Lições de Outono

Lições de Outono

Coisas que aprendemos ao observar as folhas cair.

Nas manhãs frias e nubladas de Berlim, em que as folhas caíam sobre o ritmo frenético do vento, acordar era um sacrifício. E que sacrifício!

Mas deliciava-me ficar, aquecida na minha cama, a olhar para a janela de onde era possível ver o abanar das folhas e das árvores consoante a vontade do vento.

Da janela dava para ver as folhas nas suas danças constantes. Umas, de tão embaladas pelo sopro, deixavam-se cair e beijavam lentamente o chão húmido. As mais resistentes agarravam-se à árvore com toda a esperança de ali permanecer, embora soubessem que a altura delas caírem também chegaria em breve.

Essa é a primeira lição: saber esperar. Mesmo vendo a folha vizinha a cair, as outras folhas não corriam para o precipício. Pelo contrário, algumas até pareciam ficar mais atentas para ver o destino daquela que se deixava levar de forma a fazerem a escolha mais consciente.

Já no chão, as folhas caídas formavam tapetes ora laranja, ora castanho, interrompidos por algumas poças de água, que em conjunto davam outra cara aos passeios. Mesmo deitadas, no chão, sem vida, as folhas continuavam a dar o melhor de si, acarinhando-se umas às outras e aos pés que as iam pisando.

Lição dois: Mesmo no chão, nunca perder a essência de quem somos. Aproveitar a queda para aprender sobre humildade e amar quem está connosco.

Depois, reparei também que algumas árvores já se viam nuas, mas as outras não se deixavam despir. Cada uma se revelava consoante a sua vontade, no entanto a força aplicada sobre elas pelo vento era igual. E os galhos mais teimosos, ainda exibiam folhas verdes, poucas, mas persistentes enquanto outros, já quase só tinham folhas amarelas, castanhas ou mesmo folha nenhuma.

Terceira lição: Devemos tirar as partes de nós consoante o que nos deixa mais confortáveis, independentemente daquilo que é a pressão externa.

Tanto podemos aprender com o Outono. O Outono é a primeira linha na testa; o primeiro fio de cabelo branco; o primeiro sinal da idade. Mas é também o início da renovação, é aquela etapa dolorosa, mas necessária para o crescimento.

Drummond de Andrade disse “Repare que o Outono é mais estação da Alma que da Natureza”.

Não há ser que resista ao ar reconfortante do Outono. Ele diz-nos:

 

“Não há problema nenhum em deixar parte de nós morrer”

“Não há problema em deixar parte de nós cair”

 

 

 

On self confidence

I’ve come to realize that self-confidence is not so much about one’s personal perception of their beauty, as it is about their ugliness.

I think self-confidence comes from that ability to face being ridiculed and/ or misunderstood in a graceful way.

When you are aware of the number of ways a specific outfit; picture; hairstyle; etc may make you look ‘ugly’ under most people’s standards, and you give zero fucks about it, then you’ve mastered self-confidence.

Then you know that even though your teeth are not perfect, and your nose is ‘too wide’, you are not light-skinned, you are happy with it and you love every feature in you.

#100happydays and the happiness propaganda

The #100happydays campaign proposes a challenge to today’s society: to make a daily post about something that made you happy that day, for 100 days. From what I’ve seen on Facebook and Twitter, the moments that make people happy revolve around food and hanging out with friends. It’s an Instagram meets Osho kind of thing.

Some of my connections on social networks have been posting pictures for over a month now and as time passes by it is more and more clear to me that some days there’s just nothing to post. This has become another way to fill my news feed with hipster randomness.

I’m here for happiness. I am here for people finding things that make them happy and sharing them with the world, but it is illogical and even violent to force yourself to be happy for 100 days straight.

Let’s face it, there are days that simply don’t bring us any good. I mean, yes, we survived. We made it through whatever bad situation we were in, but sometimes we wish we didn’t. We wish we could just lay here, and just forget the world.

The happiness propaganda is not only dismissive; it is harmful to our true selves. Every day we ask each other “How are you?” and the answer is automatic “I’m fine, thank you. And you?”. We’re told “You should be more appreciative because person X Y Z has way less than you”.

Far too often we don’t get to mourn and grief, we have to ‘suck it up’. We’re not given the chance to talk about the things that upset us. And to me the #100happydays is just another tool we are imposing on ourselves to silence the things that matter to us the most. To me, that is violence.

What if we did a #100honestdays campaign and we talked about the things that bothered us? I’m sure that after the ‘I hate my boss’ or ‘Save the African children’ posts, we would have meaningful conversations about the stuff that haunts us.

Posts like “Today I felt unappreciated because I did something to my mom and it went unnoticed” or “I had a fight with a friend and I don’t think she/he understood my point”, or “A picture of my ex with his current gf popped on my feed and it reminded me of how happy we used to be together”.

Most of us would feel less alone after some people shared similar stories and how they got through them. A campaign like that would open the door for us to share intimate parts of ourselves and, consequently, have a deeper understanding of how we affect, positively and negatively, the ones around us.

A few months ago I was made aware that a friend of mine was recovering from depression. On my mind I started reliving the times they tried to tell me they weren’t okay and I didn’t notice it. It was impossible for me not feel guilty for not seeing this friend’s pain.

At the end of the day, when we lay our heads in bed, we don’t care that it was sunny that day and it doesn’t matter that we had dinner at our favorite place. We care that no one listens to us; we care that we miss an estranged friend and we care that we regret not being there for someone we love.

And if those are the things we care about the most, then those are the things we should be talking about. Things we should be sharing. Things that deserve a hashtag.

III

I was never one to walk. I’ve always been a runner. Someone to go long distances in a flesh,

You were the marathoner: the one to go further, but slower. Always cautious, patient, always the adult. I am the child.

I am the one who competes with the light and the wind: a tornado uninvited, selfish, reckless. I am the unclaimed daughter of chaos and love, the feeling of endless thirst and need. I needed you. All the time, every time.

You talked about morning walks on a sunny beach; a glass of corn fields and honey. You wanted peace, balance, calm. I wanted you.

You wanted to walk. Ever since that day, I never stopped running.

II

When I fell in love with your hands, I remember you had them around me.

We were dancing and you putted your hands around my waist in a way that was so delicate, yet so certain, so accurate. That was the first time I fell your hands on my skin.

After that we kissed, and you did this thing where you putted your hands on the back of my ear and… I don’t know. Your touch was never indecisive or confused, it was always brave, on time, always right.

Your hands were that part of you that would move and make me change my mind. I should have known your fingerprints were maps to my soul.

I

I first fell in love with your neck. The way it supports your glorious head and stands proud above your shoulders, I found it sexy. I imagined my hands around it, and all my fingers feeling your skin, as if I was playing the piano… Do you play the piano? When you play a piano, when you’re really into the piano, although your eyes are opened and you’re reading the musical stave, your head is shut down and your body moves with the song, it’s a magical thing. Your fingers move almost by themselves and you feel every key, every note, everything.

I imagined my lips touching you. Not kissing! Slightly touching your skin, as I can’t help but suffocate by the emotions I feel standing so close to you. You could feel my breath; it is as if I was breathing into your pores and taking the drops of life I, myself, have given you. In my head, you were always calm, always quiet, a boat and not a sailor. In my head I was a sailor and the sea, and everything in between.

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