de ter uma equipa que para o bem e para o mal estava contigo. De lutar lado a lado com aquelas pessoas, de ter algo que nos unia mesmo que para mais ninguém fizesse sentido. De cair, lutar, chorar mas nunca desistir. De acreditar, e com cada época novo alento ganhar. De ter uma paixão, uma vida, um mundo que nos ensinou a crescer. Quem não sente falta?

Saudades do tempo em que acreditávamos em perfeição, onde tinhamos modelos, idolos que nos faziam sonhar. De sermos cinco e sermos mais equipa do que qualquer outro plantel. De nos desprezarem e de isso nos dar mais força. De vencer, de perder, de treinar mas acima de tudo jogar. Ainda te lembras do que se perdeu?

Saudades dos momentos de balneário. Dos banhos ao monte, dos chuveiros partilhados. Das roupas emprestadas, perdidas, “roubadas”. Das irmãs, mães e amigas, da família que nos rodeava. Dos trambolhões, das dores, das nódoas negras. Dos “suícidios”, das corridas esbaforidas, das revoltas. Alguma vez pensaste sentir falta?

Saudades boas, daquelas que nos fazem sorrir apenas com uma lembrança. Saudades das amizades, das irmandades e das qualidades de ser criança. Saudades do que um dia doeu mas que deixou boa marca, saudades do que nos fez chorar mas já não magoa, saudades de querer acreditar que o melhor está por vir. Saudades não de quem quer voltar atrás no tempo, mas de quem tem boas memórias. De quem apesar de ser solitária tem momentos brilhantes com quem partilhar.

Young Girl

Young girl you’ve got it in you, the strength to pull you up. The words that you were told should never else be heard. The fears that keep you strained have got to be defied. The fights that you avoid will make you that much strong, and the pain that hurts inside it will, I promise, wane. I know you cannot tell, that it’s worth when aches so bad, but trust me the day will come when you’ll learn to love yourself. And though I’ll refuse to lie, and say it’s an easy road, I want to reassure in the end there is some hope. Some people have it easy, others will have worse than you, but it never really matters or can compare to how you do. That pain that shakes your heart may not have right or reason but it doesn’t stop the fact that it breaks it all in pieces. You have to keep on focused, you have to dare to dream, because even if it’s worthless it gives you some relief. The songs, the quotes, the stories will help you find a way, to share the untold feelings and reveal unspoken words. Young girl that insist to hide, and bury it all deep inside, you have to come out clean, you’ll have to compromise. You cannot want to be, saved by someone else, what you have is to find your grip and make change for yourself. That hug, the kiss, the smell won’t fix you on their own, if you don’t make your part, can’t expect that someone will. It’s not even remotely fair that you have to overcome, these standards that you’ve set for you and no-one else.

Please dear, understand you can never let them down, the pressure that you fight is no-one’s but your own. It’s not healthy, it’s not charming, it will end up just destroying, that smile that you try to hold, even though inside you’re crying. Your head can be the best or the worst of your assets it all depends which voice you choose to listen when it matters. I can’t tell you enough how wrong, you are about yourself, how so many wish they had, all of what you hate. These things you hate the most, that you swear could live without, that’s what makes you worth of the appreciation and love. You’re special though you won’t see it, you’re big in so many ways, if I could only figure out how to show you what I say.

Young girl I know I can’t, change your mind set or take the pain, but please promise me you will not rest, until you find your way!

Que um dia

Que a noite escura nunca seja sinal de solidão

E que a mente impura não te impeça de pedir perdão

Que a tua dor não te mate por dentro

E que continues a procurar novo alento

Que esse medo que trazes contigo cesse

E que aprendas a ver quem te mererce

Que não te tornes mais um igual

E que faça sentido quando chegar ao final

Que o procuras te encha o peito

E que por fim fiques satisfeito

Que encontras o que sempre sonhaste

E pelo quê tantas lágrimas largaste

Que a tua alma nunca se torne pequena

E que tudo isto um dia valha a pena

Que o teu sol um dia possa amanhecer

Para que finalmente comecesses a viver

And here we are again...

Note: Second one of the day. A Bit longer than usual but hopefully worth it ;)

“Let me cry, let me feel, I don't care if it's good or bad anymore, I just want to be able to feel something, because I’m so numb... I’ve been numb for years and I don't think I can stand it anymore. I don't want to be like this anymore” - she says not knowing exactly to whom she is talking about. Fear, pain, desperation, all of it at the same time, wrapped in a huge cloud that insists to take over. So many years she had been holding it inside, all the tears that she never allowed herself to cry are now leaving her eyes without hesitation as she sobs on the bathroom floor.

“I want to be more than who I am, I have to be more than who I am” - she repeats in a loop, trying to convince herself unsuccessfully, as she knows that she could never change, she doesn’t know how. Kneeled on the floor, bare naked thighs touching the cold tile, she begs for someone to come and take the pain away, for someone to pick her up and hold her, for someone to whisper to her hear that everything is going to be all right as she has been doing to others so many times during her whole life.

“You need to snap out of it, you need get a grip” - she orders herself, getting a glimpse of her reflection at the mirrored cabinet door. The redness around her puffy eyes make the blue color pop as she instinctively has to turn around to avoid facing one more failure.

“It's just a phase” - she hears the voices echoing in her head – “it gets better” - they keep promising. But when?  When and how?  How much longer does she have to wait? – “No” - she shakes her head in denial – “No, eight years can't be just a phase!”

Mad at herself for once again allowing her mind to fall this deep she starts to punch the floor ignoring the pain it is causing her and the blood dropping from her knuckles. She feels like screaming but her anal retentiveness doesn’t let go of her not even in the worst moments and though she envies people who can just scream and kick their frustrations away, she has never been able to do it. Instead, she reaches for the towel and stuffs it on her mouth in a desperate attempt to suffocate the screams that she knows won't come out. She bites it hard making the tears roll from her eyes harder and faster.

“Make it stop, please, pretty please just make it stop” - she begs looking up, even if she's not religious and is not sure to whom or what she's praying. Physically exhausted, emotionally drained, she tries to push it away again... the pain she feels inside, the way her heart aches, knowing that the only chance she has to keep herself from drowning is to shove it all away, bury it just like she has been doing for all these years.

“What do you want anyway?” - she asks to the girl in the mirror sitting right across from her – “What do you want?” - she repeats in an hardly audible whisper hoping her reflection comes up with an answer.

Defeated, humiliated and ashamed. Three more emotions she doesn't need to deal with at the moment, three more feelings to add to all the ones that are already weighting on her chest and with whom she has no clue how do deal with.

Her head is about to burst and luckily she’s running out of tears. She pulls her knees up to her chest landing her forehead on them, with her index fingers she presses her temples hard, in tiny circle movements.

“How much longer will I be able to continue with this?”- she asks herself without speaking, and few more tears manage to roll out her already closed eyes – “How much longer will I have to continue with this?”

She's still sobbing, her breath out of pace, but she's calming down. It's all still there, the pain, the fear, the loneliness but she's too tired... too tired of waiting for what's she can't believe is coming anymore, too tired of hopping it will change, too tired of fighting for something she can't see. In vain she tries to take deep breaths. With the right elbow on her knee she supports her head with her palm, as she uses her hand to softly strike her hair. The left arm crosses her body as she uses her thumb to fondle her upper arm. As sad as it is she learned to soothe herself way before...

“C'mon girl, snap out of if” - she demands to herself in the silence of her apartment – “You know better than this, you know...” - she tries, unable to complete the sentence as the reality of knowing that she will never feel the comfort of sharing her pain with someone is too hard to face right now. Uncomfortable and getting physically numb she considers moving but doesn't get around to do it. Beaten, she cries herself to sleep knowing that tomorrow she won't feel any better but that today's breakdown will allow her to fake for a little bit longer.

More real than I can tell

Sometimes I wake up from my dreams and they feel so real.  I dream lot, I always have, it was something I had to learn in my early years in order to keep my mind focused and stop it from rambling, something that became my best coping mechanism. I dream when I’m sleeping or even when I’m awake, it’s the place I go when I need to settle down and where I run to when I’m overloaded with excitement. My mind has become both my worst enemy and my best friend, as it keeps pushing me down with fears but provides me the plots that make me still believe.

I’m mostly comfortable when I’m dreaming as I learned to control where I allow my mind to travel, but every once in a while it runs wild and takes me by surprise. Every now and then I get these dreams that feel so real that I can feel all the emotions taking over me even after I wake up. They’re never the same, it can be something as simple as tight hug or a huge fight, and it’s hard to explain because I know it’s not real but I swear I can feel those arms around my shoulders, holding me as they soothe me and take my pain, just like I feel my temperature raising and my mood changing by the imaginary arguments. That split of second carries with me for a bit, while I try to decide whether I like the felling of it or not, while I decided whether is crazy to be reassured by an imaginary friend or normal that my aversion to confrontation makes me feel sick to my stomach just to dream about it. And even though the experiences are not real, the feelings are and it’s bizarre, the dichotomy as it feels good and so bad at the same time… and I don’t even begin to try to make sense of it, to figure if it’s just no-sense or if there’s a deeper meaning for all of it but in a way they make me feel so alive. All the passion, the anger, the needs and frustrations, all of it at its purest form, with no filters nor restrains.

I want to make a difference

I just want to make a difference in this world.

I’m done fighting with myself, I know I’m not going to be able to be the kind of person I want to be, but I still want to be more than what I am. I want to work on the little things without excuses, just try to be a better person. I want to take a different approach this time, instead of focusing on what I’m missing, I want to make sure I’ll do my best so other people don’t miss it too. I want to learn with it, I want it to mean something, to have a purpose.

I don’t mind being that safe place where people come home to, I don’t mind being the one drying off the tears during the late nights.

I want to make a difference.

I know I will never save the world, but who says you have to go global? Change starts right next to you, how can you aim for the world when you can’t manage you own backyard?

I want to make a difference, I want to touch someone’s life.

Images of you

The clear image of your smile pops up in my head and immediately I have to push it away. Not that I want to forget you, but my heart aches too much when I allow myself to think about all the great moments we could be having…

Meeting you was one of the best experiences of my life, and thought I don’t regret leaving, that doesn’t mean it was easy.

It changed me forever. You’ve changed me. It’s all still very recent but I can tell.

I know I will never be able to forget the lovely kisses and hugs, the cuddles, the laughs, not even the meltdowns! I couldn’t if I try, and I don’t! Still, much powerful than we like to admit, our minds recognize our weaknesses and in order to protect our soul finds its tricks to ease the pain. Mine has to block your pretty face from my brain sometimes, so I don’t dwell on what we share and manage to carry on with each day a little bit lighter. Nevertheless, there are always those days, when out of the blue I have a flashback, and even if for a second, that image pops up and I can’t help but remember how much you mean to me.

Note: I miss you so very much, my little Munchkins. 

Para Vocês

Há coisas que fazemos sem pensar, seguindo apenas o que é  natural e nos sai fluidamente.

Escrevo em inglês não por uma questão de estilo ou de mania, simplesmente porque, por alguma razão, é nessa língua que o meu cérebro processa e através dela que consigo traçar um retrato mais fiel dos meus pensamentos. Não gosto de contrariar esta tendência, fugir ao que é confortável, mas existem momentos em que a excepção realmente vale a pena.

Este tinha de ser em português. Este tinha de ser perceptivel para todos vocês.

Quem me conhece sabe que esta aventura não foi vivida de ânimo leve. A parte da escrita foi apaixonante, mais do que alguma vez imaginei, viciante, mesmo. Foram 22 dias de escrita intensa em que esta história era tudo o que pensava durante o dia e sonhava durante a noite (ou vice-versa se considerarmos os meus turnos). A parte da partilha e divulgação contudo... foram 9 meses (só agora me apercebo que este meu bebé teve realmente 9 meses de gestação), 9 meses de muitas dúvidas e hesitações. Incertezas e ansiedades que sei que certamente, que se tivesse dependido meramente de mim, me teriam levado a negar a este livro a oportunidade de ver a luz do dia.

Não sou muito boa com pessoas, mas felizmente elas são boas comigo, e foi o estar rodeada de gente que acredita e me desafia que me levou a tomar este passo. Às vezes, mais do que alguém que oiça os nossos medos, precisamos de alguém que nos empurre do precipicio; mais do que ter alguém que acate as nossas ordens para sossegar, precisamos de alguém que continue a forçar a barra; e mais do que cedermos aos pedidos de segurança da nossa mente, precisamos de nos atirar de cabeça.

Foi um longo processo, que ainda não terminou. Um caminho nem sempre plano, mas feito de altos e baixos e alguns tropeções. Ainda é tudo um pouco surreal, ainda tremo quando oiço comentários, nas o balanço é sem dúvida positivo. Uma experiência que me ensinou muito sobre quem está à minha volta e sobre mim mesma, e ainda, me mostrou tudo o que ainda tenho de aprender. Não foi perfeito, nem ideal, nada o é, mas foi sem dúvida especial.

It's all gray now

Do you remember when it all started? Can you recall the first time it stopped being fun and it got complicated?

I remember being a kid, when all the scary stuff was terrifying but so much clearer too.

It was so much easier when good and evil were two totally different worlds, when it was all black or white. Now there's just too many gray areas, nothing is that simple anymore. It may seem silly but there was a comfort in knowing where evil stood.

You're brought up believing that that's really all that is. That people are good or evil, that there's only right or wrong and that as long as you do what you're supposed to, everything will be okay.

Then, you grow up and you're confronted with the cold truth that life's unfair, that things are never that simple and that more often then never it's not that clear which side to chose. With your experience, you learn that no matter how hard you'll try to make it right there are things you just can't prevent from happening.

You'll long for those days where all you had to do was run to her lap and let her take care of everything. You'll miss the times when you believed her when she said It will be all right... but everything in life as its consequences, and part of growing up is to be able to stand up on your own, to manage to do the tough calls and to find a way to carry yourself the best you can while struggling with your inner doubts.

Sisterhood

It always puzzled her how for some people kinship meant everything. Maybe because the way she was brought up, most certainly because of her life experience, she believed that au contraire of what’s usually said, you can chose your family… or better yet, sometimes they chose you!

It was odd at first, she had to confess, having a stranger suddenly deciding that she was her sister. The girl was just two, and very cute too, but a stranger never the less. They had only met once, and she hadn’t even spent that must time with the kid, but for some reason that she couldn’t understand, the girl decided to make her her big sister.

Despite all the awkwardness of the situation and her inability to connect to people, she found out soon that without an effort the kid had won her heart and that without putting up a fight, the walls that she had built around herself had fallen down. Their relationship kept growing stronger, she knew the girl looked up to her like nobody else and even though she wouldn’t admit it, it felt good to mean that much to someone. What no-one else knew is how much she admired the little girl too and how proud she was to be a big sister.

Regardless the age difference they shared similar passions and more important than that, learnt a lot from eachother. She could be older, wiser, and more experienced, but the girl taught her something that no-one before had been able to, she taught her that it was okay to let people know she loved them.

They were more than a decade apart, and yet, they were draw to the same things, capture the same details and shared their little obsessions. She had never thought about how alike they were, after all, they were different in so many ways, and it wasn’t until the girl start pointing things they had common and saying “see, that’s why we are sisters” that she realized that the reason why it was so easy to make her happy, and to know exactly how to make her smile, was because after all, and despite they each had their own quirkiness’s, the girl was an younger and improved version of herself.

To my little Chezza, I love you, that is all!

Nobody knows

Nobody knows the real me

Nobody gets to see what's inside

No-one understands the pain I see

Or all I have to leave behind

Nobody can see through my smile

Look me in the eyes and go past the lies

Nobody dreams I cry myself to sleep

And beat myself down so deep

Nobody knows how long ago I lost hope

How many times I had to held back my tears

Nobody knows how I strive for ways to cope

Dreaming someday I'll beat this fears

Nobody knows how I fear to let people down

And how I'm always on the edge of a meltdown

Nobody knows how often I pretend to be strong

Even though deep inside it feels so wrong

Nobody knows the thoughts that run through my head

And how I fight not to feel so sad

Nobody knows how I really feel

Or how I wish these dreams were real

Nobody is able to see the real me

And I don't think no-one will ever be

Nobody knows the real me

And no-one's to blame... except for me!

I write for myself

I write for myself, first and foremost. It’s probably one of the only things I truly just do for myself, not thinking how others are going to feel about it, or how they will see it.

I write because it helps me. It keeps me company, it keeps me sane. I write because it helps me fill the void I have inside and disguise the loneliness and the pain that keep on hunting me.

I write because if I can’t talk to anyone I have to be able to at least talk to myself. Writing keeps me focused, forces me to think and “say” what I don’t want to or am not confortable with.

I happen to believe that writing doesn’t have to be a gift or a talent. It doesn’t have to be neat, and clear and perfect… it just have to be honest.

Different people will read into things differently, no matter what. They may interpreter something you wrote in ways you never thought about, and I like that. I don’t mind if what I write is not exactly what people see when they read it. If they find a new meaning for it, if it helps them, if somehow they can connect to it, that’s great.

I write for myself, first and foremost, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate other people’s interest in my work. I write for myself, but if on top of that I can get the thrill of touching someone’s soul, that’s amazing!

Writing was a part of my “private little world” that in the past I wouldn’t dare to share with anybody. But time goes by, you grow up and realize that there are things no-one can take away from you, and that maybe some people deserve that you make the effort to show them a little bit more of who you truly are.

I write for myself and this sharing thing hasn’t come easily. I still have doubts and fears, but because I challenged myself to do it, I also know now that some people do appreciate this other side of me.

Love transcends death

In Memory of MF

I’ve always had these odd things where I picture bizarre scenarios in my mind. I think it’s because I don’t like the unknown and I like to believe that I’ll be ready for whatever comes. So, yes, I had thought about it before, how I would react to losing someone… How I would cope with death…

I was blessed not to have to deal with it when I was younger… I still am, considering that you were the only one I ever had to watch go. I remember like it was yesterday, me at 19 trying to be all grown up, trying to keep myself together and explain to them what death was, when I wasn’t sure I understood the concept myself.

It didn’t get me right away. I think I was numb at first, just trying to deal with everyone else’s pain, trying to keep myself busy and make myself useful. I don’t like people and I’m not good with feelings, so I always wondered if it would ever really get to me. And maybe it was because I never had to deal with it before, or because as always, I kept it all inside, but I surprised myself when, more than once, I woke up crying in the middle of the night because again you insisted in popping up in my dreams.

Human mind has its tricks and it works in curious ways. I know we shared lots of moments - concerts, holidays, family dinners… and I know that, unlike other people that tend to become less available when they grow up, most of times I was there. But still, the first thing that came to my mind when I heard what happened (and that still does everytime I think about it) is that the very last time you met us for dinner, I didn’t stay. I went to this birthday party I didn’t even felt like going to, of someone that later showed not to be that worthy… little did I know that that would be the last time I would see you. I don’t like to dwell in the past, I don’t want to be one of those people who live for the memories, and rationally I know I can’t blame myself for that, and that after all those years, that last night wouldn’t really made a difference, but still…  

I don't want, however, remember you with sadness, because that would be unfair, to diminish all you were to that one moment when you left. So, I try to focus on the bright side, what you taught us, what you shared with us, and the two wonderful little ones that you left us.

It’s been 5 years… So much as changed and yet, everything is the same… Your death didn’t just change me, I feel it changed the family, it changed the dynamic and as cliché as it may sound, reminded us what really matters. Therefore, no matter what comes our way or how we end up, how we celebrate it or burry our pain, I know that each of us, in our own special way will remember you forever, because

“Love transcends death [and] the people we love touch our lives, even after they're gone”*

* By Michael T. Weiss as Jarod In The Pretender

It's the way you call my name

And it’s the way you call my name and look me in the eyes. How you strip my guard down and make the world a safe place. It’s the feeling that arouses in me the desire to have you to me.

I love when you gently touch my hand and say so much without a word, and how you know what’s bothering me even before I do.

Don’t want to miss the warmness of your kiss or the embrace of your arms.

Forgive me if I can’t tell anyone but I can’t even tell it to myself, as the perfection of it makes me fear it’s not real.

“If my friends believe in me enough to see me this way, then... I don't know, maybe anything is possible” *

Funny how perspective changes things, how different points of view can see the same thing in such different light. It never stops to amaze me the huge gap you find sometimes between what people think about someone and how that person sees herself.

There are people with big egos, that no matter what will always think they're right, will always think they're better, even thought no-one else sees it and everybody wonders why.

On the other hand it's not unusual to find amazing people that seem to have no clue how awsome they are. And no matter how many times you'll tell them, or how many times they “win”, they will never be able to trully believe in it.

You can't change the way someone sees herself. You can help, you can provide them a favorable environment to improve their self perception, but ultimately the change has to come from the inside. Having said that, I still think it's important that you try, that you make sure they know how you see them, because wether people admit it or not, it feels good to feel the support., and even if deep inside it still doesn't make sense or you still can't believe it, if they keep saying it, eventually you start to wonder if there could be a chance that there's some truth in what they see.

* Title by Lea Michelle as Rachel Berry in Glee S03e19

A Glimpse of Happiness – The making of…

Find more about A Glimpse of Happiness

It all started as a joke, someone saw me writing and ask if I was writing a book, and the funny thing is that he was being serious. I had never pictured myself writing an entire book, but after that moment the idea started to linger in my head. I had just recently gone back to my writing, I was bored to death and  I had to sit 8 hours a day in front of a computer with little to do so I figure I could give it a shot. For years I had been hoarding these plots on my mind, so why not try to do something with them.

Very unlike everything I do, I didn’t put much thought in it, I didn’t plan ahead, I just started to put in paper what was coming out of my head, really just letting it flow.  I started it on the 9^th of September and 22 days later it was done. I never thought it could be so addictive but all I could think about, day and night, was that book and all that I wanted to put in it. It was all very clear in my head, it was just a matter of typing it and hoping it would make sense.

While I was writing the book, another friend told me I should publish it, which was something that would have never crossed my mind and that I had mixed feelings about, so I decided not to think about it until it was done. Oddly enough, once I finished, I was quite pleased with the final result and felt almost… proud for what I had done (which is very unusual). I was glad I had done it but I was yet to figure out that the biggest challenge wasn’t putting one of my stories on paper but to actually share them with other people. Therefore, I put my little project in a drawer, where it stayed for a few months…  Luckily the few people that knew that I had wrote the book didn’t let me forget about it. They kept pushing me, asking me about it, trying to allure me to let them read it.

There were moments I would convince myself to do it, but then I would change my mind, I needed a bigger reason, something that wouldn’t allow me to get cold feet, and that’s when the idea of making this a part of the Operation: Let's Build a House came up. I have been trying to raise money for this family in Mozambique and I figured I could use this book to try to get some contributions too. This decision forced me to publish it, because now not doing it, didn’t just mean I was losing an opportunity for myself, it meant that I might be wasting a chance to help someone that needed it. I also decided to translate the book to Portuguese in order to be able to reach more public and hopefully get more help to the family from Mozambique.

FINALLY: A GLIMPSE OF HAPPINESS!

It’s finally here! I could burst with excitement/nerves, it’s feels so surreal… but time has come for you all to meet A Glimpse of Happiness, the very first (and only) book I ever wrote. 


Aqui está ele finalmente! Não sei se excitada ou aterrorizada... mas finalmente chegou a altura de vos apresentar Um Vislumbre de felicidade, o primeiro (e único) livro que escrevi.

My first book is now available:

A Glimpse of Happiness (Original - English) – Order

Um Vislumbre de Felicidade (Portuguese) – Encomendas

The profits will revert to Operation: Let's Build a house, so you’ll be helping a good cause too!


Os lucros revertem para a Operação: Fazer uma casa, portanto também estarão a ajudar uma boa causa!

The moment is now, after all the struggling with myself it’s finally time that I share A Glimpse of Happiness with all of you, wishing only that you can enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you think (or not, because I’ll be embarrassed lol). 


Depois de muitas batalhas comigo mesma chegou a altura de partilhar Um Vislumbre de Felicidade com todos vocês esperando apenas que desfrutem tanto lê-lo como eu desfrutei escrevê-lo. Digam-me o que acham (ou não porque vou ficar sem jeito lol).


Special Thanks to:

- Gonçalo, for stalking me unstoppably until I gave him a chance to read it;

- Annee, for all the comments posted here regularly that (almost) make me believe I can write;

- Sarah, for helping me reviewing the English version;

- Bagaça, not that she needs a reason, but for helping me reviewing the Portuguese version;

- Raquel, for not giving me the chance to not publish it and acting like it was the only natural thing to do.

Hiatus

I hate this part of the year when all my favorite Tv series go on hiatus. Maybe it's because it has always been so much easier for me to live other people's/character's lives than my own. Maybe it's because my quirkiness towards people and relationships arouses in me a fascination and almost obsession to analyze, dissect and desperately try to understand its logic, its meaning.

That's how I started to dream, and later to write, I think... at least that's how I remember it. By being inspired by those little details that in my head were never explored enough.

I like when a show grows with you, when it makes you think, when it's interesting enough to make you zone out, when it transports you back and makes you remember special moments and feelings you almost forgot.

I'm not one of those people you'll be desperately craving for the next episode to see what comes next (okay, maybe sometimes), usually I develop my own parallel stories, all I need is some fuel... I do however like how these things keep me entertained, more even, busy! So during these months I always have to work a bit harder to find a new things to keep this rambling mind of mine occupied so that it doesn't get (too) lost.  

Trips, hugs and missing you

Hi everyone,

First of all let me apologize for not coming here so regularly the last couple of weeks but there are moments in your life you really have to take a step back and enjoy the moment. As much as I LOVE to write I use it most of the time as an escape, a way to zone out of the real world. To me writing was never a hobby it was always a need, something I had to do to keep (some of) my sanity, so when I do have those rare moments when I don’t feel the urge, or even remember to do it I take them, because no matter how great of a dreamer or a writer a person can be, those thoughts will never warm one’s heart the same way a real experience will.

I just came back from my holidays, where me and my friend (who I met since I was 3!) spent 17 days in the USA. It was her first time out of Europe and she was really excited to get to know this “new world”, to me, more than the places (that I already knew) I was excited to be able to get to see some very special people.

I’m not the type who gets easily attached to people. I can go months without talking or seeing someone that I care and not really miss them. I’ve lived abroad before and even though I loved coming back to all my friends, I can’t say that being without them lingered around my head while I was gone. Now that I think about it I think it was because I knew exactly for how long I would be away, and I knew I would see them again after that, but there’s something about not knowing if, or when I’ll be seeing someone again that makes me miss them even before I have to leave them.

During this period that I was away, I re-learned something that somehow I seem to keep forgetting, and that is that you don’t have to be a contestant presence in someone’s life to matter or even be remembered, and that no matter how young or old the other part is, if you’re really important, no matter the distance, it will all come back to them once you’re there again. I didn’t expect them to remember me that well… I didn’t expect it to feel so natural, so…. Good! But it was almost like I had never left and as selfish as it can be, I can’t denied that a part of me melted when they asked me to come back and never leave again…

It’s funny because I tend to be really awkward around people I’m not familiar with or that I don’t see frequently. I’m not a people person, therefore, I need time to work my skills to build and maintain a relationship.  I don’t have that gift of always knowing what to do or what to say, but somehow with these 3 groups of people that we stayed with it has always been very easy to adjust.

I love to travel but hate that the world is so big! I hate that it’s not easy to find people so kind and that when you do sometimes you have to deal with the fact that they are miles away from you.  We had a blast during these days and what I loved the most is the feeling of growing a little bit closer to these people with each trip. It may seem silly but it’s reassuring the idea that it is possible to have long distance friends (almost second families).

Anyways… This was mostly to let you know that I’m back now and will most likely be posting more frequently and to thank once again to those who made this trip so fun and special. Can’t wait to hug you all again J

I remember you!

One sentence it’s all you need sometimes… 3 words it’s all it takes, and it doesn’t even have to be “I love you”. 

One quote and suddenly all the fears are gone. One second and it’s all perfect.The simplicity of how you said it, the timing, the smile on your lips as you pronounced it, not having a clue how much it meant to hear those words.

“I remember you”, sometimes we don’t need to hear we’re loved, or special… Sometimes all you need is to know you’re not forgettable.