Partida

HÁ EXATOS 9 ANOS ELA PARTIA.

SINTO SUA FALTA, MÃEZINHA... OBRIGADA POR TUDO! ESTEJA BEM! OLHE POR MIM.

The mask in me

How much of ourselves is tame for us to become socially acceptable?
They say I'm a nice girl. I am intelligent and make friends easilly. But who is friendly and intelligent? Myself or the mask of me that I allow others to see?
They tell me I need to learn how to play. That I expose myself too much. That my feelings are always visible to anyone, and that if I want to relate to someone I need to learn not to expose myself. But the life I live without saying who I am is really mine or the one who someone imposes to me?
I want to declare my hatred, say my loves, exposing my soul. What would they do with it? Who would judge me? Those who are playing, or the people inside the players? I think that, on our own will, we have became pawns on a chessboard where few are those that determine the movements. And if someone does not abide by the condition of a pawn, it becomes a person who we admire. Why, then, we are pawns?
It is dawn and those are the thoughts that are making me turn and turn in bed before falling asleep. What does make us stand in line of the pre-set conduct instead of making us live by own will? We all have monsters inside us, and these need to be shackled lest, this way we won´t lose ourselves. But we have dreams too. What does make we arrest them?
If I love, I want to declare. If I hate, why pretending? I am tired of hearing "do not call him, you can't show you want him, because he will despise you." Sincerity, today, is judged as weakness. And it's true: we are punished for acting as the heart tells us. The council of not exposing is the demonstration of true friendship. But what is the veracity of a feeling that can not be declared, as if it is, won't be, obligatorily, corresponded?
I get tired of being human. I get tired of thinking. I get tired of playing. The evolution of the intellect takes us away from what makes us a creature of nature. Everything is game, everything has a second intention. What does life worth living disguising? On the other hand, what does bleeding inside is worth when what we can expect from the other is dissimulation? 'Cause we move so much in schemes we lose ourselves inside our own movements on the board. I'm afraid we can not start over. Or, if we succeed, would we knowhow to repeat the items and avoid what was considered wrong?
How many times I was criticized for that one phone call I've given or the message I've sent. I acted on impulse. "Impulse" term to become acceptable to others what, by definition, you should not have done. But why shouldn't I?.
Love me, hate me. If I can't be true to myself, how can I be with others? And if they don't want I get authentic and I relate to me as I am, what does the relationships and the living are worth?
I'm tired. Too tired. Maybe talking too much. Maybe thinking too much. But what would that be? Another reason to explain why I think as I think?

Bittersweet

She is a girl with no delicate poses, smiles not discreet and a mysterious look. She looks like a spoiled girl, has a touch of whimsy, a sensitive of a flower, a charming way of being, a touch of intuition and a tone of sweetness. She reflects lilac, a bright of a star, a restlessness, a lonely of an artist and an air of a wise scientist. She is intense and has a mania for feeling completely, for loving completely and being completely. Inside of her there is a foolish heart, which is always capable of loving and trusting again. She as that sweet taste of romantic girl and that sour taste of modern woman.

Falling in love again

And then I got that the point is that I live in love, and this way it must be...

In love for falling in love, for knowing and discovering, for revealing the intricacies that take you over your own reason, that take you beyond the second of reticences that permeates your audacious words. I fall in love for watching you revealing yourself, shy and bold, using expressions that make you blush, thinking about things you don't imagine thinking; but you do, and that alows you to conduce your fingers over your body, your pudency, 'till reaching  the keys of which, like me, you may have. But your propriety and furor transform you, letter by letter, and so they tell me, the fingers, where they had been, what they had seen, what they had done and what they don't want me to know, ever! I fall in love for watching you abandoning yourself in your own, delivering yourself with no reservations, no masks, no right terms... I fall in love for watching you unabashed and provocative, cruel, playing with me even aware, that you already are, beforehand, the winner.

 I fall in love for imagining where you are, and what you think about. I fall in love for thinking what touch your lips now: if other portion of lunch, if your softness of one more sip of wine, if the pen that follows your criativity.

I fall in love for being on your wait in the end of the day, not needing to say if mine was tiring or not, because, afterall, you'll come: and seen your smile, trying your smell, felling your touch, there is nothing else that matters to me.

So I hear you, and whatever is sharing the events or any other fact, I make myself as a partner and realize, again, why you are the one that completes me, and I ask myself why I am your choice.

And then I get that the point, about any other thing, is you.

While for me, it is only, surrendered, falling in love again.

Where is the problem?

It's them or me? 

That see everything fuzzy, death and uncolored?

Almost skeptically?

It's them or me?

That have the views disturbed by the clear

and run away scared from movement?

Are we or just me?

That see the world this way

with no protruding beginnings

genial ways

and happy endings?

So, let's try in an other way

Make up a new face

a new base, for now

a new fashion

let's cheer what ain't come

for them to come

and blossom

and make the day smile, who knows...

Let's forget what happened

to end

and blow my will

in yours, that I know, exists!

Gimme a second, plz

Inside me is a bunch of nothing. I haven't been thinking of fears, of ghosts... I have been thinking not even in love, to be honest. Inside of me there is breeze instead of wind. There is coconut water, instead of vodka. Inside of me is quiet, but I'll be able to hear - once in a while - a Chico Buarque's song in the background. Don't worry, nothing of this is lobotomy or the promess that here, inside, will always be like this, unlike, inside of me is never like this.

Inside of me is quiet for now, and only for this moment, I'm fine. So, I beg you, don't ask me to talk about it, don't ask me to explain it, 'cause this way, I'll get sick again.

Let me here, enjoy a bit of  myself and hers... which is here wirh me now...

Nice to meet you!

Nice to meet you, my name is Tamara.
And I start like this, being different from the name. Okay, nowadays not so different, but so, and without stress.
And though my name is not that common, the directions that my life is taking are... a lot.
Alone, by myself, sole. In solitude I start the story of a glorious life. A lifetime of present friends, accomplished dreams, smiles at dawn. By myself here I am. And at this point I don't know exactly who I should call friend, and it's not also that obvious who I dedicate my friendship.
The other day I was reflecting about my childhood... An internal talk, crazy, from who knows that miss the past only because the past is not the present. And it doesn't mean that the past had been wonderful, complete and beautiful... it's just it is past, and us, as nostalgic declared, have to magnify it - although big are just the dusty cobweabs of the past.
So funny I feel a nagging 90 years old when, in fact, I am not even a third of it. It's the sciatic that hurts, the head that failures, the heart that is petrified. Who said that the head things don't manifest on the body? Here I am as a proof that it's true. By the way, I am the proof of all findings that were necessary to create the Murphy's Law. Yep, I am exaggerated.
I get kind of dizzy to see myself abandoned, when I was the target of so many smiles in my directions - yes, being a teacher has its advantages -. So pathetic to see as people take different paths in life, as the time goes. More pathetic is feeling stuck when, apparently, all the rest of the world is walking...
It's time to walk then. Of love or hate, whatever. Bigger feelings won't move me anymore. I've promissed. Pos-graduations, superficiality, calculated movements, contained acts, false crying and laughing in the corner of the mouth. No cleavage, no talon, no gun in my mouth, no naturality. I'll become the girl that everyone calls NORMAL, and I'll say goodbye to the libidinous creature, egocentric, questioning and complex that I've created in myself. Purchased standards, to have one day, proud daddy, own house and car of the year, I can, finally say: "Today is my day".

--

I don't think so... I guess I will never be that one...
May I start it again?

... Nice to meet you, my name is Mary... afterall, even on TV was already said... Today is Mary's day...!

I'going, because my life is calling me, right there, to the other side of the world. I go, with no fear, bottomlesse, in search of my laugh, of my time-out, of my peace. I go with the teary eyes of someone who leaves dear people, and with the arms wide open, just like as those who will meet friends and love. I'll go, with no date back, but I assure, fearless. I go, to be back one day.

--

You know that day, when the words just don't come? It looks like they hide on the corners of my toughts and I get like this, with my mouth opened and with nothing to say.

I write a word on the screen and it flees, I try to remember our story and it goes... singing Roberto Carlos seems in my today's repertoir only exists Kelly Key...

Sometimes, I guess the silence is a blessing, that it occupies the place of mess as no one and huddles everything in people's soul. But i I'm an atypical human being, dizzy, full of hurts and joys to screem out loud. There it has to be for me, not for fun, the silence a virtue.

The truth is... if there is an echo here, it means that something is not going fine...

--

Happy birthday mom... Nobody can understand my feelings... Just you and me... Nobody knows what we've lived together. Luv ya.

Her big problem is that she insisted on seeking the fun of life in all. Everything had to have a clear purpose that would lead to happiness, that would make it easier even after now it was a chaos. She sat on the public transport bench, kind of moldy, and while all her cells repel the dirt, she was concentrating on the music from the iPod and tried to examine her life in that melody. That weird guy, sitting on the front seat smelled like sour sweat and his face was, hum, sour. She would first feel anger, feel hate, would have bias, but now... she was the weird. Now, she was the person who wakes up early, sleep late, eat wrong. The person who walks in the middle of the other and doesn't see anything, because she doesn't have time, because she is always in hurry and feeling tired, because she is starving, but not of food.

People spend their lives being afraid of dying, being afraid of loving and keeping inside of them, everything bad that happens, this way, they can, after, blame themselves for not being happy.

She used to call her boyfriend in the middle of the night, crying and not saying a word. Her pain was so confusing that was useless trying to explain. Her great emotions were shown in small words. She was afraid of everything go wrong, she was afraid 'coz the world could sort out what the fate pretend to be sure, she was afraid of the amount of fear she was feeling. She was afraid that he could just doesn't think it was worth anymore. And, after the fight, every rang the phone "sang", with no answer, was like her heart was getting smaller, compressed, squeezing in a short space, all the sensations that she carried there to live for a lifetime. And it was so unfair to her, everything going so compact.

But he also felt. He felt guilty because it wasn't the way the have planned, he wanted to solve what wasn't in their reach, he felt lack of power over his own life that, now, he seemed to have lost. And when his phone rang, he didn't want to answer, because he knew that from inside of it would come the crying, and, for him, was so unbearable to hear the only person who made him feeling alive, was dying.

But the thing is that the nights were so repeated, to give space to the days that were not seen. Everything was going so fast and "beaten". The eyes in the alarm, the tooth brush, the shoes on feet, from there to here everyday, the hands on the phone, the words that weren't supposed to be said, the crying that couldn't find other way, the head on the pillow. And the day started over again.

It didn't care if it was compassionate or angrily. It didn't matter how many things they said to hurt themselves, slowly, with the fear of not turning back anymore. It didn't care in which time zone they were or if the horoscope said that the only solution was to believe. What mattered is that they were tired, mute and a little dumb. They were afraid of the dark, but there was no place to light up. What mattered is that they discovered that we DO live with no love, but to live like this you suffer too much.

Her big problem is that she insisited on seeking the fun of life in all. And everything she had lived before, although it seemed to so easy, surely didn't make her smiling. And she knew she'd cry much more. She knew that maybe it wasn't close, that it wasn't exactlyin the reach of a hug or the happiness of a kiss, that explains everything. She knew she could've made the easiest choice and this way, she was sparing herself of several nights being awake, with the weight of the whole world separating her from the pillow, but what happens is that every time that his voice answered on the other side of the line, in each silence that filled all the empty of answers and in each end of day that, even without him, he was with her, she knew it.

Choosing between peace and love is the most important decision in life, but, in retrospect, what kind of peace would it be without his hands on her neck, the feet warming each other, the jealousy wars that used to end hot and humid with no enemy around? What would be of her life if not a slumpt, it wasn't for his life? And though it was hard and hurt louder than she could scream, she knew that the thing they had wasn't found in a bar, a restaurant or in the jokes smelling alcohol and dirty that came from the mouth of any other person around. What they had, had the strenght of a missing even when they were together, and this, any laugh could afford. Laughter was just too little.

Maybe then, she thought, it wasn't worth wanting to find just the laugh. She then remembered - closing her eyes, tired to look around - that when she thought of him, she didn't have time to find funny, she didn't have time to ask more nor even think that she was unhappy. Thinking of him was all smiles... Then, finally she understood what everybody means when say that WITH NO WAR, THERE IS NO PEACE.

And today I'll write about a word that doesn't exist in other language... SAUDADE!

And "saudade" doesn't come alone.

Doesn't ask permission.

Doesn't come slowly, not to seem intrusive.

"Saudade" is not gradual, it is not growing.

It's already big, occupying all.

It comes in the form of sob, because tears cry so little.

I do not think I know about "saudade".

I do not think I know everything.

I don't think I know many things.

But I know what is to sit down in a Sunday afternoon and watch a soccer game without you.

I know what is the meaning of willing a pat on the back, and don't feel YOUR fingers...

I know what is the meaning of sitting in the most beautiful place in the world, with the water, the sun, the flases, the most wonderful flowers, and just want to see the day pass by me...

Miss you... Luv u... Need u...

--

Everything I say seems to have the weight of a feather that the wind brings and takes, in a little while, or even today, who knows? Life goes and goes, and never comes back, but even without the certain how it goes, everything is equal here, and waiting, becoming different. The sun rises for the day to start, and it ends. My eyes open to see the day that is over. All the nature is a little dead, but the view is still so pretty that gives me time to sing some short song.

And I realized that fighting was so in vain. The rain came in the coldest and lonely day, the sorrow ate all the rest of joy that last in some small shelf, but that wasn't found in all my mess. The prayers ended because when you're more tired is when faith is more needed, but we forget.

And then, the death came in the busiest day, for me not to being able to look at "her", unable to remember what both of us have lived togheter, nothing. But I could not stop remembering something. My heart didn't hurt because was broken there, at that moment. My heart was broken for days, months, maybe years. Half there, half here, with that ocean (that I insist in saying that I dislike), again, in the middle of me. And with my heart in the middle, somebody answers me, please... How would it be albe for me to suffer more [even more]?

Some say that the mother could live forever... I say... my mother will live forever in me... and I'd say... our mother should live forever WITH us...

Mother Love...

Something strange just came so near, so dear. Laughs and touching all over, I swore that was mine, meant to be mine. Whispering in my ear, bitting with my teeth, feeling through my thong. Mother love was meant to be, for me, crashing fingers into skin. You were mine, I was yours, you and me, as it used to be... Just for the night. Just for tonight.

*miss you, mom...

We've got something in us that runs like blood in our veins.

This feeling, we've tried so hard to solve all those problems, but we forget that troubles, the real kind, are anywhere.

The sun is shining outside. The world is crashing outside. The wars, the soldiers and the brides are still loosing their minds, outside.

But is just here, at this very little moment, no one would desagree, that my heart is burning, inside.