for good

To my friend who died,

Hello there. Communication was never easy between us, I could never really make me understand. I spoke too much, too many words that, in the end, came down to nothing. I’m in mourning, right now. With the perfect sense of infinite loss inside me. I sank, the ship’s lost. You’re lost. I’ve lost you. Some say I found myself and I’ll see through it. I feel like all the dreams and hopes I had are buried in the sea right now. I won’t get them back, confidence or illusion… once destroyed, who can fix them up? I chose this, I know that. But, in life, we’ll be many times forced to deal with people you don’t really care about, or to have dysfunctional relationships just because there’s no way to avoid those people. I didn’t want you to become one of those. I could’ve closed my eyes and pretend you weren’t there from now on. But it wouldn’t work. Love was too pure, too big, to be turned into muddy water.  I’d rather dry the pool at once. And now it’s gone, surely gone. It would be a personal offense and a lack of self-respect to say otherwise. It’s gone, completely gone. Pulled out by forceps, but gone.  And I’m mourning it. Before this death, I was sure how my life would be from now on. Now I’m lost. Among most of the people I know, I was the only one who was sure to be in the right place and where she was going. And now, suddenly, I’ve realized I’ve spent the last half decade in the wrong place giving myself to the wrong people. I thought you’d be my lighthouse. For my whole life, in each and every step, you’d guide me. I didn’t see the impossibility of it, for your happiness would often imply me, agonizing and suffering. I haven’t come to realize how you let it fall. How come the fact that seem to be bewitched by someone else implies the loss of what we had, if it hadn’t any romantic implications? How come you suddenly don’t need me? You’ve stop caring for me. You’ve stop needing me. Just a few months ago you loved me, anyone could tell. It doesn’t matter the nature of that love, it could even be a brother’s love, but you loved me, and that comfort made my life brighter. I respected it, didn’t I? I didn’t use any womanly unfair cards to get you, did I? I respected it, because I wanted all or nothing. And then I got sick. Sick and tired of waiting, of playing fair, of being decent, sick of grabbing nothing. And shit happened. And we got lost. And now you’re dead. And I don’t miss the person you are today; I miss the one who used to kiss my hand. I miss the one who used to bring up the best in me, while pointing my flaws and smiling. I miss the blind faith I had in you. I miss the fact that I was capable of unconditional love and blindly put my hand over flames for you. I miss the fact that I knew you so well, no one could ever lie to me about you, for I’d get it immediately. I miss the fact that, sometimes, you missed me too. I miss the fact that music wasn’t really our thing, but the ones we shared were the ones I cherished the most. I miss hearing you sing them. I miss your smell, which I’ll never trace again.  I miss your hands, I’d recognize them anywhere. I miss us two under the stars, and I should’ve know better. Life wasn’t going in the direction I wanted it to. No it wasn’t, but I thought I could see us together, I thought it could happen. Such an epic win. It didn’t happen. I’m lost in a strange and ugly world I was never prepared for, I’m lost and incapable of trust or love or give myself ever again. I’m so lost that, to be honest, I don’t really want to live anymore. Each day will be empty, as I knew it’d be. I wish there was a pill that could take away all of my memories. Even the good ones; I’d take it immediately. Or a simply exit from life. You know what else I regret? On my birthday… when I asked you to hold me and you refused, I should’ve gone to you. It would have been one last honest hug. One last honest moment between us two. Sorry that you died, but your life was consuming mine.

Once yours,

C.

demência

Sobre pessoas que conseguem, ainda que tarde, apanhar um atalho de volta ao caminho que deviam ter palmilhado desde o passado... E sobre o esforço requerido para se corrigir os erros de percurso.

«No seio de uma aldeia beirã, Olímpia Vieira começa a sofrer os sintomas de uma demência que ameaça levar-lhe a memória aos poucos. A única pessoa que lhe ocorre chamar para assisti-la é a sua nora viúva, Letícia. Mas Letícia, que se faz acompanhar das duas filhas, tem um passado de sobrevivência que a levou a cometer um crime do qual apenas a justiça a absolveu.

Perante a censura dos aldeões, outrora seus vizinhos e amigos, e a confusão mental da sogra, Letícia tenta refazer-se de tudo o que perdeu e dos erros que foi obrigada a cometer por amor às filhas. O passado é evocado quando Sebastião, amigo de infância de Olímpia, surge para ampará-la e Gabriel, protagonista da vida paralela que Letícia gostaria de ter vivido, dá um passo à frente e assume o seu papel de padrinho e protector daquelas três figuras solitárias…»

espero que nãos seja a minha única publicação.

alfarroba: Ao domingo com... Célia Loureiro

alfarroba: Ao domingo com... Célia Loureiro: Ao domingo com... Célia Loureiro Não me recordo do momento exacto em que comecei a escrever. Lembro-me, contudo, que antes de saber fazê...

please, don't let the zoo close before we arrive

and then she turned to me, both sitting on her car, and said:

- december will never be the same. the fog, the smell of the dirt, him... but then I evoke my life before this last months, and I have hope that, someday, it will go back into that track. but you... I don't know how you managed this for the last five years. if I keep thinking about it, it end up getting used to it. but if I let it go, even for ten innocent minutes, when it comes back it hits me. everything turns into cracks inside me. I have to proccess the information again, evaluate my personal guilts and regrets, rethink how it could've been, how it should've been... imagine new possible sceneries. when I go to bed, at night, I cry myself to sleep. I pick the events that actually occured and manipulate them into new ones. sometimes, I create a worse scenery. others, I turn it into something  good. when it gets bad, I feel this anguish inside. I cry harder. and then I remind myself: calm down, it could've gone that way, but it didn't. and it gives me a false relief, because things were ugly anyway. everytime the actual true comes to my mind, I feel dizzy, as if I was falling. there's a cold on my stomach. everytime something reminds me of him - a song, a movie, a conversation, a place - I feel this dizziness. It won't go away, it doesn't fade anytime I recall what happened. and yet I know that I don't love him, not with all my heart. I'm in love with him but I don't love him. Infatuation, as you call it. So,  how did you manage to survive the last five years?

- With the false expectation that, one day, everything people say about us is a lie. that I won't end up alone and he won't end up married to some cute chick that his friends approve and who'd be unable nor only to understand him, but to love him as much as I do. I believe in the order of things - not me and him, not two characters on two pages of a novel, but the book, the novel, the plot itself, which need us to make sense. and there's no other way to bring this ship to shore with logic. and while you're in love with him, but you don't love him, right know I love him as much as I always did, but I'm not in love with him. I'm not dying to see him. I'm not dying to be with him. I'm not dying for that little moment at the end of the evening when he leaves and holds my hand for a few seconds. I don't wait for any of that. I can finally stand silence and distance and the absolute ignorance of having no idea of what's going on in his life. thank god finally, some peace. a break. and yes, every little single detail of my daily life might recall me of him - if I let it be. I do not. today I came all the way up the avenue playing with my purse, taking little runs when the music I was listening demanded it, and smilling at nothing. and then I stop and asked myself: what do you really have on your life to be happy for? I swept it out of my mind and then, suddenly, I was happy and running and singing and smiling again. the secret relies on closing the doors to your free thoughts. keep him out. ban him out. I have so many subjects to feel dizzy about... sometimes I think I took a spin on the roller coaster. every single corner of our town reminds me of him. december? nor only december but january - it belongs to him. february - him, formally dressed. march - him, going away and returning, the words on our way back from the train station. the farrewell hugs. april... august, oh august, almost a first lips meeting. an almost death. september - the grass, the white on your shirt, my glasses on your nose. november, your hands on your pockets, your hair needing a little cut. december... 23. I missed you so... still do, always will. and you took the test and say that if a truck came in his direction you wouldn't receive it on your bare chest for him? I would. and you recognize that you'd probably forget him if he went impotent? though I desire him, I ache for him, I burn for him more than I ever thought a woman could burn for a man, more than I ever thought I'd ever long for someone, I'd accept him and keep him for good. as far as eternity could take us, and still be happy beyond imaginable. and I even understand that this is as scary at my age - or his - as man stepping on the moon must've been on '69, but then what? I didn't chosoe it. if I had the choice, I'd close the door over this hurricane. but I need all my strenght to do it and, you know what? sometimes, when the door is almost, almost closed, I commit the stupidity of taking one last look through the gap, only to caress my beautiful love, my overwhelming love, one last time... and guess what? I can't close a door over such rarity. it has the value of a pure diamond, left behind for bigger and more profitable ones. what's left for me, hein? But to wait, if there's something to wait for? when I was little, I recall this one afternoon waiting for my mother to go to the zoo. It was saturday and she never had the good sense of comming on time to wherever she went. I had the feeling that I'd be at the window for many, many, many hours, so I wasn't even bothered to register, on my notebook, the hours, car brand, model and color of each vehicle that passed on my street. at first I wasn't so scared. mom always made us wait... but then... the night was comming and the zoo, where we  were supposed to go, should be closing. I used to come inside and promise myself that, next time, I wouldn't believe her. I wouldn't see honesty on her promises. I'd be smarter, I'd receive her, at night, with a laughter and tell her that I hadn't wasted a single second of my only life waiting for her. the next time, I fell again. I always did, just for the pleasure of having the simple insignificant possibility of going to the zoo on that afternoon. such beautiful parade of animals, I could preview it on my mind... but then mother wouldn't come again. and it's the same with him. the waiting kills me, though I know it's too soon... but then... I need to live out of the possibility of going there this saturday. and then... what if the zoo closes before we arrive there? 

- it's like feeling dizzy at every corner

infatuation...

never ends up right.
true love does not wait forever.

sooner or later, truth is settled

What's gotten into people? At the entrance of the twenties, are we so confident about ourselves that we are sure we can kick and scream as much as we can with the assurance that the others will still there? Are we so trustful in our own charms that we might risk losing everything - which we should treasure, but we don't, because youth is all about sparkling stuff, sex and nights out - for a handful of nothing? Are we so naïve that we think we can put principles aside and deal with them later, when we get older and supposed to stick to them? Hopping to be forgiven when it becomes convenient? Are we so low in self esteem that we would risk betraying someone who've done almost everything for us, in order to collect the prize - our young and sometimes unloved being cherished by someone else who just came into our lives? Would we play an ambiguous game of strategy and rivalry only to conclude, at the end, that we are capable of winning a battle? Would we paint the toile the way we please in order to, at least, have the approval of those who'll never know the whole plot? Would we lie to others - as to ourselves - about our own guilt, just to be able to still look at our faces in the mirror? It's easier to think that it wasn't our insecurity, but our fake friend, who've put us through shit. It's easier to turn the table against him and say he was jealous or trying to ruin our finally-achieved - yet frivolous - happiness (yes, because the world does revolve around us). It's easier to be offended when someone gives us a good advice, than to admit we should have followed it. A friend who warns you to act right - how inconvenient! It's much more suitable to be friends when someone approves all our moves. It's even easier to say he should have been quiet when he thought you were making a huge mistake - friendship is all about that: compliment and motivate me, and we're best friends 4ever. Say you think I'm acting wrong and there will be hard feelings. You'll be meddlesome - why on Earth would you have to tell me your honest opinion? You are falseness itself. Oh, those boring friends, telling us to be wise when we are just trying to live our lives and be happy no matter what! No matter if our happiness hurts a good friend - the best we had when it comes to support. Oh, those motherfuckers, believing that they are representants of justice! Who cares? Who needs it? Self-convinced people. Arrogants. People with no principles or values, trying to advice me how to live! It must be enviness speaking through them. My good opinion of myself has been hit by a mean friend, but I'll just come up with a nice version of the facts so, at least, those who stand close to me will hate them too. Those bitches, sleeping tight with their light consciences while I revolve myself in bed all night... But then what? If youth is all about sparkling nonsense, life is all about lessons. And, at this point, we might well guess the future - who violates such a sacred vow, like friendship, for something as fleeting as a man's embrace, doesn't need his future read on the cards. It's there, before everyone's eyes, as clear as limpid water - loneliness. With the bittersweet taste of a bad choice on top.

capítulo 20 mil e qualquer coisa

achas que não fugi ao meu eixo para te encontrar? que não me detive no caminho? que os meus dias foram fáceis? virei as costas a quem me deu vida. por estas estradas é só doença, vícios, pobreza e fraqueza de espírito. miséria de alma. achas que me é fácil admitir que, a emergir do meu orgulho, do meu amor próprio, da minha veia feminista, da minha fortaleza de calcário de portas permanentemente trancadas e rodeadas de fossos - estás tu e o meu amor por ti? não me é fácil saber que há uma fraqueza na muralha e que, perante ti, e somente perante ti, seria capaz de me despir de máscaras e protecções e então, nua, estender-me no chão a teus pés, toda eu pura pele e sal, reduzida a nada que não à minha fome de ti. mundo. cá estou, ossos e cabelo, no frio da noite e das lajes, a pedir-te que me ames também. que te dispas também. que me recebas também. amor maior que a vida... dignidade? sei lá eu se tenho dignidade, quando tudo o que quero é beijar-te os pés. as sufragistas que me oiçam, e eu que sou livre de viver no séc. XXI e de adorar o deus que quiser. para mim o exemplo és tu. lá em cima, grandioso, estás tu. e eu espero que os meus braços sejam capazes de abraçar-te, na tua extensão infinita, e o meu peito de aquecer-te, meu amor de inverno. só por uma vez, quando tas disser ao ouvido, devolve-mas nos teus lábios. devolve-mas para que a minha queda seja ascenção e para que as minhas lágrimas sejam felicidade. amor, eternidade.