Friday, December 28, 2007

They say time heals everything...

And now for the first time I can say I'm no longer waiting.
Time has changed something just like I wanted it to and I didn't make a big deal out of it?
I'm an ungreatful person. It's been days, and I hadn't even bothered to mention it here yet. If I hadn't listened to Dixie Chicks' Not Ready to Make Nice yesterday I probably wouldn't and it'd be just forgotten. That's not good and it says a lot about my personality but anyway, that's not the point here.
Time [plus some painful efforts] changed something I've been waiting to be changed for the last four years. Four years! I'm 18, four years still is a lot.
And I think it was what kept her alive and now I hope she's gone. Because I did the one thing she never did.
I talked about how I felt.
And now it's gone. =)

Monday, December 24, 2007

The Boat

I think I need a project.
Not a God-told-me-to-do-it project on a Joan Girardi kind of thing. Just... something.
I need to do something not related to journalism classes or internet.
Journalism classes are driving me insane.
I can't read a magazine without paying attention to the number of columns or the font type or whatever that's formatting-related. I can't watch an interview and focus on the answers because I'm too busy noticing the questions and how much the journalist researched about the theme of the interview. I can't watch the news because I keep talking about which tv journalism mode was used, and my mom gets mad at me for talking the whole time. I can't start thinking about what's real and what's not, or what is reality in the first place, because I go crazy. My paranoiac tendencies [let's go euphemistic here] got a little bit problematic after the classes about George Orwell's 1984 and Aldous Huxley's Brave New World.

So I need to build a boat. Metaphorically speaking, of course. I wouldn't know how to start building a boat. I wouldn't know how to continue to build a boat after finding out how to start. I would never be able to finish a boat. Okay, Isabel, it's a metaphor, let go of it now.


[I wrote this ages ago and forgot to post it. And I haven't started building any boat yet.]

Whoa

_

Didn't see that coming.

Monday, December 17, 2007

Someday never comes.

- Let go.
- But... I can't, there's so much to consider, I can't just forget everything that happened, everything that was said and felt, I can't --
- Just let go.
- But what if I don't wanna let go, I mean, I almost have it, I can feel that I --
- You have to let go.
- No, I mean, I know it's not good for me, I know I've been crying because of it and depending on it for too long but --
- It's time to let it go.
- It is, isn't it?
- Yep.
- But it's not easy, I mean, I'm not good at letting go, no one taught me how to do that. No, it's not just an excuse, don't look at me like that. I really don't know how to let go.
- Nobody said it was easy.
- Argh, stop singing and help me out here, that song doesn't do me any good.
- What do you want me to do?
- Try to convince me that I have to do that letting go thing, be reasonable, that's what you're all about, right?
- You're too hard to convince. And you're too stubborn. You won't listen to me, even though you know I'm right. And then you'll get broken, cause that's what you're all about. There's no point in trying to convince you. Believe me, I've tried. And usually she lets me be stronger than you but this is your thing.
- I don't feel well...
- I know. You can't handle it alone. But you won't listen to me.
- I'm tired... And I have the feeling that she's tired of us, cause we don't ever agree.
- She is. She can't take it anymore. So try to be honest now: do you think it's worth it?
- That's the problem... I feel that it is. And... I won't be able to let go while I still think it's worth it, right?
- Right. But still you refuse to take my word. You'll get hurt.
- I can take the truth, reality too. I'll adjust to it, I've learned how to do that. What I can't take is not knowing.
- Because you're a dreamer and you always expect the best thing to happen.
- Yeah.
- But I still think you have to let go.
- I don't know...


And so mind and heart keep talking on and on. Maybe they'll agree someday.

Friday, December 14, 2007

São Paulo.

_


It feels like home to me
It feels like home to me
Feels like I'm all the way back
Where I belong


CK.

Wednesday, December 05, 2007

...more words than I had ever heard and I feel so alive

As palavras me fascinam. O uso das palavras me deixa sem palavras. Péssimo trocadilho. A forma que as letras se unem para formar algo com significado me deixa maravilhada. Letras são... coisinhas. Risquinhos. E formam palavras. Palavras que dizem tanto. Ou dizem nada. Mas mesmo as que dizem nada, dizem.
As palavras são relutantes. E reservadas. Apesar de não parecer, já que elas aparecem o tempo todo. As palavras boas são sorrateiras. Não avisam quando vão chegar. São aquelas que atacam quando não se tem uma forma de anotá-las. As que acabam quase que invariavelmente no esquecimento, junto com tantas boas e más idéias. As palavras mais úteis são as menos pontuais. Elas nunca estão ali na hora marcada. São as que formam as frases de efeito póstumas: o assunto já morreu. E você deixou de dizer algo que mudaria o curso da história. Ou quase isso. Ou nada perto disso, mas hipérboles são legais. Voltando. Você deixou de dizer algo porque as palavras não estavam lá com você. Mas pelo menos estas não são medrosas, como as que estão com você o tempo todo, mas se recusam a sair, porque ficam preocupadas com o que as pessoas vão pensar. E ainda piores que as medrosas, são as impulsivas. São independentes, e incontroláveis. E quando você percebe elas já fugiram e fizeram todo o estrago que podiam. E lá de longe elas riem de você. Há ainda as palavras misteriosas. Divertem-se às custas de quem as lê ou ouve. Divertem quem as diz ou escreve. Elas gostam de metáforas. Gostam de frases pela metade. São más, na verdade. Mas parecem boas, se comparadas às palavras cruéis. Estas não fogem, não escapam. Elas são jogadas para fora em momentos de irritação. Elas machucam e sabem que vão machucar, mas não se importam. E deixam as outras palavras em situações constrangedoras. As palavras amigáveis, principalmente. Elas são sensíveis demais. E o mínimo de insegurança as afugenta.
Mas as palavras têm um problema: não sabem a hora de parar. Não sabem como parar. E isso deveria ser fácil. E pode ser. Pois uma palavra, que sabe ser tão assustadora, é simples assim: Fim.

Sunday, December 02, 2007

Truth #2

.



Everybody lies.