sábado, 14 de fevereiro de 2009

Savage I



For more savage: SavageChickens.com

Carnaval

Se existe uma época do ano que eu me sinto realmente estrangeira é o carnaval. Parece que, como o calor, a praia, o sol e o samba, todo brasileiro ama o carnaval. Mas fale honestamente, o que tem para gostar? As propagandas da Globo parecem ser sempre da mesma música. As roupas são sempre cheias de brilho, parecem desconfortáveis. As moças, sempre siliconadas, deixam pouco à imaginação. Os carros alegóricos balançam perigosamente. Os gringos invadem as praias cariocas e vão embora com a idéia de que brasileira e roupa não combinam. Superb.

A few drops of rain never killed anyone

My mum is very preoccupied with everything, always has, always will. My dad worries about safety in virtually every situation imaginable. Thus, my parents are overprotective of me. I can´t not eat a lot in every meal, I can´t step on the cold stone floor at home barefoot without someone ordering me to put some shoes on, I can´t go on our backyard – fully circled with high walls and an alarm system – at night otherwise I “would get a bad cold”, I can´t get out of the house without a jacket in the slightest sign of a colder day, I can´t generally go to places other than malls, I can´t stay up too late – too late being after ten – or my mum will start screaming about the “night rituals she has to proceed in order to get me to sleep” and sometimes mention my total lack of responsability. My dad will only tell me that´s not a smart thing to do and I´m a smart girl, which works better because it makes me feel bad specially when he speaks calmly and low – it takes a bit to make him mad, but once you do you either look at him with the same wide-eyed expression, like I do, or you tell him some utterly juvenile comment and a complaint on how much you´ve been doing, like my mum.

Every time I have seen the rain it was through a shut window or under an umbrella. Usually I´m with my mum, and she always manages to find some kind of umbrella to get us safely in the car, perfectly dry. Always. Problem is, sometimes I want to get soaked from the rain. The first time I got to do that I was in a school field trip and we were getting out of the bus when the rain started to pour, three years ago. We were dripping wet by the time we got to the museum. It was bloody fantastic.

Truth is, it wouldn´t kill me to dance in the rain, walk barefoot, go out in the cold, eat just enough to supply my nutritional needs. It might even make me happier. But I have found it is of no use to discuss the matter with them – I will always be their little girl –, even if I´ve proven to be responsible enough to take care of myself since I spent five days away from home in the Graduation trip, being outside in the rain and in the beach as much as I could, and did not come back sick or traumatised in any way people expected me to be. Another major issue with being overprotected is that people – including your parents – trust you to be a total idiot with no sense of self-preservation. They don´t think I can survive on my own, even if I am surrounded by employees, restaurants, and medical help. And I can fend for myself, thank you. I am well aware that people will not treat me like my parents do (read: spoil) and therefore am not surprised by whatever unfamiliar situation I face. I´m polite, I smile and say all the right things and usually manage to work things out.

Though I love my parents more than anything in the world, being this protected makes me want to live on my own, to get an appartment next to the university I get into and stay there, do things my way for a change – use see-through breakable glasses and white plain ceramic plates! I would come back for family dinners on weekends anyway. And that future is two years away. I take some comfort in that, eventhough mum is full of stories of how she suffered when she moved to a bigger city in a little sorority or something much like that, how she was always nervous and how Grandma had spoiled her. I guess I will suffer too, but I trust it won´t be so bad – I am less naïve than she was.

Dec 21st, 2008

quinta-feira, 5 de fevereiro de 2009

Midnight epiphany

Você certamente conhece aquela familiar sensação de que está esquecendo alguma coisa. Mas você já acordou com ela?
Não sei muito bem o quão revolucionárias eram as minha idéias semi-conscientes de madrugada, principalmente porque eu não consigo lembrar de nenhuma, mas eu tinha certeza absoluta que ficariam comigo até o amanhecer. Acho que essa sensação é mais ou menos comum não é?
Diálogo mental:
-Será que eu levanto e pego uma caneta, um papel e ligo a luz? (suspiro/bocejo)
-Tá maluca? Você vai queimar as suas retinas depois de tanto tempo no escuro! Além disso, está quentinho, amanhã tem aula, você tem que ir dormir. AGORA.
-Tá bom, tá bom. Mas você tem que admitir que é uma ÓTIMA idéia.
-Lógico. Amanhã você anota. Boa noite.
-Boa noite.
O que sempre resulta num "NAAAAO!" na manhã seguinte. Sempre.
Já tentei fazer ligações mentais do gênero: Escrever-Blog-AssuntoX-FotoY, o que piorou a situação consideravelmente, porque daí eu conseguia lembrar PARTE do que eu tinha pensado, não o suficiente para deduzir o resto, só o suficiente para eu lembrar de que eram ótimas idéias.
Então eu tinha adotado a política do "Não vamos complicar o que pode ser simplificado" e coloquei um bloquinho na mesa de cabeceira. Consciencia tranqüila, fui dormir. Sonhei. Algo bom. Algo revolucionário. A idéia que uniria a humanidade, talvez. Acordei um pouco antes do sol nascer, eu acho. Rabisquei no bloquinho, nem me dei ao trabalho de ligar a luz porque tinha que aproveitar o que parecia ser minha última hora de sono.
Obviamente a caneta estava sem tinta.

mb

Playing: "New Slang" The Shins; "A moving script ending" Death Cab for Cutie (não pergunte)