As boas - e as más.

"Todas as experiências são equivalentes, convém somente adquirir a maior quantidade possível delas."

Satre, prefácio de "O Estrangeiro".

«O Estrangeiro»

"Um homem é mais um homem pelas coisas que cala que pelas coisas que diz."

A. Camus

A Small Small Young Little Girl - Part One

…

Once upon a time, there was a very small girl with a very special heart – just as should be the princess of a fairy tale. She was very very young, younger then herself, but very very old nonetheless. Not old like an old roof which tiles are falling apart and the rain is already getting inside, but mature. She used to live with her parents and even smaller brother, on a small small house next to a very small village.

People used to call her Lya. This young small girl had beautiful brown hair, as long as her back. Her eyes were of the same peaceful brown as her long long curly hair and her little cheeks were always colorful pink. “She will always have the body of a porcelain doll”, mummy used to say.

Lya live happily with her family in this small house near some small small village in the country side. Her days were spent around the garden or the forest, listening to the birds, reading to the cats, helping mom and dad or swimming and playing with her even smaller brother in a not so smaller lake. And that was all she knew for no one knows how long.

As was said before, although Lya was very small and young, she was a lady of grander way of thinking. She had the routine of watching tv with her parents and she was a movie lover.  But music was her higher passion. With nobody’s help, Lya learned to play an old Harpa she found in the barn when she was so small she cannot even remember. And small Lya loved to play it for hours, especially for her even smaller brother.

But there was one little thing Lya couldn´t understand. Something that was bothering her more and more, as she was becoming less young (although she was still so small). Lya never understood the meaning of the word «love». Mummy used to say to them, that she loves them like nothing in the world. Also to dad, love promises that would last until the day she would die. Also in the movies, in particular in some dramas she sometimes saw at sundays night. Finally, music – always with lyrics about that small small word.

One time however, small Lya was sleeping in her small small bed on her small tight room and she had a very very bad nightmare. In this nightmare, Lya found herself very very old. Old like the old wooden garden bank, half broken, half stable, that no one dares to sit on, unless it’s to destroy. In her dream, she was surrounded by lots and lots of faces she had never saw before. She couldn’t recognize their shapes. This persons surrounding Lya, in her dream, were always trying to speak with her. But Lya couldn’t answer; she was not being capable of understanding the meaning of their words. In her dream, she could not also recognize the place where she was, or the colors everywhere around. Nothing was small anymore, she felt and understood. And when Lya tried to play the Harpa, in her dream, no sound was coming from it any longer.

When Lya suddenly woke up, she knew that a journey had to start.

(continues...)

Szabadság?

Once upon a time there was a young girl looking trough the Budapest's mountains.
She was far away of her country, but she was feeling at home. She was able to understand that she can keep in her heart everything she loves.

At that day, she looked above and she thought that she couldn't be more happier.

She was there.

She was not free, but she knew how to enjoy freedom.
She was not able to love yet, but she was in love.
She was not feeling alone, even when she was.
She could see every time the beauty in the world, although its ugliness.
She was wrong, but she knew what is right inside herself.
She could scream, she chose to sing.

She was there, and she was here.



Now she is here, and she doesn't know anything anymore.

As Palavras Que Sempre Te Direi__#8

"Eu bem te avisei que não te metesses nisso. Agora que te meteste, faz isso bem". Ele, 2010. Trabalho de campo.

Evolução? Ainda não percebeste nada.

Ora... E a estória começa assim... Primeiro, "as coisas correram mal". "Não correu bem!" Aliás... Aquilo até ia que bem, mas dás contigo e percebes que «não vai náda bein». Idealizas, constrois, imaginas mais... E dás contigo e percebes que estás a destruir. Algo que costumava ser "bom". "Bom que foi". "Já não é mais". Isto é: segunda fase: "não correu bem porque eu errei". "Eu ajudei a que esta «descontrução» fosse possível" Basicamente... "Eu deixei permitir que esta merda desse p'ó torto". Pensamento válido? "Se eu tivesse feito as coisas de outra forma..." Fase seguinte: "Mas porque reagi eu assim?" "O que me fez gerar comportamento desta forma e não de outra?" "Porque me tornei eu nesta pessoa, assim?" "Não quero ser assim!" Mais: "O que precedeu esta minha forma de agir, tão pouco correcta como a encaro agora? Ou seja... "O que posso fazer eu [pergunto] para evitar que surja o que me faz ser desta forma com a qual eu não me quero rever?" "Com a qual não concordo? Não gosto?" "Com esta forma de agir que considero um erro?" "Se há algo que me faz errar, o que é? É previsível?" "O que posso fazer eu para evitar fazer merda?" ou "O que posso fazer eu para evitar que me torne numa merda?" "Como vou eu fazer para impedir que volte a errar?" É que já errei tanta vez, e ainda não percebi porque continuo a fazer o mesmo. Porquê, afinal?