Fairytales / Contos de Fadas [edited]

Nota: Versão portuguesa mais abaixo

"Fairy tales do not tell children that dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children that dragons can be killed” by G.K. Chesterton

When we are young we lose ourselves in fairytales. We let our minds travel through the stories, we imagine ourselves battling the enemies, overcoming the challenges and even dare to face the worst demons, because we know that in the end Good always trumps Evil.

As we grow older we realize that things aren’t always black and white, that the world is not exactly a fair place and that goodness doesn’t necessarily wins. We convince ourselves that we don’t need fairytales anymore, because they’re not real, because they aren’t always true.

With time we may let go of fairytales, but do we ever let go of the need for reassurance that Good trumps Evil?

How many of us long to get home after a hard day of work to curl up on the couch with a good movie, TV series or book? And how many of those stories are, at least to some degree, about good vs evil, about prevailing in the face of danger, about having someone able to rise up and save the day?

We don’t watch fiction about serial killers or ER surgeons because we don’t have enough drama in the news. We don’t read thrillers because we have an unhealthy obsession with the macabre. We do it because apart from the pain and suffering, what those stories have in common is that, at least most of the times, there’s a happy ending. We do it because regardless of what we say, we still need the comfort of believing that Good will trump Evil, that it’s possible to survive when the odds are against us and that good people get happy endings. We follow stories about extraordinary Special Agents and Godlike doctors because though we may not see it, believing even in the possibility of people like this truly existing makes us somehow feel safer. Knowing that there might be someone out there watching out for us, not a higher power or unseen entity, but someone with a pulse, with a face, even if the face we associate it with is not real, brings us comfort.

We don’t follow painful stories because we take pleasure in inflicting pain into our lives, we do it because when the world shows us its worst, we need to believe in real life heroes. And whether we like to admit it or not, just as much as when we were children, it still helps to believe in fairytales.

We live in an uncertain world and the challenge is to find ways to accept it as it is without getting depressed. I find that quite often, fiction is one of the only coping mechanisms that does the trick for me.

I understand that taking in all the magic of fictional stories without reflection can be dangerous. Anything done without reflection can. However, for me that’s part of its charm. I don’t like fiction just because of the happy endings, I like it because it shows us different possibilities. It makes me travel to impossible scenarios, confront my ethical values, imagine what I would do if I was ever faced with the same situation. Even if realistically, I know that will never happen. Even if I do it from the comfort of my couch.

T.V. and movies are different nowadays. Even fairytales for children are not all about the damsel in distress waiting to be saved by prince charming anymore. They are about strong characters who struggle and rise to the occasion. Always with the help of others of course, because we can’t change the world alone, but the point is… they are not passive, they have a voice, a say. And maybe more than believe that there’s someone out there looking out for us, what I truly want to believe, is that I can be the change I want to see.

What is great about (good) fiction today is that heroes are not perfect anymore, they’re flawed. And you’d think that’s a depressing thought, that even heroes fail, but it’s not. It’s the opposite of depressing. There’s a relief in it. Because if even heroes make mistakes, we can relinquish the need for perfection.

One has to be careful with disappointment though. 

I personally had a hard time coming out of my childhood. Maybe I did watch too many fairytales. I was too naïve, I believed too much. I lived inside the pretty pink bobble, and one day for no apparent reason or warning the bobble just popped. I remember suddenly realizing that the world was not as I thought it was, that no-one was who I thought they were and I was crushed, The more I learned the more disappointed I would get. Because I was (am) a perfectionist, because I didn’t believe in grey areas, because I thought people were good or bad. I went from one extreme to the other. From believing in everything to trusting no-one. And like in everything else… extremes are dangerous.

I think that’s when I started looking into myself, when I started questioning everything, because I’m a rational person and I just wanted to understand.

I read somewhere that "Real life is absurd, so we write fiction to make sense of it" and I think that’s true… it doesn’t necessarily has to be my writing though. I enjoy fiction because even though I realize the characters are not real, I always think about who’s behind them. The person that came up with the storylines, the thoughts, the dialogues. And it reassures me that there are other people with the same questions, thinking, reflecting about all those things.

Through fiction I empathized with people I never thought I would. Through complex, multidimensional characters I learned that no action is independent, that there’s always a chain of events we have to be aware of, that there are always two sides of a story. I’ve learned to accept that good people make mistakes and that doesn’t make them bad, it simply makes them human. These storylines took me through journeys with characters that had to face more challenges than anyone will in a lifetime, but still managed to pull through. I learned that trying to do the right thing is not always an easy call, but you should do it regardless. I learned that even if it physically pains you and you constantly worry about the uncertainties of the future, you can’t settle. And I find that inspiring.

I’m aware that there are so many incredible stories about real men and women out there. And maybe we should be inspired by those, but why not be inspired by both?

I do see how fiction can give people a false sense of comfort. I do realize that I put way too much thought on it. I know that for most people the story is over when the screen fades or they close the book, but I still want to believe that maybe something will rattle them.

There is as much Good in the world as there is Evil. I look back in History, I watch the news and it truly gets me sick to my stomach knowing the things that human beings can do to each other. But then I also remember that there are others out there risking everything they have for people they never met, that do the right thing even when it’s hard, without expecting anything in return. And maybe it’s selfish, but for my sanity, I have to choose to remember those. Because those are the ones who give us hope. I can’t aim to end Evil in the world, but I can aim to be part of its Goodness. And what fiction does for me, is to remind me that people like this do exist. We may not always see them, but they are there.

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“Os contos de fadas não dizem às crianças que os dragões existem. As crianças já sabem que os dragões existem. Os contos de fadas dizem às crianças que os dragões podem ser derrotados” por G.K. Chesterton

Quando somos pequenos perdemo-nos em contos de fadas. Deixamos a nossa mente viajar pelas histórias, imaginamo-nos a combater os inimigos, a ultrapassar os desafios e até nos atrevemos a enfrentar os demónios mais terríveis, porque sabemos que no fim o Bem derrota sempre o Mal.

À medida que crescemos vamos percebendo que as coisas nem sempre são preto no branco, que o mundo não é um lugar justo e que a bondade nem sempre prevalece. Convencemo-nos que já não precisamos de contos de fadas, porque não são reais, porque nem sempre são verdade.

Com o tempo podemos perder o interesse em contos de fadas, mas será que alguma vez perdemos a necessidade de saber que o Bem vence o Mal?

Quantos de nós, após um longo dia de trabalho não desejamos uma noite no sofá com um bom filme, série ou livro? E quantas dessas histórias são, pelo menos de alguma forma, sobre Bem vs Mal, sobre triunfar face ao perigo, sobre ter alguém capaz de se superar e salvar o dia?

Não vemos séries sobre assassinos em série e serviços de urgência porque não temos drama suficiente nos noticiários. Não lemos policiais porque temos uma obsessão obscura com o macabro. Fazemo-lo porque para além da dor e do sofrimento, o que todas essas histórias têm em comum é que, pelo menos a maior parte, tem um final feliz. Fazemo-lo porque, independentemente do que dizemos, ainda precisamos dessa confirmação que o Bem vence o Mal, que é possível sobreviver quando as probabilidades estão contra nós e que boas pessoas têm finais felizes. Seguimos histórias sobre Agentes Especiais extraordinários e cirurgiões excepcionais porque embora possamos não nos aperceber, acreditar na mera possibilidade de existirem pessoas assim faz-nos sentir mais seguros. Saber que pode haver alguém no mundo disposto a nos proteger, não um poder maior ou uma entidade oculta, mas alguém com um pulso, com uma cara, ainda que a cara que lhe associemos não seja real, conforta-nos.

Não seguimos histórias dramáticas porque gostamos de infligir sofrimento na nossa vida, fazemo-lo porque quando o mundo nos mostra o seu lado mais escuro precisamos de acreditar em heróis da vida real. E quer queiramos admiti-lo ou não, tal como quando éramos crianças, ainda ajuda acreditar em contos de fadas.

Vivemos num mundo de incerto, e o desafio é encontrar maneiras de aceitá-lo como é sem no deprimirmos. Muitas vezes, a ficção é um dos poucos métodos de funciona comigo.

Concordo que absorver toda a magia de histórias fictícias sem reflexão pode ser perigoso. Qualquer coisa feita sem reflexão é. Contudo, para mim isso faz parte do seu charme. Não gosto de ficção apenas pelos finais felizes, gosto porque me mostra diferentes perspectivas, Transporta-me para cenários improváveis, faz-me confrontar a minha ética, imaginar o que faria se estivesse nessa mesma situação. Ainda que realisticamente saiba que isso nunca vai acontecer. Ainda que o faça a partir do conforto do meu sofá.

A televisão e os filmes estão diferentes hoje em dia. Até mesmo os contos de fadas para crianças já não são focados na donzela indefesa à espera de um príncipe encantado para a salvar, mas sim sobre personagens fortes, que lutam para ultrapassar os obstáculos, sempre com a ajuda de alguém é verdade, até porque não podemos mudar o mundo sozinhos, mas o importante é que não são passivas, têm uma voz, uma mensagem. E se calhar mais do que acreditar que existe alguém que me pode salvar, o que quero realmente acreditar é que posso ser eu a criar a mudança que quero ver.

O que é fantástico na (boa) ficção de hoje em dia é que os heróis já não são perfeitos, têm defeitos. E seria de pensar que isso é um pensamento depressivo, que até os heróis falham, mas não é. É exactamente o oposto. Há um alívio. Porque se até os heróis cometem erros, então podemos finalmente abandonar a ideia de perfeição.

No entanto, é preciso ter cuidado com as desilusões.

Pessoalmente a transição da infância para a vida adulta foi difícil para mim. Se calhar assisti a demasiados contos de fadas. Era demasiado ingénua, acreditava demais. Vivia dentro de uma bolha perfeita, e um dia, sem aviso ou razão aparente, a bolha rebentou. Lembro-me de de repente me aperceber que o mundo não era como eu achava que ele era, que já ninguém era quem eu achava que eram, e fiquei devastada. Quanto mais descobria mais me desiludida. Porque era (sou) perfeccionista, porque acreditava que era tudo preto ou branco, porque pensava que as pessoas eram boas ou más. Fui de um extremo ao outro. Passei de acreditar em tudo a não confiar em ninguém. E como em tudo na vida… os extremos são perigosos.

Acho que foi nessa altura que comecei a olhar para dentro de mim, quando comecei a questionar tudo e todos, porque sou uma pessoa racional, e só queria perceber.

Li algures que “A vida real é absurda, por isso escrevemos ficção para fazer sentido dela”, e penso que é verdade… não tem necessariamente de ser algo que eu escrevo, mas ficção em geral. Gosto de ficção porque apesar de saber que as personagens não são reais, penso sempre nas pessoas que estão por detrás delas. Em quem criou a narrativa, os pensamentos, os diálogos. Isso assegura-me que há outras pessoas no mundo que têm as mesmas perguntas, que pensam e reflectem sobre as mesmas coisas.

Através da ficção empatizei com pessoas com quem nunca pensei sentir empatia. Através de personagens complexas e multidimensionais aprendi que nenhuma acção é independente, que há sempre uma cadeia de eventos que temos de perceber, que existem sempre dois lados da mesma história. Aprendi a aceitar que pessoas boas cometem erros, e que isso não faz delas pessoas más, simplesmente seres humanos. Estas histórias conduziram-me por viagens com personagens que tiveram de enfrentar mais desafios do alguém terá de fazer na vida real, e ainda assim conseguiram sobreviver. Aprendi que tentar fazer o que está certo nem sempre é uma decisão fácil, mas que devemos tentar fazê-lo mesmo assim. Aprendi que ainda que fisicamente nos magoe, e que constantemente nos faça duvidar sobre as incertezas do futuro, não nos podemos acomodar. E tudo isso me inspira.

Estou consciente que há imensas histórias incríveis de homens e mulheres reais. E talvez devêssemos ser inspirados por essas, mas porque não sermos inspirados por ambas?

Admito que a ficção pode transmitir uma falsa sensação de conforto. Tenho noção que perco demasiado tempo a pensar nestas questões e que para a maioria das pessoas a história termina com o fim do episódio ou com o virar da página, mas ainda assim quero acreditar que a ficção possa agitar algo dentro delas.

Existe tanto Bem como Mal neste mundo. Olho para a história do mundo, vejo as notícias e fico mal disposta com as coisas que um ser humano pode fazer a outro. Mas depois também me lembro que existem pessoas capazes de arriscar a sua vida por quem não conhecem, de fazer o que está certo mesmo quando é difícil, sem esperar nada em troca. E provavelmente é egoísta, mas para a minha sanidade mental, são esses que escolho recordar. Porque são esses que nos dão esperança. Não tenho poder para acabar com o Mal no mundo, mas posso fazer parte do seu lado Bom. E é isso que a ficção faz por mim, lembra-me que pessoas assim existem. Nem sempre são visíveis, mas estão lá. 

Pride/Orgulho

Nota: Versão portuguesa mais abaixo

One more year of challenges, one more year of successes.

One more time I’m miles away and yet, once again I’m following you closely.

I’m so proud of you. And you know I don’t say it lightly. You know how hard it is for me to say these things out loud, but I am so very proud of you.

I see the news, I read the stats, I watch you play and I just can’t stop but be so happy to have been part of this journey with you. You’ve grown so much since we first met. I don’t even think you realize that... I know you don’t remember a lot of things you used to do… but I do!

I remember the girl that just played for fun, having no idea of the talent she possessed, the girl that showed up only once in a while, that ignored the coach’s orders simply because she trusted herself, but I also remember when it all started to change, when you realized how far you could go. I remember the struggles that no-one else saw, I remember the tears, the pain, the tough choices and the hard work. That’s why I’ll keep following you wherever you chose to go next. We joke about me being your number one fan, but there’s no joke there, I’ll cheer you all the way, because you’re awesome and you make me fall in love with this sport even more, when I don’t think that’s even possible.

I’m incredibly proud of your achievements as a player, but mostly I’m proud of the person you’ve become. It’s not always easy to handle success, and I think you’ve done it brilliantly.

Through the ups and downs I’ve always been really proud of you and even more proud of being your friend, someone you know you can rely on.

I know you see me as the voice of reason, but truth is that along the way you’ve taught me as much as I taught you. You’ve taught me that to be great one doesn’t need to be perfect, that a person can be confident without being arrogant, that it’s possible to get wiser and more sensible without losing passion and spontaneity.

We have such different personalities… Actually, now that I think about it, we are so opposite of each other that, in a way, this friendship doesn’t even make sense on paper… But somehow it works.

You’ve always put me in a pedestal. So much that some would say that for you, it’s God in Heaven and me on Earth. It used to scared the hell out of me, because all I could think of, is that it was impossible for anyone to live up to those standards. That sooner or later I would let you down. But maybe that’s exactly why this works, because the admiration and the respect is mutual. Because we understand the other is not perfect, but somehow we find in each other the traits we don’t have but admire. So I must say, if I have to live up to incredibly high standards, trust me… so do you!

There was a time I feared distance would drive us apart, but now I’m proud to know that we’ve reached a point where if I’d ever get in big trouble or become a victim of a conspiracy that would turn the whole world against me, no matter the evidence, all I’d have to do is call… and you’d come with a getaway car, no questions asked. Because that’s just how much faith you have in me. And I want you to know that I’m not certain about a lot of things in this world, but if there’s one thing I’m certain about is that as much faith as you have in me, I have just as much in you.

Orgulho

Mais um ano de desafios, mais um ano de sucessos.

Mais uma vez estou a milhas de distância, e ainda assim mais uma vez estou a seguir-te de perto.

Tenho tanto orgulho em ti. Sabes que não digo isto facilmente, mas realmente tenho tanto orgulho em ti.

Vejo as notícias, leio as estatísticas, vejo-te jogar e não consigo deixar de ficar feliz por ter partilhado este percurso contigo. Cresceste tanto desde que nos conhecemos. Acho que nem tens noção disso… Sei que não te lembras de muitas das coisas que costumavas fazer… mas eu lembro!

Lembro-me da miúda que jogava apenas por diversão, sem a mínima noção do talento que possuía, da miúda que só aparecia de vez em quando, que ignorava as ordens do treinador porque confiava em si mesma, mas também me lembro de quando tudo começou a mudar, do momento em que te apercebeste que podias ir mais longe. Lembro-me das dificuldades, das lágrimas que mais ninguém viu, das dores, das escolhas difíceis e do trabalho árduo. Por isso é que te continuarei a acompanhar onde quer que vás a seguir. Brincamos com o facto de eu ser a tua claque, mas a verdade é que te apoiarei até ao fim, porque és extraordinária e fazes-me adorar este desporto ainda mais, mesmo quando penso que isso já não é possível.

Tenho um orgulho desmedido nas conquistas que tens feito como jogadora, mas acima de tudo tenho orgulho na pessoa que te tornaste. Nem sempre é fácil gerir o sucesso, e acho que tu o tens feito de forma brilhante.

Nos momentos melhores e piores sempre tive muito orgulho em ti, e ainda mais em ser a tua amiga, a pessoa com quem podes sempre contar.

Sei que me vês como a voz da razão, mas a verdade é que me tens ensinado tanto ou mais do que eu a ti. Ensinaste-me que para se ser excepcional não é preciso ser perfeito, que uma pessoa pode ser confiante sem arrogância, que uma pessoa se pode tornar mais sensata e prudente sem perder a paixão e impulsividade que a caracterizam.

Temos personalidades tão diferentes… na verdade, agora que penso nisso, somos completamente o oposto uma da outra. De tal modo que na teoria esta amizade nem faz sentido… mas por alguma razão funciona.

Sempre me puseste num pedestal. Tanto que alguns dizem que para ti é Deus no Céu e eu na Terra. Isso costumava aterrorizar-me, porque só conseguia pensar que era impossível para alguém corresponder a esses ideais. Que mais cedo ou mais tarde te iria desiludir. Mas se calhar é exactamente por isso que isto funciona, porque a admiração e o respeito são mútuos. Porque temos noção que a outra não é perfeita, mas encontramos uma na outra características que não possuímos, mas admiramos. Por isso tenho de te confessar, se eu tenho de corresponder a ideais ridículos de perfeição, acredita… tu também!

Houve uma altura em que temi que a distância nos separasse, mas agora tenho orgulho em saber que estamos bem para além disso, e que se alguma vez estiver realmente em apuros, ou for vítima de uma conspiração que vire o mundo inteiro contra mim, não importa as provas que existam, basta telefonar… e tu estarás pronta para me resgatar, sem hesitações nem perguntas. Porque esse é ao ponto que chega fé que tens em mim. E quero que saibas que, não tenho certeza de muitas coisas neste mundo, mas tenho certeza disto, toda a fé que tens em mim, eu tenho igual por ti. 

You'd be surprised

You’d be surprised, but I’ve always had this dark side about me.

You’re probably oblivious to it, everyone else is, and I don’t blame them. I’m aware how much it doesn’t match the exterior.

A friend once told me that I have an old soul. I don’t know about old, but it’s certainly heavy. I can’t remember when it all started. I was once a light and happy child, at least that’s how I remember it… but I also remember being 6/7 and wondering how much of a difference, if any would it make if suddenly I wasn’t in this world.

I spend a lot of time thinking about tragedies and death. I’ve always had, for as long as I can remember. I’m not obsessed with it. And I don’t think about dying. There are so many things I’m afraid of, so many things… but me dying? I never think about that.

I don’t know where this comes from, as for the most part I’ve been lucky enough in my life when it comes to the topic. But the thought are always there, in the back of my mind.

From a very young age I’d draw these stories in my head, and they were never happy or breezy, they would always involve pain, sacrifice, loss… or death. Maybe it’s because I always expect the worst case scenario, and somehow I believe that if I think about it enough I’ll be better prepared to face it.

I always say I’m a terrible actress, but I guess that’s not true, because though you’d never believe it, I live in constant fear. And I’m not talking about that nervous feeling, ticklish stomach, adrenaline rush type, I’m talking about irrational, overwhelming fear, anxiety, full on panic. The kind that comes out of nowhere, sometimes for no reason, the kind that keeps you awake at night, that makes your chest ache, that makes you want to scream, even if you are the most quietest person you know.

You don’t see it or hear it because I keep it in check, I bottle it up, because truly, most times, rationally I can see how insane I’m being (it doesn’t stop me from feeling it, but I can see it). But can you imagine how it’s like? How exhausting it is to walk yourself through the same pep talks over and over again?

I’m aware that I fear too much, I use myself for it, for being such a coward… except I’m not, not really, because I keep pushing through. Because even if it kills me inside, even if it physically hurts, I keep throwing myself out there, because for the most part I refuse to settle.

And I know some of my fears are so ridiculous that facing them shouldn’t even count for anything… but it does. It does, because regardless of how ridiculous it was, it demanded a tremendous amount of effort and energy to do it. And when every day is a battle, you learn to celebrate the small victories.

All of these thoughts about death and fears, I think they’re partly to blame for my obsessive need to have it all planned out, to avoid unpredictability, to be in control. Even if I know that the things that truly matter are the ones we can’t control at all.

Which way to go

Sometimes I have this feeling that I have no idea what I’m doing with my life… no, let me rephrase that. On rare occasions I feel like I’m doing just what I should be doing. The rest of the time is filled with unanswered questions and uncertainties. And maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be, maybe that’s what pushes us forward but even if just for a while I’d like to get to a place where I’m content, where I can just be in the moment. Without thinking about the future or how I can make it work in the long run.

There’s so much left to do, to say. I’m curious about so many different areas, and yes, some of them are completely random and most likely I’ll probably never get to experience like job shadowing a pediatric surgeon or a theatre/tv show director or pick the brains of a real life detective or a writer (yes these are real examples) the point is, there’s just so many opportunities and at the same time, not enough. I can see them from a far, but don’t ever seem able to find how to reach them.

Minutes turn into hours, days turn into weeks, the years go by and I can’t find myself any closer to it than I was before. It probably doesn’t help that I don’t know what it is… I know what I don’t what to do, and I think I know who I want to become… there are just so many ways to get there that I have to wonder how I can be certain I chose the right one. 

You used to be my joy, my pride. Through the ups and downs. Right from the start, you were the only one that could tick me off, because you were the one that knew just what buttons to push. We’ve been through so much already, there was a point I think I hated you and I used to think that was the worst that could happen… I was wrong. At least then I felt something, now I look at you and all I feel is emptiness.

It’s like you used up all my anger, finished up the stock of disgust… and now there isn’t much left. There’s no hope. I try, I want to believe, what’s the alternative? But if I’m being honest I don’t. It’s not real, deep down I don’t believe in anything anymore.

I don’t like our pictures hanging on the wall. I can tolerate the old ones because despite the nostalgia, the innocence of our smiles makes it worth it. It reminds me of the times where despite the arguments all was simple. The current ones I can’t stand. I keep them, because I’m afraid one day I might regret, but I can’t stand those smiles starring back at me, because they mean nothing now, they are lies. Maybe I should seize those moments as they become more and more rare, but I can’t just put everything else aside. I’ll always wonder what it means… if it’s real or mere manipulation. Truth is you make me question your every move.

Everything is a battle for you. Always you against the world in your head. And the ironic thing is… I don’t ever remember this family being so united for anything else but you. 

There were times I would lose sleep over this, that I’d cry… but I don’t get mad anymore… I’m just so tired now. Tired of the same lies, the same fights, the same empty conversations, tired of not knowing what else to do or say, tired of feeling useless and tired of feeling guilty, not being enough.

Maybe it’s where this all comes from… Maybe the reason I keep moving is to get away from it all, maybe I just can’t call home to a place I share with someone that I used to know. Maybe this need to understand the human mind comes from not understanding yours. Maybe this urge to make a difference and save the world is my way of coping with not being able to save the one I cared the most.

Natal, porquê?

Não é apenas uma ceia, são dias longos de preparação, para uns mais do que outros, decerto diferentes para cada um de nós. Nada nunca é perfeito, há atrasos, desentendimentos, discussões que se repetem de ano para ano e lições que nunca são aprendidas. Há os cromos do costume, há quem sobre tudo opine mas pouco faça, há quem trabalhe no duro sem nunca reclamar. Há os que preparam e os que aparecem, os que brilham e os que fazem brilhar. Há de tudo um pouco, é sempre mais do mesmo e no entanto nada nunca é igual. Então porquê Natal?

Não é pelos presentes debaixo da árvore ou pelos doces sobre a mesa. Não é pelo bacalhau nem pelo peru, nem tão pouco é pela religião ou por obrigação. É sim pela família. Pelos momentos que se partilham não só no próprio dia, mas em todo o processo que o antecede. É pela única criança que ainda acredita no Pai Natal, e pelas restantes 30 pessoas que alinham na cena para que possa manter essa inocência por mais uns tempos. É por aquele que só recentemente percebeu quem nem toda a gente tem uma festa como a nossa, por aquele que não entende como pode haver Natal com 4 pessoas à mesa. É pelas tradições que vão evoluindo com os tempos, pelos teatros que de ano para ano se superam e pelas gargalhadas dos ensaios. É por aqueles que mesmo sabendo que este dia nunca mais será igual ao que era há 10 anos se empenham para mantê-lo especial. É pelos que estão presentes e pelos que estão ausentes. Pelos que não podem vir e pelos que gostariam de lá estar. É pelos que estão perto e pelos que estão longe. É pelo que temos de único. 

What do you miss the most about your childhood? / Do que mais tens saudades da tua infância?

Nota: Versão em português mais abaixo.

I miss the long summers, playing outside, camping in the garden for weeks, going on holidays with anyone that would take me just to return bursting with delight to go back to school. I miss all the drama at school, getting overattached to teachers, thinking that not getting a good grade was the end of the world, truly believe that if I just worked hard enough I could do anything, be anything I wanted.

I miss trying to surprise my parents with little treats, while they acted like they didn’t know what I was up to for ages. Or pretending to fall asleep 2 minutes before getting home just to be carried inside and get away with it, even though we both knew I was tricking them.

I miss the simplicity of life. Everything was black or white, good guys or bad guys, right or wrong. Simple and easy. When I blindly trusted people and the world, when I believed with all my heart that the friend I made in 1^st grade would be my best friend for life.

I miss waking up crazy early on Saturdays for no reason, just to watch WWE with my older brother, followed by some glorious marathon of cartoons that ended right before lunch. I miss the times when fantasizing and daydreaming where acceptable and encouraged, when the biggest conflict of the day was over who would be the Pink or the Yellow Power Ranger while we played.

I miss the certainties and undeniable truths. Believing in my causes and friends 100% , no place for doubt. Trusting that as long as I followed the rules everything would worked out as planned. Not being aware of the unpredictability of life. Not knowing death.

I miss having no sense of fear of getting hurt, which usually resulted in scrapped knees to be used as proud badges. I miss being with friends 8h/day for at least 5 days/week and still never be enough. The birthday parties that always turned into major sleepovers. Laughing for no reason, especially at bed time when parents would threaten “If I hear one more noise...”

I miss the fights with my brothers that simply showed how close we were. How my older brother would manage to scare me every single time, even though I knew he was about to do it. How my little brother used to be one of the only people to drive me crazy.

I miss the sense of novelty, how big everything looked, the excitement about… everything really! Going to the mall, going out for dinner, having friends over, opening Christmas presents. Everything was thrilling and exhilarating.

I miss the sense of safety, trusting that regardless how bad it got your parents could fix it. Running back to mom when things got tough. I miss curling up and cuddling when I was upset or ill, sneaking into my parents’ bed when I was woken by night terrors, times when a hug could fix everything in just seconds.

I miss being naïve, how easy it was to make me believe. Like when I tried to call Santa on a number I found on a children’s book. I miss believing in Santa and Easter Bunny, I even miss when I was only pretending to believe them. I miss how easy it was to make me happy.

I miss the really big family meetings that will never be the same. I miss not caring about time or distance. I miss having all the people I love and care about in a close distance. What I'm not missing is how this only shows how blessed I am for having so many great memories to miss.

Do que mais tens saudades da tua infância?

Tenho saudades dos Verões longos, passados a brincar lá fora, a acampar no quintal durante semanas, de ir de férias com quem quer que me levasse para depois regressar a casa desejosa de voltar à escola. Tenho saudades dos dramas da escola, de me vincular demasiado aos professores, de pensar que não uma nota boa era o fim do mundo, de acreditar mesmo quando me diziam que se me esforçasse podia fazer ser o que quisesse.

Tenho saudades de tentar fazer surpresas aos meus pais, enquanto eles fingiam que não sabiam o que eu estava a planear. Ou de fingir que adormecia no carro 2 minutos antes de chegarmos a casa só para que me levassem ao colo, e disso resultar, embora eles soubesse que não era verdade.

Tenho saudades da simplicidade da vida. Era tudo preto ou branco, pessoas boas ou pessoas más, certo ou errado. Tenho saudades dos tempos em que confiava cegamente nas pessoas e no mundo, em que acreditava com todo o meu ser que aquele amigo que tinha feito na primeira classe seria o meu melhor amigo para o resto da vida.

Tenho saudades de madrugar aos sábados sem nenhuma razão, a não ser ver WWE com o meu irmão mais velho, seguido de uma maratona de desenhos animados que durava até à hora do almoço. Tenho saudades dos tempos em que fantasiar e sonhar acordada era aceitável e encorajado, quando o maior conflicto do dia era sobre quem seria o Power Ranger Rosa ou o Amarelo nas brincadeiras.

Tenho saudades das certezas, das verdades absolutas. De acreditar nas minhas causas e nos meus amigos a 100%, sem espaço para dúvidas. De confiar que desde que seguisse as regras tudo ía correr bem. De não estar consciente da morte.

Tenho saudades de não ter medo de me magoar, o que normalmente resultava numa enormidade de joelhos esfolados e nódoas negras que era usados como medalhas de honra. Saudades de estar com os meus amigos 8h/dia pelo menos 6 dias/semana e de ainda assim isso não ser suficiente. Das festas de aniversário que inevitavelmente se transformavam em festas do pijama. Dos ataques de riso sem razão, principalmente quando os pais faziam as típicas ameaças “Se eu ouvir mais um piu…”

Tenho saudades das brigas constantes com os meus irmãos, que na verdade só mostravam como éramos próximos. De como o meu irmão mais velho me conseguia assustar sempre, mesmo quando eu sabia onde ela estava escondido e o que estava prestes a fazer. De como o meu irmão mais novo era das poucas pessoas que me conseguia tirar do sério.

Tenho saudades do sentimento de novidade constante, de como tudo parecia maior, da excitação… por tudo e por nada, na verdade! Ir ao Centro Comercial, jantar fora, ter visitas de amigos, abrir os presentes de natal. Era tudo tão emocionante e divertido.

Tenho saudades do sentimento de segurança, de confiar que acontecesse o que acontecesse os pais resolveriam a situação. De correr para a mãe quando as coisas ficavam difíceis. Saudades de ter um colo quando estava triste ou doente, de fugir para a cama dos meus pais quando acordava com terrores nocturnos, dos tempos em que um colo resolvia tudo em segundos.  

Tenho saudades da ingenuidade, de como era fácil fazer-me acreditar. Como daquela vez que tentei ligar ao Pai Natal pelo número que encontrei num livro d’A Anita. Saudades de acreditar no Pai Natal e no Coelho da Páscoa, e até mesmo dos tempos em que já só fingia acreditar. Saudade de acreditar que tinha uma passagem secreta no meu armário que me levava à China. Saudades de como era fácil fazer-me feliz.

Tenho saudades das reuniões de família realmente grandes que nunca mais serão as mesmas. Saudades de não me preocupar com tempo ou distância. Saudades de ter todas as pessoas de quem gosto por perto.

Saudades, muitas, mas a conclusão que tiro destas saudades todas é da sorte que tenho por ter tantas memórias boas para sentir falta.

Some days

Some days I just want to stay in bed. I have no strength, nothing that that can convince me to get up and do something useful with myself. I want to stay there forever, cuddled up in my own bubble, hidden inside the walls I never even noticed I was creating. I lay there, and though my body is still my mind keeps working, hoping, dreaming about all the things I’ll never do and the ones I wish I could. Still awake, I close my eyes and design utopic plans that can never be. I look back at the years that have passed, wondering if I should accept them for what they are… unrealistic dreams.

Some days I’m flooded by bursts of energy. I can’t keep up with my own brain, so many ideas that it’s hard to focus on the every day tasks. I go through my day, body present but mind miles away, trusting, believing that one day I’ll find a way to make the dreams come true, that one day all the uncertainties will pay off. I write lists, define goals, dare to envision all I could do I if I’d ever find my shot, if I’d ever manage to create it. I look into the future, to all the greatness I could still achieve.

Some days are better than others, but what all of them have in common are the dreams, they might happen in a lonely bed or on a busy street, but they’re always there. More or less realistic, they remain with me through the ups and downs. And I guess in a way that what still drives me, because if they’re the only constant thing in my life… that’s got to mean something, right? 

Where do I go from here?

Where do I go from here?  Is this where I intended to be?

All the things that I see, that I do, they never satisfy me, they just drive me to want more and more, but where does it lead? Will anything ever be enough?

How to keep going? What do we do for our dreams to survive? How to figure out the next steps?

Deep in my heart I’m concealing things that I’m longing to say… Scared to confess what I’m feeling… scare to have to wave it away.

What's your biggest fear?/Qual é o teu maior medo?

Note: Versão portuguesa mais abaixo

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure” Marianne Williamson

One more year as come and gone. One more year of adventures and new challenges. One more year of travelling and new beginnings. One more year of people met and friendships strengthen. One more year of feeling that’s not enough…that I haven’t done enough.

Year after year I’ve been overwhelmed with the pressure, a pressure that comes from no other than myself. I set the bar too high for myself, I hold myself to standards that I don’t demand from others, I see every mistake as a failure. I don’t know where this comes from, maybe it’s because I’ve always felt like I had to justify my presence in this world, earn it.

I remember being in grade school and wonder how the world would be if I wasn’t in it. I was a happy child, it wasn’t a depressive thought, I wasn’t wanting not to be in it, I was just curious of how much of a difference one life could make. I still am, up to this day. 

The years keep passing by and though I feel quite blessed with the journey I’ve been allowed, I still fear to look back one day and feel like I’ve accomplished nothing, that I’m leaving this world without leaving my mark on it. Perhaps that’s a presumptuous thought to have, to want to have that kind of impact, but I’ve always dreamed big.

I used to think that I was afraid of not being good enough, now I fear that I have more in me than I can handle. I fear that I have in me the power to make a difference and that I’m wasting it, that I won’t be able to fulfill my potential simply because I can’t overcame my own demons. 

All the beautiful things that people say I can do, I fear that I won’t. I fear that I won’t be able to own up to their expectations, or worst, to mine!

That’s why I’m restless, that’s why I have to keep moving, to keep challenging myself. I need to find my stage, my spot to make a stand. I don’t know how or when, but the things I’ve set up myself to do, I can’ make them from my comfort zone. That’s why I fight settling down with every fiber of my being, because I know the moment I allow myself to get comfortable all the dreams will die.

“O nosso maior medo não é sermos inadequados. O nosso maior medo é possuirmos um poder desmedido” Marianne Williamson

Mais um ano que foi e veio. Mais um ano de aventuras e novos desafios. Mais um ano de viagens e recomeços. Mais um ano a conhecer pessoas e a aprofundar amizades. Mais um ano a sentir que isso não é suficiente… que eu não fiz o suficiente. 

Ano após ano tenho lutado contra a pressão, uma pressão infligida apenas por mim mesma. Sou eu que coloco a fasquia demasiado alta, sou eu que me obrigo a corresponder a padrões que não exijo a mais ninguém, sou eu que vejo cada erro como um fracasso. Não sei de onde é que isto vem, talvez porque sempre senti necessidade de justificar a minha presença neste mundo, de merecê-la.

Lembro-me de estar na escola primária e imaginar como seria o mundo se eu não estivesse aqui. Fui uma criança feliz, não era um pensamento depressivo, não era que não quisesse estar neste mundo, apenas tinha curiosidade de quanta diferença uma vida podia fazer. Ainda hoje tenho.

Os anos continuam a passar, e apesar de me sentir muito abençoada com a minha jornada até agora, ainda receio olhar para trás um dia e sentir que não fiz nada, que estou a deixar este mundo sem nele deixar a minha marca. Provavelmente é um pensamento presunçoso, querer ter tamanho impacto, mas sempre sonhei grande. 

Costumava pensar que tinha medo de não ser boa o suficiente, agora receio ter mais em mim do que consigo gerir. Tenho receio de ter em mim o poder para fazer a diferença e estar a desperdiçá-lo, receio de não ser capaz de atingir todo o meu potencial simplesmente por não conseguir ultrapassar os meus demónios internos. 

Todas as coisas fantásticas que as pessoas dizem que posso fazer, receio que não possa. Receio não conseguir corresponder às suas expectativas, ou pior, às minhas!

Por isso a minha inquietude, por isso esta necessidade de continuar em movimento, de me continuar a desafiar. Preciso de encontrar o meu palco, o meu lugar para fazer a diferença. Não sei como ou quando, mas as coisas que me predispus a fazer, não posso fazê-las sem sair da minha zona de conforto. É por isso que luto contra criar raízes com cada fibra do meu ser, porque sei que no momento que me permitir ficar demasiado confortável todos os sonhos morrerão.

Insomnia - II

You’ve followed through with the plan, trying to get some rest, and yet you lie in bed wide awake while the clock keeps ticking in the darkness of the night. 

There’s an inner fight inside your brain, as one part begs the other to let go of the thoughts just for one night. But it doesn’t, they never stop coming. 

You’re tired, you’re actually tired, and you can’t understand how it is possible to be so hyper aware when you’re this exhausted. 

There’s a needy side of you that comes out in nights like these, a side that you don’t necessarily appreciate, but with it also comes the honesty, a raw honesty that you don’t usually allow yourself. You’re not exactly sure why, probably because you’re just too exhausted to filter. Regardless, you’ve learned to use it on your behalf, to allow yourself to put in words what you don’t usually say, and hopefully share it before the morning hits and rationality takes over. 

The endless nights that can be both your best friend and worst enemy. Where you can find comfort in its silence or be sucked in the rabbit hole once again.

There are techniques you’ve developed over the years, some that you started using when you were only a child, not even aware that this could be a problem. Some of them still carry you through the long hours most of the nights. You’ve taught yourself to dream even if awake, you’ve build your very own world, and most times it makes it manageable. But it’s not always enough. Some nights the force that takes over your thoughts is darker, deeper, you think about everything and nothing at all at the same time. You’re hit with waves of panic for no apparent reason, you’re overwhelmed with a sense of loss that you can’t quiet place, you think about those who are far and the ones that are gone, the ones that you miss without having never met them. In nights like this you review your whole life, you rethink every single choice you’ve ever made, replay every single word said or left unsaid. 

Waiting for the morning, that’s all you can do, there’s no way around it. The morning will come, regardless of the fact that you have slept or not, you’ll carry on with your obligations throughout the day just hoping that you can wear yourself down enough not to have to cope with another sleepless night.

Where’s our sense of Humanity?/Onde está o nosso sentido de Humanidade?

Nota: Versão portuguesa mais abaixo.

I’ve been consciously avoiding writing about this topic, although lately these questions have been constantly in my mind. It’s probably cowardly, but the truth is that I’ve read so many disappointing opinions over the past months that I wasn’t sure I even wanted to bring this up. People are entitled to their opinions, I’m all for freedom of speech, but that doesn’t necessarily means that I want to listen to them. 

I like to think that I’m open minded, that I’m willing to hear and respect other people’s beliefs, but there are a some thoughts that once heard can’t be unheard, and that simple change the way I see that person. 

I don’t have an assertive character, I don’t feel strongly about much, but if there’s something I feel strongly about is racism, equality, human rights and solidarity. And maybe that’s another reason why I don’t necessarily like to discuss this, because these are some of the few things I know I won’t change my mind, and unfortunately I’m aware how unlikely it is to change someone’s opinion on these topics. Once again I’m probably being coward, but some comments literally leave me so sick to my stomach that I can’t even manage to have a proper conversation. 

I understand that people are afraid of the unknown, I admit that not all of us are willing to immerse themselves in other cultures, I can even try to comprehend the apprehension that comes with the contact with someone different, but what I can’t grasp is how people are willing to risk human lives over their fears. How first world problems have precedence over human beings. 

I don’t understand how you can be so certain, feel so strongly against an entire race or ethnic group, that you're unfazed by human suffering.

It bothers me the way people choose to dehumanize the victims to justify their actions, because when you think about numbers tragedy becomes statistics. But I don’t care about the numbers, I don’t care about the risks, it’s people we’re talking about!

And yes, maybe this is a naïve way to perceive the world, but if you lose faith in people, what are we living for?

What scares me the most, is how little we seem to have learned with the past. I’m not surprised that one person can be crazy enough to want to eradicate or simply refuse help to someone because they’re different, what scares me is how many people agree with it. Not only that, I also can’t comprehend how hateful people can be against the ones that do want to help and show acceptance. It’s one thing not to be open or actively help, but to be against those who are? Undermining their efforts by blaming them for not joining other causes? Just don’t get it…

I really don’t get it… Maybe it’s because I come from a big mixed family where despite its size there was always room for one more. Maybe it’s because I’ve been extremely welcomed in all the places I’ve travelled regardless the history of my country. Maybe it’s because I was always haunted with the fact that our fates can be determined simply by where we’re born. Maybe because that’s just who I am… the truth is that I can’t justify my motivation anymore that I can justify the others’, the only thing I know is that I can’t be indifferent to human pain. 

So no, I don’t like to discuss our (lack of) Humanity, but that’s not right. That’s not the correct approach. We need to speak up. Even though is hard to keep it together sometimes, even though you don’t know how to explain something that is so clear for you, even if it shows you a side of people that you’d rather not know. We need to speak up, because it may not be today, it may not be tomorrow, but eventually that’s how change happens. 

“First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out— because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.”

MARTIN NIEMÖLLER

Onde está o nosso sentido de Humanidade?

Tenho feito um esforço consciente para evitar escrever sobre este tema, apesar de ultimamente estas perguntas estarem constantemente no meu pensamento. Provavelmente é cobardia, mas a verdade é que tenho lido tantas barbaridades durante os últimos meses que não tinha a certeza se queria agitar as águas ainda mais. As pessoas têm o direito à sua opinião, defendo a liberdade de expressão, mas isso não quer necessariamente dizer que eu queira ouvi-las.

Gosto de pensar que tenho uma mente aberta, que estou disposta a ouvir e respeitar as crenças dos outros, mas há opiniões que uma vez ouvidas não podem ser esquecidas, e que simplesmente mudam a forma como olho para essa pessoa.

Não tenho uma personalidade assertiva, não tenho opiniões fortes sobre muita coisa, mas se há temas sobre os quais tenho opiniões fortes eles são o racismo, igualdade, direitos humanos e solidariedade. Talvez essa seja outra razão pela qual não tenho muita vontade de discutir estes temas, porque se por um lado sei que não vou mudar a minha opinião, por outro, estou consciente que é pouco provável conseguir mudar a opinião de alguém sobre os mesmos. Mais uma vez, talvez seja uma atitude cobarde, mas a verdade é que alguns comentários deixam-se tão enjoada que nem consigo ter uma resposta apropriada.

Percebo que as pessoas tenham medo do desconhecido, admito que nem todos estejam disposto a mergulhar em outras culturas, posso até compreender a apreensão que surge do contacto com alguém diferente, o que não consigo entender é como é que as pessoas estão dispostas a arriscar vidas humanas apenas com base em receios. Como é que problemas de primeiro mundo têm precedência sobre seres humanos. 

Não percebo como é que se pode estar tão certo, ser-se tão contra uma raça ou grupo étnico, que se fique imune ao sofrimento humano. 

Incomoda-me como as pessoas preferem desumanizar as vítimas para justificar as suas opiniões, porque quando se pensa em números a tragédia torna-se estatística. Mas eu não quero saber dos números, não quero saber dos riscos, é de pessoas que estamos a falar!

E sim, se calhar esta é uma visão ingénua do mundo, mas se perdermos a fé nas pessoas, pelo que é que estamos a viver?

O que mais me assusta é o pouco que aprendemos com o passado. Não me surpreende que haja uma pessoa louca, disposta a erradicar ou recusar ajuda a alguém por ser diferente, o que me assusta é a quantidade de pessoas que concordam com isso. Também não consigo perceber o ódio direcionado a quem quer ajudar e mostrar aceitação. Uma coisa é não ajudar de forma activa, mas ser contra aqueles que o fazem? Minar os seus esforços culpando-os por não se juntarem a outras causas? Não percebo…

Realmente não percebo…

Talvez porque vim duma família grande e diversificada, onde apesar do seu tamanho cabia sempre mais um. Talvez porque sempre fui bem acolhida nos diversos sítios que visitei, apesar da história do meu país. Talvez porque sempre fui assombrada pelo facto do nosso destino poder ser determinado simplesmente pelo local onde nascemos. Talvez porque é simplesmente quem sou… a verdade é que não consigo justificar a minha motivação melhor do que consigo justificar a dos outros, a única coisa que sei é que não consigo ser indiferente à dor humana. 

Por isso, não, não gosto de discutir a nossa (falta de) Humanidade, mas isso não está certo. Essa não é a abordagem correcta. Apesar de ser difícil por vezes manter a postura, apesar de não saber como explicar algo que para mim é tão óbvio, mesmo que isso me leve a descobrir um lado das pessoas que eu preferia não conhecer. Precisamos de falar, porque pode não ser hoje, nem amanhã, mas com o tempo, é assim que a mudança acontece. 

“Primeiro vieram para os Socialistas, e eu não falei – porque não sou Socialista.

Depois vieram para os Sindicalistas, e eu não falei – porque não sou Sindicalista.

Depois vieram para os Judeus, e eu não falei – porque não sou Judeu.

Depois vieram para mim – e não restava mais ninguém para falar”

MARTIN NIEMÖLLER

Family

The bond that connects you to your family is not one of blood, bu tone of love, respect and appreciation.

Some people are lucky to be born in a family they love and truly belong to, some people build their families along the way. If you’re lucky enough, you’ll get the best of both worlds.

Your family is where you always feel welcome, where you feel at home, where you feel safe. Your family doesn’t have to be in one place, because family is not about location, it’s about the people.

Some members of your family might have been there since you were born, watched you grow, but that doesn’t mean that the ones you weren’t know you any less.

Sometimes you wonder if you’ll ever feel the urge to set roots in one place, but why be limited to one place if when you go, you just add to your family?

It might mean that sometimes you really wish you were in Portugal, that you have a strong need to visit the kids in Boston, that you can’t wait to see your family in New Jersey or stay away from Poland for too long, but if you’re bonding in all those places, than you must be doing something right!

“I think about dying but I don’t want to die, not even close. In fact my problem is the complete opposite. I want to live, I want to escape. I feel trapped and bored and claustrophobic, there’s so much to see and so much to do but I somehow still find myself doing nothing at all. I’m wasting every second, even now I’m writing this when I should be out there, I should be living. I’m still here in this metaphorical bubble of existence and I can’t quite figure out what the hell I’m doing or how to get out.”*

*Not mine. Author unknown

Do you ever have those out of the body moments when you just scan through your life trying to make sense of things, with questions like “how did I get here?” and “where will I go now?” floating around you?

Do you ever feel like you don’t do enough? That regardless where you go, you always end up circling around to the same traps?

Do you ever feel like you’re wasting your life, like you’ve accomplished nothing, but at the same time wouldn’t take anything back?

Do you ever wondered how much longer you can keep lying to yourself, believing in fulfilling dreams that you have no clue how to pursue?

Do you ever feel like giving up might be easy, but know that would mean dying inside?

Do you ever wonder why everything has to be a struggle with you? Why you’re in this constant battle with yourself?

Do you ever wonder if you’ve been doing this wrong the whole time?

Do you still wonder if one day things might change?

Are you ever scared of the answer?

Breathe in, breathe out

There’s nothing major going on and yet your mind is running 1000 mph. you’re exhausted, but a rush of adrenaline takes over and won’t let you stop. You can’t relax, and at the same time you don’t seem able to focus on anything long enough to make it productive.

Your heart beats fast inside your chest and suddenly you feel trapped inside your own home. You take a breather and walk out. Thinking the fresh air might help. Hoping observing other people takes you out of your own head.

You start moving and find your pace, headphones in your ears to prevent you from hearing the voices inside your head, and you focus. You focus really hard not to focus on anything at all. It seems simple enough, but not for you, always wired up.

You find your rhythm, the songs filling your head, but still there’s something not quite right.

You’re hyperaware. The smallest movement makes you startle and there’s this tightness in your chest you can’t explain. You force yourself to push through, though at this point you know it’s not working.

You try to ignore the signals you know all too well. Hoping you can snap out of it before it’s too late, but you feel the doubt creeping in, the self-loathing peeking out and you know you might just lose this battle. 

Words aren't enough

Do you ever feel like words aren’t enough to describe the dizzying array of thoughts that goes inside you? Like you’ve tried to use all of them, in different languages and combinations, and yet can never find a way to send the message across?

How can something that you feel so clearly, that has been with you for as long as you can remember, be so hard to explain?

There’s a tide of thoughts that floods every single moment of your life, that prevents you from sleeping, that takes over your dreams and makes it impossible to enjoy anything 100%, and yet, when it comes to this you can’t seem able to make a single coherent sentence.

Maybe this inability is fueled by the inconsistencies within yourself. The antagonistic sides of you. The ones you can’t find balance for. The person that trusts no-one and sees the world as a dark place, always waiting for the other shoe to drop, always imagining the worst possible scenario, versus the naïve romantic one that desperately wants to believe in fairytales. The one that vows for protection and preaches reliability, but whose true self nobody knows.

So many thoughts and feelings going through you at all times that it’s hard to keep up, hard not to skip a bit. So much to say and yet most times it’s like there aren’t enough words to neatly sum up what you feel.

I miss you

I miss you!

I miss your smile,

And how you sough my embrace for comfort.

I miss your crazy ideas,

And the stubbornness in your eyes.

I miss your hugs,

And the complicity only we shared.

I miss the tears,

And how I was the one who could make it all better.

I miss the games,

And the simplicity of everything around us.

I miss your voice,

And even more the sound of your sweet words.

I miss what we became,

And how protective of eachother we were.

I miss the fights,

And the determination behind your every move.

I miss our laughs,

And how we understood eachother without words.

I miss the hard times,

And how despite the frustration we fought them together.

I miss the lazy days,

And how we could entertain eachother for hours.

I miss you singing,

And sharing with you the songs that were meaningless to anyone else.

I miss your clinginess,

And the way you called my name.

I miss us,

And how fiercely we loved eachother.

I miss you…

And I miss not knowing you could miss someone so much!

You never want to stop moving, but you wonder if the day will come when you can finally find yourself at home.

Though you don’t think the joy of always being on the road will ever lose its magic, a person eventually needs to find her place in this world.

The mysteries of the human soul that both intrigue and despise you, might never lose its charm, but there are only so many lives you can love and walk away from before it becomes unbearable. And for someone usually so guarded, you sure have lost quite a few pieces of your heart throughout the journey.

Perhaps the urge to never stay too long in one place comes from the inability to bond with others, but then why are they always on your mind?

You carry so much inside that it’s ironic how you can so easily pack up and go when truth is, you have more luggage than an airport.

Each stop means one more package, one more story you’ll pretend not to get attached to. Every goodbye means one more compartment, one more box, closed and put away in the back. All of it there. One after the other, until the weight of it becomes too much, until the day you won’t be able to pretend anymore.

Ten/Dez

Nota: Versão Portuguesa mais abaixo.

Time works in a funny way.

There are moments where one minute seems to last a lifetime, others when a full year seems to vanish in a blink of an eye, and then there are the ones you can’t quite place.

You achieve so many time milestones throughout life, and when you look back it’s odd, because in one hand it feels like it was yesterday, but in the other hand it feels like a lifetime ago.

The core hasn’t changed. You’re still the same person you used to be, and yet you are different in so many ways. You’ve done so many things, met so many people, survived so many challenges that maybe that’s the reason why, in a way, you didn’t notice time flying by. At the same time, so many fears are the same, so many insecurities remain, so many questions still haunt you that there are nights you wonder if time has moved at all.

You look back at the 17 year old version of yourself, so lost, so scared, but also so full of dreams and expectations and you can’t help but wonder if you’re doing enough to fulfill them.

You look at that younger version of yourself that people thought they knew, and wonder how many have been surprised with how you turned out. You know you have! If you would go back and tell your 17 year old self half the things you’ve done, I’m quite sure she would laugh at you, because there’s no way that young girl could have ever imagined this path.

So many certainties were squashed during the process, not all in a bad way! Some great things have remained constant in your life despite the commotion. Some you weren’t sure that would. Some you weren’t sure you had in you to make it work through time and distance. But somehow, when you weren’t even looking, it all worked out.

You remember some moments and nostalgia eventually hits you hard for a moment, but you wouldn’t want to go back. Firstly, because those weren’t always easy times and even though pictures only capture the smiles, the tears shed over those periods still feel very real to you, but mostly because there are no regrets. Because “everything I’ve ever done, every choice I’ve ever made, every terrible and wonderful thing that has happened to me, it’s all led me right here, to this moment”*, and I may not be the happiest person on Earth, but I wouldn’t change a thing.

*Nathan Fillion as Richard Castle In Castle S06e15

________________

O tempo funciona de forma engraçada.

Há momentos em que um minuto parece durar uma vida, outros em que um ano parece desaparecer num piscar de olhos, e outros ainda que não consegues exactamente definir.

Atingimos tantos marcos temporais ao longo da nossa vida, e quando olhamos para trás é bizarro, porque por um lado parece que foi ontem, mas por outro parece que foi noutra vida.

O coração não mudou. Ainda és a mesma pessoa que costumavas ser, e ainda assim és diferente de tantas maneiras. Fizeste tantas coisas, conheceste tantas pessoas, ultrapassaste tantos desafios que talvez seja por isso que não te tenhas apercebido do tempo a passar. Ao mesmo tempo, tantos medos são os mesmos, tantas inseguranças se mantêm, tantas perguntas ainda te assombram que há noites em que te perguntas se o tempo se moveu de todo.

Olhas para trás, para a versão de 17 anos de ti mesmo, tão perdida, tão assustada, mas também tão cheia de sonhos e expectativas, e não consegues deixar de questionar se estás a fazer o suficiente para realizá-los.

Olhas para essa versão mais jovem de ti mesmo que todos pensavam conhecer, e imaginas quantos se surpreenderam com o teu desfecho. Surpreendeste-te a ti mesma! Se pudesses voltar atrás para dizer à tua versão de 17 anos metade das coisas que fizeste estou certa que se iria rir, porque é impossível que aquela jovem pudesse imaginar este caminho.

Tantas certezas foram esmagadas durante o processo, nem todas no mau sentido! Muitas coisas importantes mantiveram-se constantes na tua vida, apesar de todo o tumulto. Coisas que não saberias se se manteriam. Coisas que não sabias se serias capaz de manter apesar do tempo e da distância. Mas sem saberes bem como, quando não estavas com atenção, tudo acabou por se resolver.

Lembras alguns momentos e inevitavelmente a nostalgia acaba por te atingir com força, mas não gostarias de voltar atrás. Primeiro, porque esses tempos não foram sempre felizes e apesar das fotografias só captarem os sorrisos, as lágrimas derramadas ainda são bem reais para ti, mas principalmente porque não tens arrependimentos. Porque “tudo o que fiz, todas as decisões que tomei, todas as coisas horríveis e maravilhosas que me aconteceram, me trouxeram a aqui, a este momento”*, e eu posso não ser a pessoa mais feliz do mundo, mas não mudava nem um bocadinho. 

*Nathan Fillion com Richard Castle Em Castle S06e15

Serendipity

Nota: Versão Portuguesa mais abaixo.

Sometimes I remind myself that I almost didn’t go to that training, that I almost didn’t see that email, that I almost went to a different city, that the whim of a minute could have changed everything.

Taking a chance, when everyone thinks you’re being crazy. Feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders and hoping for you dear life to be right.

I look back and wonder how differently things would have turned out if I had taken that call, if I had gone to a different school, if I had listened to what everyone else was saying.

I remember the pain I felt in some of those moments, being so lost, so lonely, so scared of what the future was holding. Feeling like my plans were slipping through my fingers and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that I almost didn’t go to that interview, that I almost didn’t miss that plane, that some of the best things in my life happened because the plan failed…

We think it through, we plan it out, we try to be prepared, but how much can we actually control?

Sometimes I remind myself that I almost didn’t meet some of the most important people in my life, that I almost let my fears win, that I was almost willing to give up.

Sometimes I just have to remind myself how so much of our lives are simply fortunate strokes of serendipity.

 _______________

Às vezes relembro-me que quase não fui àquela formação, que quase não vi aquele email, que quase fui para uma cidade diferente, que o capircho de um minuto podia ter mudado tudo.

Arriscar, quando todos pensam que estás louco. Sentir o peso do mundo nos teus ombros e rezar, pela tua vida, para estares certo.

Olho para trás e imagino como as coisas seriam diferentes se tivesse atendido aquela chamada, se tivesse ido para uma escola diferente, se tivesse dado ouvidos ao que toda a gente estava a dizer.

Lembro-me da dor que senti nalguns desses momentos, tão perdida, tão só, com tanto medo do que o futuro iria trazer. Sentir os planos a escorregar por entre os meus dedos sem conseguir fazer nada para o impedir.

Às vezes tenho de me relembrar que quase não fui àquela entrevista, que quase não perdi aquele avião, que algumas das melhores coisas da minha vida, aconteceram porque o plano falhou…

Pensamos muito, planeamos, tentamos estar preparados, mas até que ponto temos algum controlo?

Às vezes relembro-me que quase não conheci algumas das pessoas mais importantes da minha vida, que quase deixei os meus medos vencerem, que quase estive disposta a desistir.

Às vezes simplesmente tenho de me relembrar como tanto das nossas vidas resulta simplesmente de acasos afortunados. 

Beauty

There’s so much beauty in this world. Beauty everywhere, in everything, if you just look close enough, with the right eyes.

Beauty where the land kisses the sea, beauty in the green fields and sandy roads, beauty in the smiles of the people you come across, beauty in the stories their eyes tell without words.

Despite the misery, the dirt, the garbage, the needs… there’s still beauty.

Beauty in the simple pleasures, the little things you usually take for granted. Beauty in the differences cultures can have.

There’s beauty in the way human beings can find comfort in so little, beauty in the way they share when they have as little as nothing.

There’s so much beauty in this world, often disguised or forgotten by the tragedies that walk right by its side, it’s a fact, but still… so much beauty.

There’s so much beauty in this world that sometimes it’s hard not to be in awe, not to lose yourself observing everything and everyone. Hard to take it all in. Hard to just enjoy every bit of it without thinking of anything else but that moment. 

Fear/Medo

Nota: Versão portuguesa mais abaixo.

People don’t know how it’s like to live in constant fear. Fear of failure, fear of commitment, fear of not doing enough, fear of not being enough. Fear of fearing your whole life. Fear of fearing what no one sees as a threat.

People have no idea what it’s like to overthink your ever move, to scrutinize every word that’s ever said, to try so hard to live in the moment and watch it slip between your fingertips.

People don’t understand how hard you wish you could forget and overcome every single mistake and control the tides that flood your soul.

People think it’s great that you keep moving forward, embracing new challenges, what they don’t know is that it’s the quest that keeps you afloat.

People don’t get how you can so easily pack up and go, because they don’t see that though you may pretend to fit, you still haven’t found the place you belong to.

People don’t know what it’s like to even be afraid of dreaming, as the reality of waking up is sometimes unbearable.

People can’t imagine how hard it’s like to want to do so much, and fear not be able to do anything at all.

Medo

As pessoas não sabem o que é viver constantemente com medo. Medo do fracasso, medo do compromisso, medo de não fazer o suficiente, medo de não ser o suficiente. Medo de ter medo toda a vida. Medo de ter medo do que ninguém vê como ameaça.

As pessoas não têm ideia de como é analisar cada passo dado, escrutinar cada palavra dita, tentar ao máximo viver no momento e vê-lo escorregar entre os teus dedos.

As pessoas não entendem como tu gostavas de poder esquecer e ultrapassar todos os erros, e controlar as marés que inundam a tua alma.

As pessoas pensam que é óptimo que sigas em frente, encontrando novos desafios, o que elas não sabem é que essa procura é a única coisa que te mantém à tona de água.

As pessoas não entendem como pode ser tão fácil fazer malas e partir, porque o que elas não vêem é que, embora disfarces bem, ainda não encontraste o local onde verdadeiramente pertences.

As pessoas não sabem o que é ter medo até de sonhar, por a realidade ao acordar ser por vezes insuportável.

As pessoas não imaginam como é difícil querer fazer tanto, e ter medo não ser capaz de fazer nada.