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...)