Los chicos malos de la literatura (Parte 2) Al leer la historia de Arnon Grunberg (Lunes Azules), recordé del sentimiento de desconforto inicial ante la apatia cuando uno se entera de la podredumbre existente en el mundo y en las personas. Cuando uno toma conciencia de que comparte de la misma condición humana y no puede alejarse de las mismas tendencias a las adicciones, al miedo, a la rabia y a la ignorancia. Mismo que le dé asco y sienta rabía y vergüenza de si. Leer la historia de esos tres personajes me ha hecho reflejar, principalmente, acerca de la naturaleza humana y como ésta es afectada según la composición del ambiente que a desarrolla. Esos jóvenes taciturnos no tuvieron el soporte ni las oportunidades para que se desenvolvievan sus capacidades. Son encarnaciones de potenciales desaprovechados. La narración angustiada de sus enfadados y comunes cotidianos, donde les sofocaban a diario el soterrado entendimiento de lo que habrían podido ser. Es ubicuo el agobio de la frustación consigo mismos y con sus tentativas de relación con el otro. Las conversaciones son desalientadoras, el sexo es lleno de pudor y turbación. Aunque sientan deseo no se ven como capaces ni merecedores de nada para allá de la tristeza. Son lecturas pertinentes puesto que la contemplación de nuestros sentimientos sobre el valor de nuestra existencia, en mi manera de pensar, debería ser siempre bienvenida y acogida principalmente en un momento donde el valor de la vida del otro se va siendo más cuestionado que nunca.

No sé escribir buenos títulos. Siempre que empezo a escribir en español, siento calafríos y me respiración se queda un tanto pesada. Todavía, pienso que es exactamente por esos motivos que tengo que encorajárme a escribir más y más. Tengo una curiosa relacíon con la lengua española. Alrededor de mis años de bachillerato me enojaba el español. Lo tenía como asignatura obrigatória en la escuela, pero no lo hicía caso. No me apetecía sus sonidos, creía que era muy aburrido estudiar las diferencías gramaticales entre mi lengua materna, el portugués, y el español. Además, mi maestra por aquella época era una señora muy exaltada y enérgica. Claramente no le gustaba estar en aquella clase con aquellos alumnos. Después cuando empecé mi licenciatura en la universidad, tuve la oportunidad de tener más contacto con otros idiomas y estudiantes de intercambio. Había dejado de conectar los hablantes de español con la personalidad de mi antígua profesora, y la lengua fue adquirindo mucho más significado y sentido para mí. Llegaran las vacacciones y con ellas tiempo libre. En aquél início de julio decidí ver una película mexícana subtitulada en español. Pero nadie podría interarse, pues yo era conocida entre mi familia y amigos justamente por mi desgusto por esa lengua. Sin embargo, ya hace unos años que estos eventos se sucederan. Hoy el español es parte de mi rutina y de mi vida. He hecho amigos de latinoamérica y ya he leído mi primer libro en español. Por ahora, quiero aprofundarme en esto idioma tan bello y, tristemente, muy ignorado por mis conterráneos. Esto último facto ya me ha provocado muchas reflexiones, pero los diré en otra oportunidad. Gracias por leer este registro <3

Qué son los libros, al final? Esta va a ser mi primeira redacción en español. Yo sé, al mismo tiempo que no, la real razón del porqué he tomado tanto tiempo para empezar a escribir acá nuevamente. Ya levo una historia muy larga com iTalki, la cual puede ser el tema de un próximo texto. Pero ahora, quiero hablar de literatura (: En especial, de autores de Latinoamérica. Ya estaba más que harta de sólo oír hablar de Gabriel García Márquez, y no me entiendan mal, ya he leído uno de sus libros, (Memorias de mis putas tristes), y poseo/tengo otras de sus obras esperándome en la cola de libros en mi estantería o librería virtual. Pero, tenía la certidumbre que hay muchos otros escritores tan hábiles cuanto de los que disfrutar. Y así conocí a Isabel Allende, una autora chilena. Obtuve las obras Mi pais inventado y De amor y de sombra. Aún no sé cúal empezar a leer primeiro y me gustaría recomendaciones. Acerca de otros escritores de lengua española, incluso. Pues una de mis principales razones del porqué estudiar una lengua es exactamente la lectura: el acceso al pensamiento de personas que tuvieron vidas tan distintas de la mía y, por consecuencia, ideas y experiéncias que todavía no podería tomar conocimiento de otra forma, sino a traves de las palabras de personas que viven muy lejano de mí, o que ya no viven más.

"And life is, I am sure, made of poetry". It's three in the morning and you are working on a college coursework. It's been two months since your classes began, but you still feel as lost as in the first day. You were supposed to get up at four and the due date is at eight. But who cares about it when for the first time in your life, you are not thinking of the professor's expectations on you, or how many pages are yet to be written, or if you are writing in a fancy way, or if you will get the whole grade. Who cares if in one hour you will have been awake for almost forty-eight hours straight. Who would ever mind if for the very first time you're not thinking about on how tired you might be to attend the classes you will have. Who on earth would care for all those things if for the first time you are writing about literature, you are comparing different authors' points of view on poetry, using your own words and personal reading repertoire. And within the time that last hour lasts, you just forget the reasons why you felt so lost and fearful and insecure about not being capable enough to handle external and internal pressure, but hey this already is an old issue for you. And you just write. And you just feel the words flowing out of you. Just like you know you can do. As strong as the feeling of missing so severely the moments when you were used to write like that. Just like you were alive, and not only a student who will be evaluated. You only have 5 minutes and you just reread everything before you print it. It's been almost forty-eight hours since you are awake now. And the feeling of having chosen the right course on college it's the only thought you allow in your mind.

A Year From Now... Here in Brazil, we are taught that University of São Paulo is the best college of the country. And during my high school, I've built plans that would guide me towards that college. And now, living with the stress of getting prepared to pass in all exams that are required, visiting USP was definitely something that made me realize that all my effort during all those years it’s been worth it. During the tour, there was a moment when my colleagues and I sat in a kind of plaza, waiting the time to pass by for the next attraction. It was a really beautiful plaza, with some puddles, trees and lots of yellow flowers on the ground. And it was cloudy, so the weather couldn’t suit me better! I just had to find a place far from the people, which I already do natural and unconsciously, and then reflect. I thought about if a year from now, I will come back to that plaza and remember that moment. I thought about where all those people with whom I’m sharing high school will be. But mainly, I tried to “feel the time” by trying to remember who I was a year ago and trying to keep in mind the lenght of time that connects these two points in my life. Yes, I know it’s confusing, but this adjective also fits very well when it comes to describe what I’m passing through now. My “present I” is finishing this entry now, but I hope to read what my “future I” will have written 365 days from now.

Random words from a random moment. Tomorrow I'm having a Math test, so I should be studying for it. But learning English is way more interesting. Sorry, mathematicians, it's not you. It's been a while since I wrote something here. And I really missed it. I've been so digged in Chemistry, Biology, History and all school subjects that I forgot how I love to give them a time and study something I don't need to be tested by a exam, but by my own comprehension of the language. Maybe this text will be a little random, but I'm happy just to be here writing, so who cares?! This year has been a huge exception if compared with the others I've lived, which I admit is not that much, but it's what I have. "Fickle" may be its best definition. My school has been fickle, mainly because it's my last year, thus this is my teachers' last chance to try to make us learn something. My family has been fickle, because she knows next year I may or may not be living with her. My relationships with people have been fickle, and even though it's been always a mess, I know the chief reason is because I've been fickle. Having to choose a college to get into and which course I'll do. Needing to deal with school and "SATs", and with all the pressure coming from my family and myself. I also found out that I want to know about the world. Probably this is sounding too superficial, but that's the point. I want to know more about it in order not to have a superficial idea about the place we all live. But now I won't get in deep details, for your own sake. Well, I still care about my grades, thefore yes, I will study Math now. But it's was a relief just to be here, with words and not numbers.

Do you know what Capoeira is? Probably, the very first thoughts you have when you think of Brazil is: soccer, samba, Carnaval and beaches. Yes, these things are very common in Brazil, even though I don't appreciate either of them very much. But today I will write about Capoeira, a typical brazilian sport that also can be a dance or a matial art. Capoeira had been developed by african slaves during the slavery period, (from 1530 to 1888, in Brazil). They needed a way to protect themselves without looking like they were fighting, because it would raise suspicions for their "owners", and therefore, they would be punished. The slaves had started to observe the movement of certain animals, e.g. snakes, and then, they decided to incorporate it into their "dances". In order to camouflage they were preparing a new kind of fighting, the music was an essential part to deceive whoever were watching them. So, they had built a variety of instruments we still using nowadays. The mainly one is called "berimbau" and it has only one rope, but I can assure you is not that easy to play it. "Berimbaus" use to be very heavy and to carry them, you have to use only your little finger, because your other fingers will be busy actually playing it. But let's move back to the history! But why had the slaves created all this stuff? Well, we should remember that they had got nothing, neither weapons. The only thing they could use was their own bodies. Capoeira was prohibited during many years in Brazil. It was considered a sport for wrongdoers. People who were caught playing it, were very likely to be arrested. But luckily, now it's considered part of Brazil's history and a national patrimony. Next year, I'll have been training capoeira for 6 years. I can't even say how much I love doing it and how much it's been helping me to develop myself in so many areas of my life. When you're in a "capoeira circle", you need to be close of the person you're fighting against. You have to be aware of all the movements of your adversary and of your body's extension. You both have to be synchronized, otherwise the fight itself won't flow. And you also have to trust in yourself to be able to performance it well. Capoeira is such a beautiful sport and I feel I was given a opportunity to have it not only as part of the history of my country, but now as part of my own life.

Empty rooms full of you. I have an uncle who is living by himself since a while. So, his bedroom in my grandparents' house is empty since them. But for some unknown reason, I decided to visit his room yesterday night. And for my surprise, I found a room full of old magazines, Spanish and English lessons and books from The Theory of Relativity to Self-help literature. I realized that I found who he was ten years ago. Everything was covered by dust and there was an accented moldy smell. What in heaven could be more attractive for a bookaholic? I almost could hear angelic voices calling me. *If you were in a horror movie, you shouldn't follow any kind of voice, be smart for your own sake*. I spent the whole night seeking magazines of my interest and remembering the ones I've read when I was a child. I found the first book I read by my own, which was Pollyanna by Eleanor H. Porter, and now its cover is kneaded and its pages are yellow and dropping. But its history and sentimental value are totally intact. And in that moment, I started to think about all the years my uncle had lived there. Did he learn Spanish and English the way he wanted? Did he read all those books? How many nights did he pass reading by "candlelight"? Which kind of goals did he plan? And mainly, how many of them did he fulfill? How many of them are slumbering with the dust that permeates the air? Perhaps if I had taken a deep breath, they would have finally been able to find other person to dream them again. But the thought that impacted me the most wasn't about the past, but the future. I thought about all my own books and magazines, my schools things, my notebooks filled with random texts I wrote. When I move out from my parent's house and if I won't be able to carry them with me, who will read them? I mean, it took years for me to finally open a supposed "empty room". Who will be the future one to turn the key in the handle of my previous room and suddenly find my biggest treasure and experience all the same feelings I had that night?

Anxiousness, my old friend. I'm currectly in a marathon study, because there're just 15 weeks left to the first "SAT" I will have to do. And if you're eager person, you may know how I'm feeling right now, but imagined it multiplicated by 10. And the thing that get the most on my nerves isn't even all the subjects I have to study, but myself. Lisa Kleypas was right when she said we were our worst enemy. I'm such a perfectionist about my productivity, and mixing it with all my anxiousness... I become a bomb. The worst kind of bomb, because I don't bother anyone around me. Actually, people say I'm usually with a serene face, as if I was always calm. Poor them, don't even know all the dangerousness that dwells inside a supposed pacific face. But after all, who victim knew that there were a shark lurking in the deeps of sea before being bitten? Yes, I've started writing about marathon studies and now I'm talking about sharks. Add this one to my flaws list. Well, the things is, I make a lot of plains, expecting I can fulfill them. But most of the times, all I got is to feel miserable at the end of the day. I know I shouldn't play so hard on me, but this is something I just can't help doing.