quarta-feira, 27 de fevereiro de 2013

Neve na Quinta

É uma coisa que me chateia. Mas só por um motivo: nunca estou lá quando acontece. Perco as correrias dos animais, os campos branquinhos, o frio bom e as brincadeiras.

A parte boa é que hoje em dia posso ver pedacinhos desses momentos quase em tempo real, através de Facebooks e outros que tais.

Deixo-vos as fotografias que a minha mãe tem estado a tirar hoje - porque sabe que eu queria tanto estar lá e tenho de estar aqui.


Titão


Kuki


Pomar e os 4 patinhos


O baloiço (que os meus pais construíram de raiz para mim) 

segunda-feira, 25 de fevereiro de 2013

Instructions For A Bad Day

É um texto do Shane Koyczan- o mesmo autor deste fantástico filme contra o bullying. 


Porque há dias menos bons. Porque nos dias em que as minhas palavras me falham, recorro a outras. Porque hoje é um dia assim.





There will be bad days. Be calm. Loosen your grip, opening each palm slowly now. Let go. Be confident. Know that now is only a moment, and that if today is as bad as it gets, understand that by tomorrow, today will have ended. Be gracious. Accept each extended hand offered to pull you back from the somewhere you cannot escape. Be diligent. Scrape the grey sky clean. Realize every dark cloud is a smoke screen meant to blind us from the truth, and the truth is, whether we see them or not - the sun and moon are still there and always there is light.

Be forthright.

Despite your instinct to say, “it’s alright, I’m okay” - be honest. Say how you feel without fear or guilt, without remorse or complexity. Be lucid in your explanation, be sterling in your oppose. If you think for one second no one knows what you’ve been going through; be accepting of the fact that you are wrong, that the long drawn and heavy breaths of despair have at times been felt by everyone - that pain is part of the human condition and that alone makes you a legion.

We hungry underdogs, we risers with dawn, we dismissers of odds, we blessers of on – we will station ourselves to the calm. We will hold ourselves to the steady, be ready, player one. Life is going to come at you armed with hard times and tough choices, your voice is your weapon, your thoughts ammunition – there are no free extra men, be aware that as the instant now passes, it exists now as then. So be a mirror reflecting yourself back, and remembering the times when you thought all of this was too hard and that you’d never make it through.

Remember the times you could have pressed quit – but you hit continue. Be forgiving. Living with the burden of anger, is not living. Giving your focus to wrath will leave your entire self absent of what you need. Love and hate are beasts and the one that grows is the one you feed. Be persistent. Be the weed growing through the cracks in the cement, beautiful - because it doesn’t know it’s not supposed to grow there. Be resolute. Declare what you accept as true in a way that envisions the resolve with which you accept it. If you are having a good day, be considerate. A simple smile could be the first-aid kit that someone has been looking for. If you believe with absolute honesty that you are doing everything you can - do more.

There will be bad days, times when the world weighs on you for so long it leaves you looking for an easy way out. There will be moments when the drought of joy seems unending. Instances spent pretending that everything is all right when it clearly is not, check your blind spot. See that love is still there, be patient. Every nightmare has a beginning, but every bad day has an end. Ignore what others have called you. I am calling you friend. Make us comprehend the urgency of your crisis. Silence left to its own devices breeds silence. So speak and be heard. One word after the next, express yourself and put your life into context; if you find that no one is listening, be loud. Make noise. Stand in poise and be open. Hope in these situations is not enough and you will need someone to lean on. In the unlikely event that you have no one, look again. Everyone is blessed with the ability to listen. The deaf will hear you with their eyes. The blind will see you with their hands. Let your heart fill their newsstands, let them read all about it. Admit to the bad days, the impossible nights. Listen to the insights of those who have been there, but have come back. They’ll tell you; you can stack misery, you can pack despair, you can even wear your sorrow, but come tomorrow you must change your clothes.

Everyone knows pain. We are not meant to carry it forever. We were never meant to hold it so closely, so be certain in the belief that what pain belongs to now will belong soon to then. That when someone asks you how was your day, realize that for some of us, it’s the only way we know how to say, “Be calm. Loosen your grip, opening each palm, slowly now – let go.”

sexta-feira, 22 de fevereiro de 2013

Desconfio

...que eu fazia isto lá por casa.



quarta-feira, 6 de fevereiro de 2013

missing it


terça-feira, 5 de fevereiro de 2013

Crianças e Bois


Eléctrico. 10:00 da manhã. Uma qualquer excursão invade o 28 para proporcionar um dia diferente aos pequenos. 

Valeu a pena ir sem phones nos ouvidos.

3 miúdas sentaram-se num dos bancos e fizeram questão de gozar com uma 4a que já não teve lugar.
Espero nunca ter sido assim tão malvada, porque foi mesmo isso que me chamou à atenção.

Água vai, água vem... Ouço uma delas dizer a outra:

- Eu já tenho 8 anos.

- Ah eu tenho 9! Toma!

Uma terceira pequena junta-se à conversa deveras irritada:

- E então? Lá porque ela tem menos anos não tens de a tratar mal!

Quase dei por mim a gritar "round 2: fight!" mas o assunto mudou. Iam visitar a galeria Zé dos Bois:

- Sabes porque é que se chama Zé dos bois? Porque tem lá boooois! Eu adoro.

As outras olhavam para ela incrédulas. Mas ela continuou.

- Vou deixar os bois comerem-me toda!

Ok. Estão a ver aqueles momentos em que a realidade é melhor do que qualquer ficção? Este foi um deles.

O grupo de pessoas à volta das 4 pequenas era composto por turistas e um ou outro português - que conseguiu (tal como eu) morder um sorriso maroto. Por fim, mesmo antes de sair ainda consegui ouvir a quarta miúda - que continuava de pé - a partilhar com as outras:

- A minha mãe tem papa-nicolau.

E com esta frase olhou para a professora/responsável acrescentou:

- É uma doença, não é?

Ela ignorou, a miúda também não insistiu, mas se calhar podia ter tentado uma explicação simples, digo eu. Com 8 anos não espero que compreenda tudo sobre um exame ginecológico, mas poderia ter largado a ideia de que a mãe tem uma doença com nome de uma alta figura do clero.

sexta-feira, 1 de fevereiro de 2013

Quando tomo café...

fica tudo um  bocadinho...