Sometimes there are no words. Sometimes, the day just… ends

Just last week you told me you were feeling lonely. You said it was nothing, that it was stupid, that you were afraid to tell me because you didn’t want to hurt my feelings, but that somehow you knew I would get it. We had a good talk about it, we hugged it out, I assured you I would never leave you alone and you assured me you knew that. It was good, we were good, but all week I had you in my mind… all week I had these thoughts in my head about how some things can never be what they were. I thought about how life and work steals time away from the people we care about. How we can never go back to spend 8 hours a day with our best friend in the playground, no matter how much we’d love to. How no matter how hard we try we can’t prevent people from hurting… and then tragedy strikes…  and what was just a nostalgic feeling for times we can’t relive transforms in an absolute feel of impotence. All of the sudden 30km feel like an ocean away, a couple of hours feel like an eternity and I feel so small, because I’ve been there, and I know there’s nothing one can say or do that will take the pain away. And it kills me. I know this isn’t about me, but it kills me to know there’s nothing I can do, it kills me hearing you cry and have no voice, because all the comfort words I can utter feel shallow and vain. In moments like these I wish I was one of those people who always know just what to say, I wish I was positive, I wish I was strong, I wish I could give you the peace of mind that deep inside I know only comes with time. But I have nothing, nothing to offer but hug and a promise of always trying to be there, because truth is I still don’t get it. I don’t get death. It’s been 10 years for me, and in a lot of ways it might seem that I’ve coped with it, but I’m not sure I have. I pushed through like we all do, but there’s so much about that day that feels unresolved. So much pain, so much guilt… So I have nothing, nothing to offer but hug and a promise of always trying to be there.

Family is who your heart chooses

You came without a warning, and at a time when my guard was already up. It was awkward at first, I won’t deny it. I had always wanted a little sister, but I wasn’t expecting one anymore, not at that point in my life, and certainly not one that worshiped me so much after one short meeting. Back then you were devoted to me, I could do no wrong, and as appealing as that may sound, it’s a very heavy load to carry – to have someone so pure and innocent have so much faith in you.

Quickly though you won us all. One by one, and we’re not an easy bunch to win (!) but you made it look so natural, everything was so effortless that we never stood a chance. Any of us. You were so sure we were your family that it became contagious. There was so much certainty in your words, in your actions, that there was no room left for doubt. You never cared about what others might think or ask, you didn’t care about labels (at least not for anyone but me), you didn’t had to name what we had, you just felt it, and that was enough for you.

You brought an openness and bluntness to our house that we were not used to, that we were missing. You poured your heart out day in and day out and bonded with us in ways we weren’t bonded with each other. You somehow managed to connect us all a bit more and ended up being the piece of the puzzle we didn’t know was missing.

Today I’m not your whole world anymore. I’m not your idol and you certainly don’t think I am always right. Nowadays you can be grumpy and stubborn, you can show your temper and we can drive each other crazy, but that means only one thing… that we love each other to a point that we know we can reveal our true selves and everything will be okay in the end, no matter what. For we may not always agree, but we will always have each other’s backs, that’s how sisterhood works. When it comes down to it, you protect the things you love, no questions asked.

You came home with us for a morning and all of the sudden it has been 10 years, but it shouldn’t be surprising for me, not anymore, that family comes in the most unexpected ways and forms, because truth is because family is who your heart chooses.

Magic inside my closet

When I was little I never believed I had monsters under my bed, I did, however, believe I had magic inside my closet.

Every day was an new adventure, as for in the darkness of the night, when everyone was sure I was fast asleep, my magic closet would take me to China and beyond.

All I had to do was step inside and in an instant it would teleport me to a whole new world. If I close my eyes I can still see the colors around me as I twirled in wonder, the long pavements, the things happening all at once around me, everything so new, so different, so interesting!

I’d always travel alone, for some reason, despite being the social butterfly I was back then, but I was never lonely. There was no fear, despite how far away I would travel, no worries about when or if I would come back, there was just excitement and anticipation.

I’d never remember how I would get back, though I imagine it would be just as magical. The memories that remained were always the ones of departing my home and arriving to a new place, with unlimited possibilities.

My brother, older and always rational, tried to prove over and over again that I was lying, that it just wasn’t possible, but I didn’t care about his logic, or his intentions to dismiss what I knew was true.

Things were different all those years ago, I was so confident back then, so sure. Life hadn’t got in the way yet. I didn’t care about what made sense, what could be proven or what they said, all I believed was myself. 

I wasn’t lying, there was indeed magic in my bedroom, I just didn’t realize that the magic wasn’t inside my closet, but inside myself.  

Days

There are days you impress yourself with how everything turned out, the challenges you took, the fears you faced and the many ways you refused to let your insecurities defy who you are and how far you can get.

Other days you look at your life and it feels like you’ve achieved nothing, that you’re immensely far from where you want to be, that you keep taking steps in random directions and that you’re no closer to your goal than you were back in high school.

Some days you’re just completely out of focus. All you can think about is all the things you haven’t managed to achieve yet. You’ve always dreamed big. You’re destined to do great things with your life, that’s what everyone keeps telling you, that’s what they believe, that’s what they made YOU believe. And yet there are days you have no purpose. Days where all the inspiration is gone, days where there is no motivation, no hope, no will.

You feel constantly trapped in this dichotomy of having days when you feel like you can change the world, and days you can barely find the strength to get out of bed. And it’s funny that these up and downs are what hasn’t really changed over the years. They are your constant, your solid ground, from when you where that bubbly little girl until the moment you are now. Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be, maybe balance is overrated and the constant struggle is what keeps you from becoming stale (even though that’s how you feel, more often than you’d like to admit).

My Answer is You / A minha resposta são vocês

Nota: Versão portuguesa mais abaixo

I grew up hearing about how magical life was, full of inspiring people and loving creatures, but somehow along the way I developed a twisted vision of the world. I built a wall around me and became emotionally unattached to a degree I was merely numb.

The happy little girl that once bounced around talking to everyone who would listen had suddenly disappeared and the constant smile on her face, the one she so often got complimented on, was nothing but an act.

For no apparent reason the child who once believed she could change the world had turned into someone who felt worthless. The pressure of being an overachiever, a pressure no-one ever understood where it came from, led to a constant feeling of despair and self-loathing. Anxiety and fear crept in so deep into my soul that I started questioning the one thing I’d always been sure about.     

The plan I had dictated for my life was coming to its term and I wasn't ready for what would come next... mostly because I didn't know if I wanted it anymore, mostly because now I wasn't sure I had it in me anymore.

The world seemed too big for me to handle, but despite all the space around me and how tiny I was, I felt trapped. The feelings I had been carrying for years showed no intention to flee and I had to admit to myself that maybe what I was feeling was more than just an adolescent phase, it was my reality. I realized then that I wasn’t sure what I was more afraid of, sucking at the only job I had ever dreamed of or feeling stale for the rest of my life.

And so in a very uncharacteristically and unexpected move, I leaped...

I leaped because I was afraid. I leaped because I was desperate, because in a lot of ways it felt like my last chance, my only hope... I leaped because I grew up hearing how sweet I was, being a good girl, always taking care of the little ones around me, and despite all the challenges and difficulties, the tiny humans were still the ones to whom I could give myself completely. And that's when I met you... and as corny as it might sound, my whole life changed.

With you I rediscovered myself and my true passion. I defeated any doubts of what my vocation truly was. I changed, I grew, but more importantly… I loved you. In a way I wasn't sure I could still do.

I've always prided myself of my ability to compartmentalize and bottle emotions in, but with you I never stood a chance.

I am someone who loves to keep some distance, how big the world is, and to be able to travel from place to place leaving no roots, but meeting you, made me wish, for the first time, that I could make the world smaller.

My anxiety isn't gone, my faith in people hasn't been restored and my deep dark companions still travel around with me. In the core I haven't changed, so one might wonder if it’s worth the days I wake up in the middle of the night, heart clenched, for missing you, or the guilt I carry with me for “leaving you”, but I don’t have to wonder, because my answer is you. There was never a moment of doubt or a single regret. If there was ever a step I took in the right direction it was the one towards you. 

Happy Birthday little Munchkins!

 “How do I love you? It’s impossible to say. For if I had a million days, and time enough for all the praise, I couldn’t tell you all the ways… that I love you” (P.K. Hallinan)

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My Answer são vocês

Cresci a ouvir histórias de um mundo mágico, cheio de pessoas inspiradoras e criaturas apaixonantes, mas sem saber como, ao longo do caminho desenvolvi uma visão destorcida do mundo. Criei um muro à minha volta e tornei-me desapegada ao ponto de ficar dormente.

A menina feliz que antes saltitava de um lado para o outro a falar com quem quer que a ouvisse desapareceu repentinamente e o sorriso constante no seu rosto, aquele pelo qual tantas vezes era elogiada não era mais do que uma máscara.

Sem razão aparente, a criança que outrora acreditara que podia mudar o mundo não reconhecia em si agora qualquer valor. A pressão de ser perfeita, uma pressão que nunca ninguém percebeu de onde vinha, levaram-na a um desespero constante. A ansiedade e o medo alojaram-se de tal maneira na minha alma que comecei a questionar a única coisa sobre a qual nunca tinha duvidado.

O plano que tinha ditado para a minha vida estava a chegar ao fim e eu não estava preparada para o que viria a seguir... sobretudo porque já  não sabia se era isso que queria, sobretudo porque já não acreditava se seria capaz de vingar.

O mundo parecia demasiado grande para o encarar, mas apesar de todo o espaço à minha de volta, e de me sentir tão pequenina, sentia-me encurralada. Os sentimentos que carregava comigo há anos não mostravam intenções de partir e acabei por ter de admitir a mim mesma que se calhar o que estava a sentir era mais do que apenas uma fase da adolescência, era a minha realidade.  Nesse momento percebi que não sabia o que me assustava mais, falhar no trabalho com que sempre sonhara, ou sentir-me estagnada para o resto da vida.

Assim, num movimento pouco característico e muito inesperado, arrisquei...

Arrisquei porque tinha medo. Arrisquei porque estava desesperada, porque me parecia a minha última hipótese, a única esperança... Arrisquei porque cresci a ouvir que era uma menina querida, sempre bem comportada e a tomar conta dos pequeninos à minha volta, e apesar de todos os desafios e dificuldades, eles eram os únicos a quem ainda me conseguia dar sem limitações. Foi assim que vos conheci... e por muito lamechas que possa soar, a minha vida mudou para sempre.

Com vocês redescobri-me, assim como a minha verdadeira paixão. Tirei quaisquer dúvidas sobre a minha verdadeira vocação. Mudei, cresci, mas mais importante que isso... amei-vos. De uma forma que pensava já não ser capaz.  

Sempre me orgulhei da minha capacidade de compartimentalizar e controlar as emoções, mas com vocês nunca tive qualquer hipótese.

Sou uma pessoa que gosta de manter alguma distância, do facto do mundo ser grande e de poder viajar de um lado para o outro sem criar raízes, mas conhecer-vos fez que com que pela primeira vez, desejasse que o mundo fosse mais pequeno.

A minha ansiedade não desapareceu, a minha fé nas pessoas não se refez e os meus demónios interiores ainda os trago comigo. No essencial não mudei, por isso alguns podem perguntar se vale a pena os dias que acordo no meio da noite, com o coração apertado de saudades, ou a culpa que carrego por vos ter “abandonado”, mas nem ponho essa questão, porque a resposta está em vocês. Nunca houve um momento de dúvida ou um único arrependimento. Se alguma vez dei um passo correcto, foi o passo que dei na vossa direcção. 

Parabéns Munchkins!

“Quanto vos amo? É impossível dizer. Pois mesmo que tivesse um milhão de dias, e tempo suficiente para todos os elogios, não conseguiria expressar todas as maneiras que vos amo” (P.K. Hallinan)

The day after the morning after / O dia depois da manhã seguinte

Nota: Versão portuguesa mais abaixo.

Now that the information has sunk in let’s move forward.

Let’s not condemn a man for hateful speech and then proceed to bully those who used their rights to vote for him. Let’s not dwell on what has been done, let’s focus on the things we can actually impact. Let’s improve intercultural dialogue, let’s close the gap in gender opportunities, let’s teach our children about LGBTQ rights, women rights, minorities rights… HUMAN rights.

Let’s make our voices louder than a single voice in the office. Let’s put last night’s results aside and think how we can prevent the nightmare we fear to become real.  Let’s use these feelings we have bubbling up inside to fuel us to be more active in creating the change and the world we want to see. Let’s educate our people, our children so that in years to come they don’t have to choose between the less of two evils. Let’s promote tolerance and acceptance so that one day we all see each other as equals.  Let’s teach our boys and girls to respect one another, to appreciate women AND men, to value people for their words and actions, instead of their gender, color or sexual orientation.

Let’s remember that more than worrying about all of these during election days/years we need to worry about it and work on it every single day, as only then change will happen.

Let’s watch our words, be aware of the discrimination or hateful slips we might let out here and there and make a conscious effort to correct them. Let’s be positive, but let’s act! Let’s be more than a critic voice in the background, let’s find ways to be actively involved and change the system, even if it’s little by little, even if it seems it’s too irrelevant to matter.

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O dia depois da manhã seguinte

Agora que a informação assentou vamos seguir em frente. 

Não vamos condenar um homem pelo seu discurso de ódio e de seguida atacar aqueles que utilizaram os seus direitos para votar nele. Não vamos chorar pelo leite derramado, vamos antes focar-nos naquilo que realmente podemos mudar. Vamos incentivar o diálogo intercultural, vamos reduzir a diferença de oportunidades entre géneros, vamos ensinar às nossas crianças os direitos da comunidade LGBTQ, os direitos das mulheres, os direitos das minorias... os direitos HUMANOS. 

Vamos fazer com que as nossas vozes ecoem mais alto do que uma voz sozinha num gabinete. Vamos por os resultados de ontem à noite de lado e pensar como podemos prevenir que o pesadelo que tanto tememos se torne realidade. Vamos usar estes sentimentos que temos a borbulhar cá dentro para nos motivar, para nos tornarmos mais activos na criação da mudança e do mundo que queremos ver.

Vamos educar o nosso povo, as nossas crianças para que nos próximos anos não tenham de escolher entre o menor de dois males. Vamos promover a tolerância e o respeito para que um dia nos vejamos a todos como iguais. Vamos ensinar os nossos meninos e meninas a respeitarem-se mutuamente, a valorizar mulheres E homens, a respeitar as pessoas pelas suas palavras e acções, e não pelo seu género, cor de pele ou orientação sexual. 

Vamos manter em mente que mais do que nos preocuparmos com tudo isto em dia/ano de eleições, temos de nos preocupar com isto e trabalhar para esta mudança todos os dias, pois só assim ela será possível. 

Vamos ter atenção às nossas palavras, ser conscientes dos descuidos discriminativos que deixamos escapar aqui e ali, e fazer um esforço consciente para corrigi-los. Vamos ser positivos, mas vamos agir! Vamos ser mais do que uma voz crítica em segundo plano, vamos encontrar maneiras de nos envolvermos activamente e de mudar o sistema, mesmo que seja pouco a pouco, mesmo que pareça demasiado irrelevante para importar. 

Fear / Medo

Nota: Versão Portuguesa mais abaixo.

I grew up in a family that takes politics seriously. My parents’ teenage and young adult years overlapped with my country’s freedom political revolution. A revolution made by the people, a non-violence revolution that ended dictatorship and censorship to our people and freed our colonies around the world. They saw change happening, they saw the good guys turning things around, making history and maybe because of that they truly felt through politics they could change the world. Even now, over 40 years later, they still gather regularly with the friends from those times and can’t help but discuss the current political situation of the country and the world. So I was raised to believe in democracy, to take my voting rights seriously, to be aware of the world around me. And although I try to stay informed and I fulfill my duties, I’m far from being an expert on politics, mostly because it fails to impress me. If my parents grew up with role models of positive change, my generation grew up hearing that politicians are liars and thieves. And that can’t be an excuse to not care, people in far worst conditions have fought for a change, but in general that’s why I usually make a conscious choice to refrain from sharing political opinions. This time it feels different though, this time it feels that it’s about more than just politics, it’s about human rights, values and beliefs.  It’s a controversial topic, I’m aware, but if you don’t stand up for what you believe while you can, one day it might be too late.

“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 (1892-1984)

Watching the elections last night was like watching a train wreck. You know it’s going to end badly and yet you can’t take your eyes of it. I’m not sure if this were the most important elections of our generation, but without a doubt it was the first time I truly feared for its outcome even though I’m not an American citizen, even though I live in another continent. The results shouldn’t be that surprising anymore, not after all we’ve seen over the past months, year, but I guess a lot of us were in denial, didn’t want to believe that such character could possibly achieve such a high position. 

I’m not pro Clinton, I was not with her, but still…

Last night, whatever the results might have been, it would have always been a lost. Just the fact that in a country with over 318 millions of people these were the two candidates, was a disappointment. When the reasoning behind a large majority of voters is choosing the less of two evils, that will always be a lose-lose situation. However, if those are the choices, if that’s the impossible situation people are faced with, I still can’t understand Trump’s victory. It’s a matter of principles. As an educator, but above all as a human being, I can’t accept that a man that has made several racist comments, that sees women as objects, that promotes rape culture, and violence can be the answer. How are we supposed to teach our children about human rights, tolerance and respect, when in this day and age, a person that judges and offends women on their looks, wants to build up walls, claims immigrants are rapists and terrorists, believes that tax evasion is being smart and that when you're rich you can just "grab them [women] by the p*ssy.", just became the most powerful person in the world?

Today in the dawn hours I received a message from my little sister. She was worried about Trump’s win. My little sister, who is 12 years old and lives across the ocean from the USA, that should have no reason whatsoever to even be following this elections this close, but she was, and she was in shock. Not because she is a half black immigrant young women in a foreign country, but because despite her years she has strong believes of equality and human rights. I reassured her that Trump is only a figure head, that he won’t be able to put in action all his single words and ideas, which I know was the reasoning behind a lot of his voters, and to some degree that might be true, but I can’t in all conscious say I’m not worried too, because it didn’t start with gas chambers…

We like to pretend like it happened ages ago, to claim that things like that could never happen again, at least not in independent, developed countries, you can even say I’m overreacting, but truth is, it all started with intolerance and hate speech and when people realized where things were headed it was far too late. 

For me last night was always going to be a loss, because Trump winning or losing I would always fear what would have come next, winning or losing it wouldn't change the fact that he got as far as he got, winning or losing it wouldn't have change what he thinks or feels about others that are different from him, winning or losing it wouldn't change the fact that a huge amount of people were not appalled by his words and actions. 

I don't just fear Trump’s actions, which I believe to a certain degree will be tamed by the rest of his party, I fear the message it sends. I'm not worried about my little sister, who has her head in the right place and is wise beyond her years, but I'm worried for all the boys and girls around the world that will grow up hearing the abominations Trump has said and will continue to say, I worry about the platform that this chair will give him to trivialize hateful speech. I honestly don't care if in the end he will have the power to act on his words or not, it is NEVER alright to say you can force yourself on a woman because you're rich and powerful, it is NEVER alright to make generalizations and accuse all immigrant’s to be drugs dealers or rapists, it's NEVER alright to call women fat pigs, dogs, slobs, and disgusting animals, it is NEVER alright to belittle, insult or sexualize others. 

We live in a world that works hard to raise awareness on discrimination, equality and tolerance, and then we hand the most powerful position in the planet to a misogynistic bully. 

Racisms, xenophobia, homophobia and chauvinism. It's no surprise to me that it still exists. I notice them every day, how people are not even aware of their prejudices. That alone scares me, but the fact that someone can come out in the open and say the things Trump has said and still get the unbelievable amount of votes he got... it terrifies me. I won't even go that far to discuss his access to the nuclear code or what he can actually do without the support of the congress, that's not even what I fear the most. My biggest fear is the propagation of these ideals. Ideals that people around the globe have worked so hard over the years to slowly overcome. The biggest irony of all these, might be that the results of Trump's victory were known to us on the 9th of November... exactly 27th years after the fall of the Berlin's Wall... Let that sink in...

This post is not in anyway to shame or discredit the people who voted from Trump, they were merely choosing the people they feel can represent them better, I respect that, it is their right. But don't tell me not to be scared... because that's my right too!

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Medo

Cresci numa família que encara a política de forma séria. Os meus pais cresceram no auge da revolução da liberdade. Uma revolução feita pelo povo, uma revolução pacifica que pôs o fim à ditadura e à censura no nosso pais e que libertou as colónia portuguesas espalhadas pelo mundo. Eles viram a mudança a acontecer, viram os bons da fita a prevalecer, a virar o jogo, a fazer história, e talvez por isso tenham acreditado que através da politica podiam mudar o mundo. Mesmo hoje, mais de 40 anos mais tarde, ainda se juntam regularmente com os amigos “da causa”, e não conseguem não discutir a actualidade do país e do mundo. Por tudo isto fui criada para acreditar em democracia, para não encarar de ânimo leve o direito ao voto e para ter consciência do que se passa em meu redor. Mas apesar de me tentar manter informada e de cumprir as minhas obrigações estou longe de ser especialista em politica, até porque é uma área que não me fascina. Se os meus pais cresceram com modelos positivos de mudança, a minha geração cresceu a ouvir que os políticos são mentirosos e ladrões. E isso não pode ser desculpa para não nos preocuparmos, muitos em piores condições lutaram pela mudança, mas é por isso que de forma geral faço uma escolha consciente para não comentar politica. Desta vez abro uma excepção, porque desta vez não se trata apenas de politica, trata-se de direitos humanos, valores e crenças. É um tópico controverso, eu sei, mas se não falarmos enquanto podemos, um dia poderá ser tarde demais.

“Primeiro vieram atrás dos socialistas, e eu não protestei, porque não era socialista;

Depois, vieram atrás dos líderes sindicais, e eu calei-me, porque não era lider sindical;

Depois vieram atrás dos judeus, e eu permaneci em silêncio porque não era judeu;

Finalmente, vieram me buscar... E já não havia ninguém que pudesse falar por mim.”

Martin Neimoller (1892-1984)

Ver as eleições americanas ontem à noite foi como ver um comboio a descarrilar. Sabes que vai acabar mal e no entanto não consegues desviar o olhar. Não sei se estas terão sido as eleições mais importantes da nossa geração, mas sem dúvida foi a primeira vez que verdadeiramente temi um resultado eleitoral, mesmo não sendo norte americana, mesmo vivendo noutro continente. Os resultados já não deviam ser surpreendentes, não depois de tudo o que fomos vendo e ouvindo durante os últimos meses, ano, mas acho que grande parte de nós estava em negação, não queria acreditar que uma personagem assim pudesse atingir uma posição de tanto poder.

Não sou pro Clinton, não estava com ela, mas...

Ontem à noite, qualquer que fosse os resultado, seria sempre uma derrota. O facto de num país com mais de 318 milhões de habitantes, os candidatos finais serem aqueles dois é por si só é uma desilusão. Quando a razão por detrás de grande parte dos votos é “escolher o mal menor” qualquer que seja o resultado será sempre uma derrota. Contudo, sendo estas as escolhas, sendo as pessoas confrontadas com esta escolha impossível, ainda assim não consigo perceber a vitória do Trump. É uma questão de princípios. Como educadora, mas acima de tudo como ser humano, não consigo aceitar que um homem que fez repetidamente comentários racistas, que vê as mulheres como objectos, que promove a cultura do abuso sexual e a violência possa ser a resposta. Como é suposto ensinarmos às nossas crianças os direitos humanos, tolerância e respeito, quando nos dias de hoje uma pessoa que julga e ofende mulheres com base no seu aspecto, que quer construir muros, que afirma que os imigrantes são terroristas e violadores, que acredita que fugir aos impostos é ser esperto e que quando és rico e famoso podes simplesmente “agarrá-las [mulheres] pela r*ta”, acabou de se tornar a pessoa mais poderosa no mundo? 

Hoje, ainda de madrugada, recebi uma mensagem da minha irmã mais nova. Estava preocupada com a vitória de Trump. A minha irmã, que tem 12 anos, que vive a um oceano de distância dos EUA, que não deveria ter qualquer razão para sequer estar a seguir estas eleições de perto... mas estava, e estava chocada com o resultado. Não porque é uma jovem mulher, mulata, imigrante num país estrangeiro, mas porque apesar da sua idade tem opiniões fortes sobre igualdade e direitos humanos. Assegurei-a que  Trump é apenas o rosto do partido, que não lhe será permitido por em prática todas as suas ideias, o que sei que foi o que levou muita gente a votar nele, e que até certo ponto será verdade, mas ainda assim não posso dizer de consciência totalmente tranquila que não estou também preocupada, porque as coisas não começaram com câmaras de gás... 

Gostamos de fingir que aconteceu hà eras atrás, de afirmar que nada igual se repetirá, pelo menos não em países independentes e desenvolvidos, podem até dizer que estou a dramatizar, mas a verdade é que tudo começou com intolerância e incitamento ao ódio, e quando as pessoas se aperceberam as proporções que estava a tomar, já era demasiado tarde. 

Para mim, as eleições de ontem seriam sempre uma derrota, porque vencendo o Trump ou não, teria sempre medo do que viria a seguir, vencendo ou não isso não mudaria o facto que ele chegou onde chegou, vencendo ou não, isso não mudaria o que ele pensa ou sente sobre aqueles que são diferentes de si, vencendo ou não isso não iria mudar o facto que uma enormidade de pessoas não ficou horrorizada com o seu discurso. 

Não temo apenas as acções de Trump, que acredito que de certo modo serão controladas pelo resto do seu partido, temo acima de tudo a mensagem que a sua vitória transmite. Não estou preocupada com a minha irmã que tem a cabeça no lugar certo e sabedoria acima da média, estou preocupada com os rapazes e raparigas espalhados à volta do mundo que crescerão a ouvir as abominações que Trump tem dito e que continuará a dizer. Preocupa-me a plataforma que este cargo lhe dá para banalizar um discurso de ódio e discriminação. Não me interessa se ele terá o poder ou não para por em prática todas as suas ideias, NUNCA é aceitável dizer que podes forçar relações com a uma mulher por seres rico e poderoso, NUNCA é aceitável fazer generalizações e acusar todos os imigrantes de serem traficantes de droga ou violadores, NUNCA é aceitável menosprezar, insultar e sexualizar outro ser humano. 

Vivemos num mundo onde se trabalha arduamente para diminuir a discriminação e promover igualdade e tolerância, e depois entregamos a posição mais poderosa do planeta a um bully misógino. 

Racismo, xenofobia, homofobia e machismo. Não é surpresa para mim que ainda existam. Reparo neles todos os dias, como as pessoas nem se apercebem dos preconceitos que carregam. Só por si isso assusta-me, mas o facto de alguém poder abertamente dizer as coisas que Trump tem dito e ainda assim consegui o número inacreditável de votos que ele conseguiu... é aterrorizador. Nem vou mais além, discutir o acesso ao código nuclear ou que ele realmente pode fazer com o apoio do congresso, isso nem é o que mais temo. O meu maior medo é a propagação destes ideais. Ideais que tantas pessoas à volta do globo têm lutado tanto para ao longo dos anos lentamente superarem. A maior ironia disto tudo, será talvez o facto da noticia da vitória de Trump nos chegar hoje, dia 9 de Novembro... Exactamente 27 anos depois da queda do Muro de Berlim... 

Não pretendo com isto desacreditar as pessoas que votaram no Trump, pois limitaram-se a eleger o candidato que pensam que melhor pode representá-los, respeito isso, estão no seu direito. Mas não me digam para não ter medo... porque também estou no meu!

Dark secrets

We all have dark secrets. Well-hidden truths that shadow us through life even on the happiest moments. Events from the past, obscure thoughts, shady emotions we don’t want to admit we have experienced. Facts that daunt us even though we pretend to be oblivious to. These are things we chose to forget (pretending that that’s even an option), things we deny to ourselves that ever happened, in hope that one day we can believe it.

But you can’t run away from yourself or your past. The false sense of security only lasts so far and when you least expect it, it all comes back to haunt you. Secrets always find a way to come back into our lives. Sometimes they are quiet whispers, unnoticed by everyone else, but though they may not see them or hear them, you sure can feel them. 

Flashbacks flooding your mind with memories you didn’t know you kept, your dreams invaded by worries you didn’t know you (still) had. Pieces from your childhood, scratchy scenarios that made you uncomfortable, like a chill running through your veins. Encounters that made you go into hiding on instinct even though you didn’t know exactly what was wrong. Bizarre events you couldn’t understand before with your pure mind, but that over time, without even noticing, you managed to put the pieces back together… things you now know were wrong. Things you wish you didn’t remember, things that most days you really don’t. 

Dark secrets, the skeletons in the closet we all have, undisclosed facts that remain unknown even to those who are closer to us. Maybe because we don’t want them to define us, maybe because they really don’t, whatever the reason is, it’s not changing any time soon. 

You imagine that once the memories themselves were what used to bother you, but that’s not the case anymore. The dreams, not so often nightmares anymore, they don’t frighten you, is the feelings they carry with them that take you by surprise. And it’s not even about the empowerment you feel by not representing the helpless little girl anymore, instead being able to stand up to the scary monsters (even if it’s just a dream), it’s about your emotions… Emotions you feel so deeply even though it is nothing but a dream. Not those of fear or pain (you’re familiar with those), quite the opposite, what really gets to you now, is the overwhelming comfort you find in these dreams. When you hear the quiet voice in the distance than can cool you down, the sight of those imaginary arms that wrap around you, in a way you can almost feel the touch on your skin, the warmth on your heart… A sense of security you don’t remember experiencing in a very long time. A fake reality that somehow soothes you when nothing else can. 

You got used to your dark secrets, you accepted the fact they would carry on with you for life, but what if you have been looking at it all wrong? What if it goes deeper than that? What if your dark secrets don’t just lug with you, what if, they too keep evolving? What does that mean then, when the scariest part of a memory it’s not the bad one, but the good?

Unconditional

I couldn't foresee such immense privilege
As I entered your life, so full of luggage,
But meeting you, your heart so pure,
Who could resist such strong allure?

You taught I could love this way
And so many days I wish I could stay.
You’re the one thing I will always be proud,
Even when taken over by the creeping dark cloud.

In a lot of ways I'm a rootless wanderer
A hopeless soul that can't stand an anchor,
But deep inside I always had this fear,
The day you'd need me and I wasn't near.

Traveling so much and being away
I can't stop myself from going astray,
But in all those places, I've never felt so far,
As when I'm miles away from where you are

And who would have guessed just hours ago,
With a smile on my face that for sure made me glow,
As I hanged your picture on my bedroom wall,
That my heart would suddenly become so small?

I usually claim it as my refuge,
But today the night just feels too huge.
The increasing silence I learned to love
Just feeds the bad thoughts flying above.

We made our vows despite the distance,
But it does nothing to easy my conscience.
Because life happens, and comes days like this,
It all just sounds like empty promises.

I would truly give it all away
Just for a chance to be there a day.
But all I have left now, is to wait
Hoping my prays help you feel great.

One thing though keeps my spirit high,
One simple fact no one can deny.
If there's one thing I know about children
Is that no-one else is so resilient.

You've got mail! / Há correio!

Nota: Versão Portuguesa mais abaixo.

I always had this obsession with letters.

I remember being 6 or 7 years old and every day run to the mail box to check the mail only to get extremely disappointed when day after day my parents would have mail waiting for them, and there was nothing in it for me. Little did I know that all they got were bills and responsibilities, but at least they were getting something.

Eventually one of my older cousins felt sorry for me and started to send me some mail. She would write little notes or drawings that she would put in the mailbox herself before coming to visit us at my house. They were just simple messages, but boy was I excited!

There was something magical about going to that little box and being surprised by something that was meant for no-one else but me. I still have them, all of them, every little note or postcard that I ever got.

The years passed and you would think one would let go of this childish ideas, but no, I might not run to the mailbox anymore, but I’d sure still enjoy the occasional surprise when I’d get one. The evolution of the society didn’t help, after all, being part of the generation Y, with everyone becoming computer savvy and having a mobile phone on their pockets only meant less and less mail, but I did my best… As a teenager I would exchange letters with younger cousins (even my friends’ cousins!), I would always send loads of postcards during holidays and during long school breaks me and my friend would write each other long letters that we would send by mail (even though we only lived a few Km apart).

After college, during my first Gap Year as an Au Pair in the USA, once in a while my mother would send me and the kids a care package, and if I used to like to get them, the kids absolutely loved them! It didn’t even matter what was inside, they would just get so excited with the idea of getting something. Later, when I moved to Poland for a while, I challenged my friends to send me letters/postcards to color the blank walls in my bedroom they rose to the occasion which made my stay there way more fun.

As I keep traveling around the world or even when I’m back home I keep finding excuses to mail something out, maybe because I have friends spread around the globe, or maybe because I get as much joy out of sending mail than as receiving. And maybe it’s silly, because I don’t even know if anyone really cares about this things anymore, but if they get half as happy as me when I get mail, than it is worth it, because even now, being a grown woman, getting unexpected mail truly just makes my day.

Há correio!

Sempre tive esta obsessão por cartas.

Lembro-me de ter 6 ou 7 anos e de todos os dias correr para a caixa do correio acabando por ficar completamente desiludida quando dia após dia os meus pais tinham correio à sua espera e não havia nada pra mim. Mal eu sabia que o que os esperava eram contas e responsabilidades, mas ainda assim… pelo menos era alguma coisa.

A certa altura, uma das minhas primas sentiu pena de mim e decidiu começar a enviar-me correio. Escrevia pequenas notas ou desenhos que depois ela própria punha na nossa caixa do correio antes de nos visitar. Eram mensagens simples, mas eu adorava!

Havia algo de especial em ir àquela pequena caixa e ser surpreendida por algo que se destinava a mim e a mais ninguém. Ainda as tenho, todas elas, cada nota ou postal que alguma vez recebi.

Os anos passaram e seria de esperar que eu ultrapassasse esta mania de infância, mas não. Podia já não correr para a caixa do correio, mas ainda me alegrava com cada surpresa que recebia. A evolução da sociedade não ajudava, afinal sendo parte da geração Y, com toda a gente a usar cada mais os computadores e com telemóveis nos bolsos, as cartas tornavam-se cada vez mais raras, mas ainda assim continuei a tentar… na minha adolescência trocava cartas com as primas mais novas (e até com as primas das minhas amigas!), enviava sempre imensos postais durante as férias, e no verão, quando não havia escola eu e a minha amiga escrevíamos longas cartas que enviávamos uma à outra por correio (apesar de vivermos apenas a alguns Km de distância).

Depois da faculdade, quando fiz o meu primeiro Gap Year como Au Pair nos EUA, de vez em quando a minha mãe mandava uma encomenda para mim e para as crianças, e se eu gostava de recebê-las, os miúdos então adoravam! Nem importava o que estava lá dentro, a excitação era enorme apenas por estarem a receber algo. Mais tarde, quando me mudei para a Polónia por uma temporada, desafiei os meus amigos a enviarem-me cartas/postais para colorir as paredes brancas do meu quarto. Eles aceitaram o desafio o que tornou a minha estadia lá bem mais divertida.

À medida que vou viajando pelo mundo, ou até mesmo quando estou de volta a casa, estou constantemente a procurar desculpas para enviar alguma coisa por correio. Talvez por ter amigos espalhados pelo globo, ou talvez porque tiro tanto prazer de enviar correio como de o receber. E talvez seja uma palermice, porque nem sequer sei se alguém ainda dá importância a isso, mas se tirarem metade do prazer que eu tiro destes momentos então já valeu a pena, porque ainda hoje, já crescida, nada me faz sorrir mais do que chegar a casa e receber correio inesperado. 

Other shoe to drop

Sometimes I just have this utter need to feel sad.

As if a switch is turn on inside me and I can’t stand feeling so light. As if I need to feel pain and sadness taking over. I might be having a good day, my mood might be far from dark, and yet I’m overcome by this suddenly need to change it… and so I need to go and find the darkest movies scenes I remember, re-read the saddest stories I’ve saved beforehand, listen to that impossibly depressing playlist.

I don’t know how to be a happy person, I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. So maybe that’s what it is, maybe unconsciously I’m trying to keep myself in check, keeping my guard up. 

From zero to hero / De zero a herói

Nota: Versão portuguesa mais abaixo

Perceptions change so quickly these days. It’s unbelievable how quickly one can go from zero to hero (and vice-versa). We are quick to judge, and loud to express it. I’m all for freedom of speech, but that shouldn’t mean we can openly offend people without even thinking twice. We make fun of people, we hurt them, through jokes mostly, but nonetheless we hurt them.

We do it often with people in the public eye. It became so natural, at some point it became expected that simply because someone has a public role (regardless of what or why) they have to accept all sorts of invasion, judgements and negative comments. They’re expected to be strong enough to live with them. We look at their figures and we attack them as if that’s all they are, as if the fact that they are human beings, with real feelings and emotions got lost, as if that didn’t matter.

It’s like we think that due to their position, automatically nothing can shake them. And yes, some people might be strong enough to take it, some might learn to cope with it along the way, to rise above, to use it as fuel to become better or to simply ignore it, but that’s not the point, the point is they shouldn’t have to be tested like this, they shouldn’t need to hear all they hear, to risk believing it. Life is hard enough without this added pressure.

I am a fun of humor, I think there is room for laugh in life and that we can’t take ourselves too seriously, but I also think sometimes we go too far. Granted most times it’s unintentional, we might think it’s no big deal, you’re just one person, they’ll probably never even hear it, but we forget how fast words spread these days, how easily they reach people’s ears, how they multiply, how they impact others.

When I hear stories about people who faced and overcame great deals of negativity and succeeded in what they do, I always think how many others could have gotten that far if only they weren’t shut down before they even got a real chance.

I believe everyone is entitled to their opinion, I believe in honesty and I believe in criticism as a way of improving, but that’s not what we usually do… what we do is make fun of people, offend them, bully them. We live in a society that preaches kids about bullying other children in school and then bullies people in real life just for a laugh. What message are we sending?

There are so many talented people out there who might not be confidence enough to come out and show their brilliance and at this pace, they will never be. How much are we losing because we’re more focused on making fun of people than supporting them?

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De zero a herói

As opiniões mudam tão rapidamente hoje em dia. É inacreditável a rapidez com que alguém pode ir de zero a herói (e vice-versa). Somos céleres a julgar e expressamo-lo bem alto. Sou completamente a favor da liberdade de expressão, mas isso não deveria dizer que podemos ofender de forma gratuita os outros sem qualquer hesitação. Gozamos com as pessoas, magoamo-las, geralmente através de piadas, mais ainda assim, magoamo-las.

Fazemo-lo muitas vezes com figuras públicas. Tornou-se tão natural, que a certa altura se começou a esperar que simplesmente porque alguém tem um papel público (independentemente de qual ou porquê) tenha de aceitar todos os tipos de invasão, julgamentos e comentários negativos. Espera-se que sejam fortes o suficiente para viver com o que quer que seja dito. Olhamos para as suas figuras, atacamo-las como se apenas disso se tratassem, como se nos tivéssemos esquecido que também são seres humanos, com sentimentos e emoções reais, como se nada disso importasse.

É como se acreditássemos que devido à sua posição automaticamente nada os pudesse atingir. E sim, alguns serão fortes o suficiente para suportá-lo, outros aprenderão a lidar com isso durante o seu percurso, a usar as críticas como motivação para se tornarem melhores, ou a simplesmente ignorá-las, mas nada disso interessa. O que interessa é que ninguém devia ter de ser testado assim, de ouvir tamanhas crueldades, de se arriscar a acreditar nelas. A vida é difícil o suficiente, sem essa pressão adicional.

Sou fã de humor, acredito seriamente que há espaço para o riso nas nossas vidas e que não nos podemos levar demasiado a sério. Contudo também acho que às vezes vamos longe demais. Acredito que muitas vezes não seja intencional. Que importância pode ter? Somos apenas um individuo, provavelmente aqueles de quem rimos nunca vão ouvir as nossas piadas, mas esquecemo-nos da rapidez com que as palavras se espalham hoje em dia, da rapidez com que chegam aos ouvidos das pessoas, de como se multiplicam, do impacto que têm nos outros.

Quando oiço histórias de pessoas que enfrentaram e ultrapassaram grandes marés de negatividade e ainda assim atingiram o sucesso não consigo deixar de pensar quantas outras poderiam ter o mesmo destino se lhes tivesse sido dada uma chance.

Acredito que toda a gente tem direito à sua opinião, acredito em sinceridade e vejo o criticismo como uma forma de melhorar, mas não é isso que geralmente fazemos… o que fazemos é simplesmente gozar com as pessoas, ofendê-las, de uma forma ou outra agredi-las. Vivemos numa sociedade que dá sermões às crianças sobre bullying nas escolas, enquanto promove bullying na vida real. Que mensagem estamos a passar?

Há tantas pessoas talentosas que poderão não ter a confiança necessária para se mostrar e partilhar a sua magnificência e por este andar nunca a terão. Quanto será que não estamos a perdes por estarmos mais preocupados em gozar com os outros do que em apoiá-los?

Do it like a girl

I started playing basketball when I was ten and it was love at first sight. I was active in school, I was good in PE, I’d sign up for every sport event, I used to run around and jump during breaks and in general I was always ready to try anything sports related. I had tried other sports, I had done gymnastics and dance, but basketball was always my passion. Basketball is not necessarily  perceived as a “girls’ sport” (whatever that might mean) so even though I didn’t think much of it at the time, now I realize that in a lot of ways we were pressured to act more tomboyish, as if being feminine would take away your toughness on the court. Even though I used to be the girly girl type as a small child, soon I stopped wanting to wear skirts and dresses, my hair was constantly up in a messy ponytail and for a years I wouldn’t even dare considering make up. This would all be fine if it would have come naturally, but now I see that it didn’t, that it was a result of me wanting to be accepted and respected as a basketball player.  

The term “playing like a girl” was always used in a demeaning way and even though coaches would complain we weren’t as though as boys, truth is the coaches themselves were softer on us because we were girls. They were creating the gap, so if there were any difference it was because they demanded and expected less from their female teams.

I remember being 14 years old, sitting in my first ever meeting as a “coach in training”, and listen to this coach in his 30’s stating he didn’t like female basketball, that he just didn’t get the appeal (this while we were discussing the right to practice hours in the gym). Another time he complained that we shouldn’t be allowed to run/warm up off the court during his team’s practice because it was too distracting for the boys (he didn’t oppose to any of the male teams doing the same though).

In my first ever trip to the USA I visited Madison Square Garden with my family. While there, my older brother wanted to buy a Michael Jordan's jersey and so did I. He had his wish satisfied, but I didn’t, I guess because my parents didn’t take my passion for basketball seriously. Not long after that my brother quitted basketball (just like he quitted any other sport he ever tried), I, on the other hand went on to play basketball for the next 13+ years.

These are just a few examples on how in a lot of ways society still holds people back. What holds girls back it’s not the fact that they are girls, but that quite often our society still perceives girls as weak and shallow, and at the same time perpetuates the idea that a perfect girl has to be ladylike, quiet and demure. And it’s not just in sports, it’s everywhere and sometimes this prejudice also affects boys. How many girls are truly allowed to dream about being an astronaut, or a drummer or a truck driver? How many boys would be encouraged to be a ballet dancer, a hairdresser or a nanny? These predefined gender roles don’t make sense anymore, not that they did before, but by now there are no excuses, we should know better than that.

Empowering women (or anyone for that matter) is not about encouraging them to fight men or other women, au contraire, the idea is to raise people who are confident in their own skin, who think as individuals, who are supportive and respect other points of view.

Successful women are frequently perceived as despiteful and cold. There’s this idea that in order to achieve success a woman as to be nasty, especially to other women. And if they are not we, as a society, often encourage them against each other, by making unnecessary comparisons, snarky comments or creating drama were it doesn’t exist.  As if to be on the top one would need everyone else to be in the bottom, while the reality is that to be strong and competitive you don’t need to be ruthless. A tough person is not the one that finds her success by destroying her competition, but the one that is able to reach her goals while being supportive and empowering others, because having strong competitors is what makes you better. A true champion doesn’t want win because the competition has failed, she wants to win because she was better.

A lot has been said about feminism lately and I agree that some people take it to such an extreme that it becomes ridiculous, but the idea of empowering women is not about degrading men, or teaching young girls that they’re better than the opposite sex, it’s about embracing the uniqueness of both genders, accepting their differences, their strengths, and acknowledge the need to provide equal opportunities.

Instead of disseminating these preconceptions (that we often do unintentionally) we need to start teaching our children that they can be whatever they want to be, whatever they truly are, as long as they treat those around them with kindness and respect. We need to teach girls (of all ages) that they can be terrific athletes and still wear dresses and high heels off the court, that they don’t have to wear make-up but they can if they want to, that women can be ambitious, driven, and focused on their careers, that there is nothing wrong with a woman not wanting to become a mother.

Girls need to learn that it’s okay to be loud and make themselves noticed, if that’s who they are. They need people to understand that to be strong they don’t need to give up their emotions, that to be great sports players they don’t need to give up their femininity and that being beautiful, and proud of it, doesn’t take anything away from their brains.

We started with sports and we will finish the same way because sports’ benefits go way beyond fitness, they can have such a great impact in a person's self-esteem, in building character and confidence. Becky Hammon, Candace Parker, Serena and Venus Williams, Katie Ledecky, Simone Biles, Rosa Mota, Vanessa Fernandes... the list goes on and on. They all play(ed) like girls and jump(ed) like girls and run (ran) like girls and they are (were) top athletes. They all achieved greatness, some of them against all odds.

So we need to actively start working in closing the gap and we can do this by taking our children (boys and girls) to female sport events, by introducing them to great female athletes they may otherwise not hear about, by allowing our girls to try out “boys’ sports” and wear sports clothes, by supporting them if they don’t want to wear dresses to school so they can run and jump freely and accept the fact they will be coming home with scrapped knees and elbows.

All in a day / Num só dia

Note: Versão portuguesa mais abaixo.

They wake up, and not long after that they are moms and dads, doctors and policemen. In a matter of seconds they are building Christmas’ trees and caroling. With precision they create helicopters that smoothly turn into cars and later into birthday cakes.

After a quick break they are on a train headed to the beach to visit the fish and swim with the sharks. They race with the same emotion as if they are in the Olympics and play football as if they are facing World’s Cup elimination.

In a hurried bathroom pause (always multitasking) they rehearse their chants, but swiftly prepare to the next challenge. They check others for damage and try to keep control of the room. They hear their colleagues’ opinions and are promptly ready to rebut every argument. They cook a three course meal and feed the children, and after all that they still have the time (and energy) to ride their bike.

As the day comes closer to to its end, gathered around the table, they still have time to ask about their families and make plans for a day out. And when it’s all finally over, they sleep… like the babies they are. Imagination probably still running wild in their dreams, resting just enough to be ready to yet another exciting day.

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Num só dia

Acordam e pouco depois já são pais e mães, médicos e policias. Numa questão de segundos criam uma árvore de Natal que acompanham com canções. Com precisão constroem helicópteros que facilmente se transformam em carros e mais tarde em bolos de aniversário.

Depois de um pequeno intervalo estão num comboio em direcção à praia, para visitar os peixes e nadar com os tubarões. Correm com a emoção de quem está nos Jogos Olímpicos e jogam futebol como quem está num jogo de eliminação do Mundial.

Numa pausa apressada para a casa-de-banho ensaios os seus cantos, mas rapidamente se preparam para o desafio seguinte. Analisam os outros procurando lesões e tentam manter o controlo da sala. Ouvem as opiniões dos colegas e estão sempre preparados para refutar qualquer argumento. Cozinham uma refeição de três pratos e alimentam as crianças, no final ainda têm tempo (e energia) para dar uma volta de bicicleta.

Quando o dia se aproxima do fim, reunidos à volta da mesa, ainda têm tempo para perguntar pela sua família e fazer planos para um passeio. E quando finalmente o dia termina, dormem… como bebés que são. A sua imaginação provavelmente ainda a correr à solta nos seus sonhos, descansado apenas o suficiente para enfrentar a excitação de um novo dia. 

Being me / Ser eu

Nota: Versão portuguesa mais abaixo. 

Being me is living in a constant struggle. It’s panicking in advance and having to push myself to do anything.  It’s constantly putting myself on the line. It’s being afraid of everything and knowing that if I’d only do what I was comfortable with, most days I wouldn’t even get out of the house.

Being me is not being able to fall asleep at night because I’m dreaming of all the things I could do and do nothing at all. It’s feeling the urge to change the world and yet fear failure so much that I can’t even make a move. It's doubting every single skill I have. It’s hearing someone say 100 great things about me and only listen to the not so positive one. Is hating myself for every misstep, even if the outcome is positive. It’s reaching for perfection and holding myself to higher standards even though I believe pretty much anyone is better than me.

Being me is having days I don’t feel anything and days I feel everything at once. It’s feeling empty and numb or scared and tired. It’s trying to grasp all moments of joy so badly that I almost let them pass by me. It’s remembering every spoken word. It's playing conversations in my head over and over again. It’s hearing I have a way with words and not being able to have a proper conversation in real life. It's preaching about trust and trusting no-one. It’s assuming I have to give all I have and expect nothing from anyone.

Being me is wanting to be alone but not wanting to be lonely. It’s taking special interest in people as species and yet not being so sure I understand them. It’s not being comfortable around people and not being able to live without them. It’s wanting to keep my distance and yet finding myself making connections wherever I go.

Being me is being overwhelmed with thoughts and ideas and yet feeling so empty inside. It’s lacking creativity and then spending my days imagining worst case scenarios. It’s feeling my heart shrinking, my breaths becoming harder and shorter and always pretend I’m in my pretty happy bubble.

Being me is keeping tabs and notes on everything just in case it might come in handy one day. It's using that evidence to realize that after decades I still struggle with the same issues. It’s knowing the root of my problems and not being able to tackle them. It's traveling worlds away and realizing I can't run away from myself. It's creatively changing the scenario but not what's inside. It’s having to admit that the problem is in me and facing the reality that likely some things will never change.

Being me is having people's faith and not knowing what to do with it. It’s deceiving them every day. It's faking confidence and living in constant agony. It’s wanting to be loved and hating the pressure of being loved at all. It’s being afraid to let people know what they mean to me and at the same time being scared not to show them enough.

Being me is being proud and appreciative of the people I have in my life and still need to refuge my soul in my imaginary world. It’s not being able to forget even though I admire those who can forgive. It's pretending like nothing can hit me and feel with every fiber of my being. It's admiring vulnerability and keeping myself wrapped up inside.

Being me is overthinking every single move and not being able to justify my issues. It’s constantly lying to myself, promising that better days will come. It’s fighting, day in and day out not to let myself be consumed by what goes inside me. It’s putting on a mask and smile the fears away. It’s writing the words I can’t say and dream the life I can’t have.

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Ser eu

Ser eu é viver numa luta constante. É entrar em pânico por antecipação e ter de me obrigar constantemente a saltar o risco. É ter medo de tudo e saber que se só fizesse aquilo em que estou confortável na maioria dos dias nem sairia de casa.

Ser eu é não ser capaz de adormecer por estar a sonhar com tudo o que podia fazer e não ser capaz de fazer nada. É sentir a necessidade de mudar o mundo e ter tanto medo de fracassar que nem sou capaz de dar um passo. É duvidar de cada uma das minhas competências. É ouvir alguém dizer 100 coisas maravilhosas a meu respeito e apenas escutar a menos positiva. É odiar-me por cada passo mal dado, mesmo que o resultado final seja positivo. É almejar perfeição e exigir mais de mim do que dos outros, apesar de achar que quase qualquer um é melhor que eu.

Ser eu é ter dias que não sinto nada e dias que sinto tudo de uma vez só. É sentir-me vazia e dormente ou cansada e com medo. É esforçar-me tanto por agarrar todos os momentos de alegria que quase que deixo que me passem ao lado. É lembrar-me de cada palavra dita. É repetir conversas na minha cabeça vezes e vezes sem conta. É ouvir que tenho um dom com palavras e ser incapaz de ter uma conversa na vida real. É dar sermões sobre confiança e não confiar em ninguém. É querer manter a distância e acabar por criar relações onde quer que vá.

Ser eu é viver sobrecarregado de pensamentos e ideias e ainda assim sentir um vazio cá dentro. É não ser criativo e apesar disso passar os meus dias a imaginar os cenários mais terríveis. É sentir o meu coração a encolher, a minha respiração a acelerar e fingir sempre que está tudo bem.

Ser eu é guardar notas sobre tudo, não vá um dia dar jeito. É usar essas provas para perceber que depois de décadas as minhas lutas são as mesmas. É conhecer a raiz dos meus problemas e não ser capaz de resolvê-los. É viajar mundos de distância e perceber que não posso fugir de mim mesma. É encontrar maneiras criativas de mudar o cenário e não ser capaz de mudar o que está cá dentro. É ter de admitir que o problema está em mim e encarar a realidade que provavelmente há coisas que nunca mudarão.

Ser eu é ter a confiança das pessoas e não saber o que fazer com ela. É enganá-las todos os dias. É fingir confiança e viver em constante agonia. É querer ser amada e odiar a pressão de ser amada de todo. É ter medo de dizer às pessoas o que significam para mim e ao mesmo tempo ter medo de não lhes mostrar o suficiente.

Ser eu é ter orgulho e estar grata pelas pessoas que tenho na minha vida e ainda assim sentir a necessidade de refugiar a minha alma no meu mundo imaginário. É não ser capaz de esquecer, embora admire aqueles capazes de perdoar. É fingir que nada me atinge e sentir com cada fibra do meu ser. É admirar vulnerabilidade mas fechar-me no meu casulo.

Ser eu é pensar e analisar cada momento da minha vida e não ser capaz de justificar os meus problemas. É constantemente mentir a mim mesma prometendo que melhores dias virão. É lutar dia após dia para não ser consumida pelo que vai cá dentro. É por uma máscara e afastar os medos com sorrisos. É escrever as palavras que não consigo dizer e sonhar a vida que não posso ter.