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There is a magic place in my dreams,
Full of magic beings.
There are twirled lollipops
As big as the sky can reach,
And jumping flowers with small little feet.

I go there always almost at dawn:
Mr. John, the singer frog, hops to the door,
Lizzy, the swan, smiles from the breach,
And Karl, the monkey bear, hugs me so sweet!

We gather around near the sparkling pond,
I tell them all my stories,
While listening to the butterfly song.

They get all excited and fancy quite a bit,
When they hear about the yellow building
-my school- a little treat!

We run along the puffy pink lane,
Giggling and laughing about all the naughtiness I do.
I swear I try to be a sweet little girl,
But it’s stronger than me,
I love to be in the slides and swings,
And mess around in the classroom too!

And when I have to say goodbye
To this magic place of mine,
I open my eyes and see
Mommy and daddy are beside me!!
There is a magic place in my dreams,
Full of magic beings.
There are twirled lollipops
As big as the sky can reach,
And jumping flowers with small little feet.

I go there always almost at dawn:
Mr. John, the singer frog, hops to the door,
Lizzy, the swan, smiles from the breach,
And Karl, the monkey bear, hugs me so sweet!

We gather around near the sparkling pond,
I tell them all my stories,
While listening to the butterfly song.

They get all excited and fancy quite a bit,
When they hear about the yellow building
-my school- a little treat!

We run along the puffy pink lane,
Giggling and laughing about all the naughtiness I do.
I swear I try to be a sweet little girl,
But it’s stronger than me,
I love to be in the slides and swings,
And mess around in the classroom too!

And when I have to say goodbye
To this magic place of mine,
I open my eyes and see
Mommy and daddy are beside me!!

24 Horas

Já quase não consigo recordar o que estou aqui a fazer! Está ali uma menina sozinha, talvez eu possa perguntar lhe onde fica a rua Pedro Gil Corner MH Del Pilar- sei que fica perto da Embaixada Americana – mas está tudo destruído. A cidade parece o parque de diversões de um gigante, as pessoas são as suas marionetas movendo-se ao acaso e ao sabor do seu apetite. E pensar que vinte e quatro horas atrás estava no aeroporto de Lisboa:
“Desculpe mas o seu voo foi cancelado”.
“Como assim foi cancelado? Muito bem, há mais companhias aéreas; posso ir para Manila via Hong Kong, ou para o Qatar porque daí há voou directo!”
“Não está a entender. Houve um tremor de terra nas Filipinas e os aeroportos estão encerrados.”
“Ok, era só o que me faltava!!!! Não há de ser um abanãozinho que me vai impedir de ser a nova Directora para a Ásia do Grupo Hoteleiro Falcon.- Então está a dizer me que eu não tenho possibilidades de estar amanhã na minha reunião?”
Tive vontade de gritar – enraivecida – ao ver as outras pessoas a fazer o check-in, a despedirem-se dos seus familiares. Tudo estava perdido para mim: as longas noites a trabalhar, a família ignorada, e os muitos amantes rejeitados haviam sido sacrifícios inúteis. Contudo, à medida que caminhava – cabisbaixa – para a saída do Aeroporto, tive um momento eureka ao recordar de um amigo que trabalhava no IPAD(1) :
“Olá Nuno. Tudo bem? Fala a Raquel. Olha, já ouviste falar do que se passou nas Filipinas? Sabes se vão enviar algum avião com ajuda humanitária?”
“Olá Raquel. Como estas? Não é um país com o qual Portugal tenha uma relação privilegiada mas acho que vai haver uma acção conjunta da União Europeia. Não sei de ti há meses e agora telefonas a perguntar sobre as Filipinas?!!”
“Nuno desculpa, eu sei que devia ter telefonado antes, mas necessito mesmo de estar em Manila amanhã. Achas que há possibilidade de infiltrar-me? Talvez como voluntária ou pertencendo a alguma ONG.”
“Não sei se isso é muito seguro! Aquilo está um caos! Posso tentar que vás como membro de uma ONG; mas há duas condições: primeiro tens de levar o material médico às tendas, e depois tens de ficar uns dias em Manila como voluntária.”
“De acordo mas, por favor, imploro-te arranja espaço para mim nesse avião. Eu faço o que for preciso!”
Eram três da tarde quando finalmente sentei-me no avião militar. Tinha conseguido!! Estava acordada desde as quatro da manhã, tinha discutido com uma assistente de bordo, pedido ajuda a um amigo, regressado a casa e mudado de malas, levantado as credenciais da ONG e, por fim, apanhado dois aviões.
Cheguei a Manila eram já onze da manhã hora local. Só necessitava de um banho e de entregar o material médico!
Contudo, quando saímos do aeroporto, senti-me a desfalecer: a maioria dos prédios tinha desabado como um castelo de cartas ao sopro do vento, havia cadáveres espalhados pelas ruas, e podia ouvir os gemidos das pessoas encarceradas. Alguns homens choravam com o rosto escondido no pavimento enquanto as mulheres gritavam ao vazio; e as crianças devolviam-me o olhar impávidas e inertes. Todos estavam ensanguentados, feridos no corpo e na alma!
Quis esquecer a maldita reunião mas não pude. Tive de ir!

Ecologia Emocional

Ecologia Emocional

Ás vezes sinto-me poluída
as palavras martelam,
as vozes rodopiam,
os sentimentos sufocam.

Não sei donde vem estas emoções,
não são minhas eu sei!
Passeio pela cidade,
e escuto o que não quero ouvir;
todas aquelas sensações
das quais tento fugir.

Penso então que tenho que reciclar,
reciclar o que senti:
transformar a água do meu jarro
em empatia e gratidão;
modificar o tom hipócrita
para amor e compaixão.

E se às vezes sinto-me a escorregar
tal e qual como manteiga,
relembra-me a minha alma
daquilo que sou feita.

No final do dia esvaziei os ecos,
Estou contente e positiva, sem qualquer mal,
até empatizo com os vossos vetos,
ainda bem que pratico ecologia emocional!!

Russia Wonderland…

Today I had an epiphany!!!

There are two things that all foreigner women who live in Russia dies to know, and believe me, when I say dies, I literally mean hang yourself, give your skin, and take your eyeballs in the hope that  those stylish Jame Bond mistresses give us a hint in how to use sexy dresses with -30C and wear high heels in slippery floor .

Naturally, the first conclusion I got was that russian women were still much like in past centuries “au naturel” , and everybody knowns that Your Majesty favourite secret spy is a little bit hairy , so no big shock in the widescreen as far as I was concern…

Now tricky issue was the high heels. I still haven’t quite sorted it out  but I’m thinking last century a runaway geisha came from Japan to Yuzhno Sakhalin. Akimura had been sold by her parents to a famous geisha house in Saporo.For years she endured the heavy discipline. It was this discipline that Akimura told to the inhabitants of the island of Sakhalin years later which made possible for the russian women to wear high heel with heavy snow.

Yes, I had an epiphany today!!!

A good friend of mine, who by the way, is russian, showed me her secret, she gave me a pair of leggings with FUR

Truth is, now please, put some drums on the background, russian women wear leggings with fur underneath..don’t asking me about about the heels i’m still trying to figure it out, but I think when you grow with so much snow and so much snow sports you better do the hoolahop.

Enfarte…

Já alguma vez alguém sentiu borboletas na boca do estômago? Um nó que aperta e sufoca até termos vontade de vomitar o ar que respiramos?

O tempo parou no meu despertador, os minutos parecem-se horas, a minha mente saltita de pensamento em pensamento, revivendo todos os momentos que passámos juntos, todas as alegrias, todas as discussões.

No meu âmago sei que fiz bem em dedicar-me à minha carreira, mas agora quando olho para a almofada vazia ao meu lado não consigo evitar esta esmagadora sensação de que talvez eu devesse ter lutado por ela.

Quero crer que este aperto deve-se à hora matutina. O despertador tocava, e uns cinco minutos depois ela chegava junto à cama sussurrando ao meu ouvido : -“ acorda meu amor!”- e depois de um beijo apaixonado, colocava a bandeja do pequeno almoço ao meu lado.

Durante quinze anos, todos os dias, eu despertei com um beijo e com uma bandeja cuidadosamente preparada: o pano bordado sobre a madeira, o sumo de laranja exprimida na hora, a tortilha espanhola de queijo e fiambre, o pão torrado, a manteiga e a compota feita em casa.

Durante cinco mil e quatrocentos e setenta e cinco dias, eu acordei com cheiro dos ovos fritos, com o som dos talheres e dos seus passos leves na cozinha.

Não sei quando foi o exacto momento em que o meu pequeno almoço deixou de ter sabor, e ser simplesmente quotidiano, quando deixei de reparar nela, nos seus olhos, no sorriso, e contornos da sua boca.

Agora ela deve estar a fazer o meu pequeno almoço para ele, para aquele que me substituiu no seu coração e na sua cama.

Só de pensar sinto o sabor de todos os pequenos almoços que tive e não vou ter mais. Fico com o paladar adocicado, a língua entumecida e quase que sinto, novamente, o sabor do sumo a escorregar pela minha garganta.

Sei que não vou conseguir comer, qualquer pequeno almoço que faça será uma pálida representação daquilo que tinha, e uma lembrança do que perdi.

As borboletas na boca do meu estômago doem, talvez já não sejam só borboletas, mas joaninhas, formigas, baratas e todo e qualquer animal rastejante que não só voa mas que também trepa em direcção a este músculo pulsante.

Á medida que esta dor asfixiante aumenta dou-me conta que não é fome que eu tenho, é a morte que apareceu a galopar.

It was a bright and cold morning, when I woke up that Sunday. My dog, a small black mongrel with white spots in his chest and feet, had been trying to wake me up for at least half an hour, when I decided that it was to time jump of the bed and shake off the blurriness.

As soon as I laid my feet on the floor, Pirucas, that was the name of my dog, went to fetch his leash, without a single care for my human basic needs. You see dear reader, he was in much need of a bathroom as I was.

Nevertheless, as I tried not to pay much attention to the yelping, I took a bath and dressed myself as quickly as I could, knowing that if I delayed my dog’s needs any further I would not only upset my mother, but I would also have to clean up the disaster he would for sure make.

As soon as I closed the door behind me, my dog jumped into the street with his tale swinging and bouncing, ready to smell and sniff his way around.

A little bit further, while we were climbing the street as if we were a hiking Mount Everest, I saw an old lady looking down at us.

As I got closer, I could see her white and opaque golden hair hidden in a flowerily scarf, her thin and wool jacket torn in the elbows over her delicate grey shirt, and her wrinkled hands trembling at that Sunday morning cold.

There was no one in the street besides her and me, and as I looked into her brown eyes I saw a profound emptiness in them.

“Are you alright?” I asked knowing what the answer would be.

“I…I don’t know.”

“Do you know where you are? Is there any place you want to go? I can take you there if you want.”

“I don’t know, don’t know”. She stuttered once more with a frightened look.

“Do you live nearby? Is there anyone I can call?” I tried once more.

“I don’t know, I really don’t know!”- She said while raising her voice in despair.

Though I tried to maintain some calmness, I knew I had to make a prompt decision. Every time, I looked into her eyes I could see the urgency in getting her medical assistance but I hadn’t with me any money and cellular phones weren’t very ordinary in those days. Dear reader, I had left with nothing except the door keys and some disposable dog bags.

My only thought was the health clinic nearby, though we still had to walk five minutes. It seemed a pretty good idea, but quite impossible to do with an old lady in need and a dog who was still recovering from a hernia surgery done a couple of months before.

“Do you want to go to a doctor? I can take you to a clinic but you’ll have to wait for me. I’ll just take my dog back home, and then we’ll go. Is that ok?” I asked again as I tried to have a confident and trustworthy look. She nodded her head still shaking from the cold and fear.

I picked up Pirucas, and ran back home. As I arrived, I took off his leash and went to the kitchen to tell my mother what had happened.

“How do you know that she really needs help? Haven’t you seen the news? Even this Friday there were reports of teenagers being kidnapped and waking up without their kidneys and lungs!” My mother replied while stirring the saucepan.

“I know mom, but I can’t leave her there!!! She doesn’t know who and where she is; besides she seems much more scared of me than I am of her. I have to do something! I know you’re concerned but I’m going anyway!!!” I replied without much thought and with the right teenager tone.

“Alright then!!!” Sighed my mother. “Let me turn off the stove and put the jacket on. I’ll go with you!”

We found the old lady at the exact same spot I had left her. Her eyes wide open, trying to decipher if I was the one who had talk to her.

My mother started to ask her the same questions I had before but this time not a single word was given.

So my mother took her arm while I took the other and we started our journey in silence.

As we arrived to the reception and explained the situation, a doctor attended the old lady immediately and assured us she would be taken care.

I struggled with the idea of leaving her alone. I felt as if she was a little child imprisoned in an old body, not knowing who to trust or what to do. I thought of my own grandmother and how much they looked alike.

During the next days, I often thought about her, wondering if she was all right and if she had been reunited with her loved ones. I felt sad and sick with the thought that I had abandoned someone alone, and thought I was only obeying my mother I felt that I should had done more.

Every time I strolled with my dog, I would think of the old lady and my heart would shrink a little bit more.

Two weeks after, on Christmas morning, my mother who had given me a day off from walking the dog, woke me up and gave me a can with cookies.

You see dear reader, when my mother was walking the dog the old lady came to her. She had been waiting in the cold for three hours. The only thing she remembered was my dog, nevertheless she had hope she could find me.

It seems she had been in the hospital. When we found her she was a having a stroke, but fortunately she had help in time and her son arrived to the hospital some hours after.

I, then, opened the can as if I was opening a treasure, took a bite in one of the cookies and thought to myself: Never did Christmas Cookies taste so good!!!!

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