Friend-Women

It pleases me to help people, I like being helpful and resourceful, I enjoy having people’s gratitude directed towards me. When I meet a group of people, I’m instantly the one providing whatever everyone needs. But I hardly connect with those I provide to. It takes a little bit of feedback for me to actually care for someone.

From all the people I’ve helped, few had the grace to actually acknowledge any of what I did. I’m not even going to try to justify it with ramblings of influencing factors, such as age or origin, because I know it has nothing to do with it. It’s simply a matter of breeding and character. I’m not even going to bother explaining why. It just is.

I wish I had more of those friends – those I gain through the feedback of my providing. I’ve come to realize that I enjoy them so very much. And since lately I’ve made two wonderful lady-friends, I thought I’d honor them, mentioning them here.

“E” was young and restless, but I suppose due to her culture, she was bound to reciprocate, or at least be grateful, for anything anyone did for her. She was polite and careful. She remembered my birthday. She remembered what I liked and I what I didn’t. She was grateful enough to actually do something for me without any ulterior reason behind it, or any personal gain. She remembered to write me, after she left.

“K” is older and centered, and extremely polite. She remembers when to say “thank you”, and has a special way of voicing her gratitude. She is capable of going over her own wishes just to do something she thinks I deserve. She doesn’t think twice about doing something that pleases me, because she really thinks I ought to have or do something. She thinks I’m worthy of something.

I consider them my real friends. I got their attention through my favors, showed them I have something special, something good in me, and that was enough for them to actually take the time to get to know me, to spend time with me and learn one thing or two about me. And vice-versa. Their grateful ways made me see them as worthy of my real attention, and I got to know them for real.

I’d like to believe I made friendship in its truest form. I’d like to believe it’s unbreakable what we have. I wish it was eternal, and even though I don’t believe it is, for nothing in this world lasts forever, sometimes I entertain myself thinking it is, what we have together it is, in fact, everlasting.

I will definitely never forget these people. The feeling I have for them is indeed eternal. And so very true.

Pensando em você...

Hoje acordei com vontade de pensar em meu amor. Sei que este é um espaço para reflexões, mas meus pensamentos, hoje, voaram para a Itália e quero postá-los. Pensar nela depois de uma semana tão ingrata, de uma realidade que foge ao meu controle, me deixa mais calma, feliz, por um momento, meu dia fica mais leve, mais doce...

M é uma brisa leve e suave que veio me refrescar quando eu achava que já era tarde demais. Encheu-me de planos, vontade de realizar mil coisas e desenterrar velhos sonhos. Ajudou-me em minhas questões mal resolvidas, elevou minha auto-estima a patamares que nunca experimentara. Em outros momentos, M é um furacão que tira meus pés do chão fazendo-me rodopiar no ar, deixa-me tonta, descabelada e desnorteada. Seu forte temperamento pode ser comparado a forças da natureza difíceis de lidar.

Tenho-a ocupando um lugar imenso em meu coração e não mais imagino minha vida sem suas contribuições, seus carinhos e cuidados, suas opiniões inteligentes, seu senso de humor ácido, seus conselhos importantes e puxadas de orelha.

Eu sou uma mulher apaixonada, e como todo apaixonado tendo a ser exagerada em minhas declarações afetuosas e gosto de fazê-las, não espero que M seja igual a mim. Cada pessoa expressa sentimentos de maneira diferente, tenho aprendido a ler os sinais de afeto que M me envia, bem como perceber e respeitar seus momentos de instrospecção. Confesso que me sinto satisfeita e não considero que minha namorada precise mudar em nada, pelo contrário, gosto do jeito discreto e, às vezes, contido dela.

M é extremamente sincera na demonstração do que sente e do que quer. Isso pode ser doloroso para quem não está preparado para receber a verdade, muitos preferem viver de pequenas mentiras piedosas. No que diz respeito aos relacionamentos, minha namorada não é nada diplomática, por vezes não é muito delicada, ela prefere a verdade nua e crua, para que não haja decepções e arrependimentos futuros. Isso me assusta um pouco, ainda mais eu que tenho uma certa insegurança em lidar com relacionamentos, mas ainda assim, mesmo com um pouco de medo, prefiro-a como é, sem rodeios, sem máscaras, sem mesnsagens subliminares. Cada vez que M demonstra a vontade de estar comigo, isso é valorizado por mim ao máximo, pois sei que é um sentimento verdadeiro e que ela só está comigo porque deseja estar, nenhum motivo a mais.

The way I want...

I simply cannot work when things aren’t organized the way I want them to be.

a) I was working with six containers; I placed them side by side, and numbered them 1 to 6, left to right. But them Bitch 2 told me I couldn’t use all that space, and moved containers 1 and 2, placing them on the other side of the lab. That completely messed up my “order”. I spent the next 12 hours whining and bitching, while working, and had to recount and renumber the containers every single time I collected samples from them.

b) I needed 72 clean tubes to start a test. Since I could only find, in that hell of a laboratory, 60 tubes exactly the same, as in height and width, I postponed the test. I only did it when I had all of the 72 tubes the way I wanted them. I am incapable of handling different tubes when they represent the same sample and should, therefore, be exactly the same.

I simply cannot live when things aren’t ordered the way I want them to be.

c) When I got here, I had 18 pieces of cloth. All the hangers I found in the new apartment where different from each other. My clothes stayed on a box until I bought identical hangers. I only allowed differences between shirt hangers and pants hangers.

d) I started studying italian and used a green pen to highlight the important parts on my notebook. After I finished two 100 pages notebooks worth of studying, I ran out of green pens. I haven’t studied in two weeks because I cannot find another green pen the same shade as the one I had, and I can’t decide if I should just rewrite the whole two notebooks using another more usual pen.

e) I bought four round shaped glasses. My roomies broke 2 of them, and them bought me other 2 glasses, but square shaped one. I thanked them, and as soon as they were out of here, I turned the new glasses into ashtrays. Even if that means I have to always wash a glass right after I use it, otherwise I’ll run out of clean ones.

I simply cannot relate when people don’t function the way I want them to.

f) My mother is the most emotional woman I know. I cannot relate to her. Since her actions are based on what she’s feeling, and feelings don’t follow an order or a straight reason, I cannot understand her at all. Once I don’t understand her, we don’t get along well. Since we don’t get along well, I avoid her. And that’s why she, sometimes, hates me.

g) My brother is a junkie. And since drugs take away all reasoning from a person, he is completely unpredictable. Therefore, I also cannot relate to him, and I avoid him at all costs.

h) My girlfriend is also emotional. When she asks me “if you were home, why didn’t you texted me?”, and I answer truthfully “because I was tired and wanted to just read something”, she gets upset. She acts on her feeling, she gets hurt because I had a day off and preferred something else over spending time with her. She doesn’t reason that it’s normal for someone to want sometime alone. Sometimes I consider lying and answering something else, but I always forget to do it. I don’t realize she’s going to get hurt until after I said something hurtful.

Falar muito é diferente de falar demais

Quando alguém me diz que falo demais já estou preparada para essa crítica. Às vezes, fico sem graça, mas é uma verdade: sou tagarela. Devo admitir isso.

Muitas vezes me empolgo com temas que suponho dominar ou que sejam fascinantes para mim. Encontro pessoas de todos os tipos: as que se aborrecem e me acham um saco, as que passam dessa fase e aprendem a gostar de mim e até a valorizar minha tagarelice, as que ficam absorvendo interessadas em aprender algo, as que riem comigo, as que me acham antipática, sabe-tudo, sabichona, as que competem e querem falar mais ainda do que eu, as que me acham super inteligente, as que... Olha eu aí, falando muito de novo, me prolongando, prolongando... Acho que sou uma pessoa prolixa.

pro.li.xo (adj.)

1. Demasiadamente longo, extenso ou demorado.
2. Enfadonho, fastidioso.
3. Que usa mais palavras e frases do que o necessário (estilo prolixo; pessoa prolixa).
4. Muito longo (discurso prolixo).

Fiquei pensando a causa de toda essa “prolixia”. Será que é porque eu gosto de falar ou isso vem de alguma carência, onde quero ser o centro das atenções? Buscando dentro de mim, a resposta é que gosto muito de falar, me expressar, principalmente quando entendo que meu ouvinte é alguém inteligente, argumentativo e que pode acrescentar idéias, enriquecer conceitos, opiniões, visão de mundo.

Mas como tenho a mania de querer brilhar aos olhos de todos, fiquei refletindo que quero melhorar essa minha característica. Me tornando mais centrada, menos impulsiva ao falar. Não é à toa que temos uma boca apenas e dois ouvidos, deve ser para falarmos menos e ouvirmos mais. Ouvir mais e falar menos implica em correr menos riscos, cometer menos gafes e indiscrições. Lembro-me bem e sempre vou lembrar de encrencas nas quais me meti, como quando falei de minha vida pessoal e afetiva para R, envolvendo e magoando, no meu “falar demais”, M, o meu amor.

Talvez eu nunca deixe de ser uma tagarela, de falar como uma matraca, mas posso e devo ter muito cuidado entre falar muito e falar demais. São duas situações distintas e as consequências muito diferentes.

Three Little Pigs

Once upon a time, there were three little pigs who spent a month in the home of a very clean ladybug. The ladybug loved the three little pigs very much for they were fun, polite and loving, but unfortunately the three little pigs were dirty and messy, and at the end of that month the very clean and orderly ladybug couldn’t wait for them to finally leave.

Little Pig Number One
Little Pig Number One was the sweetest of them all. She was kind and fun, and very similar to the ladybug. She was considerate and polite, and also very beautiful, and definitely the most mature of them all. The ladybug absolutely adored her and they became best friends. Little Pig Number One wasn’t messy, but didn’t help in the cleaning and wouldn’t do much at all. The ladybug was a little bit sad. She could handle Little Pig Number One, but not if there were two more messy little pigs. So, in the end, it would be best if Little Pig Number One went away.

Little Pig Number Two
Little Pig Number Two was the coolest of them all. She was interesting, different and chatty. She hit it off right away with the ladybug and they became very good friends. They would spend a lot of time together and would talk about many things that the ladybug was not comfortable talking about with the other two little pigs. But eventually it became very clear to the ladybug that Little Pig Number Two was very, very messy and dirty… she generated an absurdly high amount of garbage and was completely incapable of separating such garbage into recycling bins. That was unacceptable to the ladybug. Little Pig Number Two had to go.

Little Pig Number Three
Little Pig Number Three was the most childish of them all. She had seemed sweet and innocent at first, but soon it was clear that Little Pig Number Three was boring, annoying and just plain irritating. And oh, but Little Pig Number Three was dirty. Very, very messy and dirty. Nobody could use the bathroom after she had it for it would be a complete mess; water everywhere, bikinis hanging around and beauty products splattered all over the place. That was simply too traumatizing to the always organizing ladybug. Little Pig Number Three had better disappear from earth.

Cérebro DDAdo

Fico pensativa sobre a questão do cérebro “DDAdo”. Os psicólogos e psiquiatras difundem que, quando criança, o indivíduo com DDA troca letras, derruba coisas, acha a escola um tédio, é desorganizado. Estas pessoas crescem com a sensação de serem indesejadas e incompreendidas. Contudo, isso não aconteceu comigo, com a exceção de derrubar coisas e da desorganização, o resto não experimentei, pelo contrário, era uma aluna excelente, aplicada e apaixonada pelo mundo do conhecimento.

O cérebro “DDAdo” só se concentra quando a atenção é captada. Uma vez captada a atenção surge outra característica notável: o hiperfoco, uma concentração concentrada. Um cérebro “DDAdo” quando ama, é tudo ou nada. Há um excesso de emoção e a tendência de idealizar o objeto amado. E como sei o que é isso desde que encontrei o meu amor... Verdade é que alguns com DDA se apaixonam por suas carreiras ou pela ciência. Li que artistas com DDA sublimam a emoção em músicas, romances, poesias... Por isso adoro escrever minhas poesias cheias de emoção, apaixonadas, às vezes melancólicas, mas que me aliviam a alma. Não estou querendo dizer que meus dons e defeitos são “culpa” de um cérebro “DDAdo”, mas acredito que ajuda a intensificá-los.

Um notável cérebro “DDAdo”, Eisntein, péssimo aluno,focou vinte anos a questão do que acontece com os objetos à velocidade da luz. Outro sonhador, Gran Bell, levou anos para resolver como falar com alguém do outro lado do planeta. Convenhamos, as pessoas sensatas não se ocupam com estas “tolices”. Sorte da humanidade que haja cérebros “DDAdos”, hiperfocados, pobres sofredores incompreendidos! Para os “normais”, o mundo comum é tão pobre... Para mim, em meu mundo interior tudo é tão incrivelmente possível! Tudo intensamente rico de beleza e possibilidades. Sou criativa, e mantenho a curiosidade investigativa de uma criança, bem como o gosto pelo lúdico, o meu relógio interior parou no frescor dos meus vinte anos... Isso daria a mim vantagens sobre os cérebros comuns? Seria eu mais feliz e menos estressada? Ganharia eu mais alguns anos de vida? Não obtive respostas para esses questionamentos.

Ao mesmo tempo em que vejo beleza em um cérebro “DDAdo”, não posso também deixar de citar as desvantagens em carregar esse estigma: inquietação, contradição, desorganização, devaneios, intolerância ao tédio, dificuldades em seguir regras. Eu vivo constantemente a dor e a delícia de ser quem sou.

Descobri que é preciso agir ou corro o risco de passar pela vida anonimamente a observar estrelas, deixando atrás de mim um rastro de roupas esparramadas, gavetas abertas e corações partidos. Este é o meu desafio: ultrapassar a fase do sonhador e tomar atitudes práticas; sair do mundo das idéias e lançar-me ao mundo do concreto, onde os cérebros “DDAdos” não são bem vistos e não ocupam lugares de honra na sociedade.

Awful, horrible people...

Sometimes I feel like an awful, horrible person. Because awful, horrible things happen to me and I believe wholeheartedly that those kinds of things only happen to awful, horrible people.

I was supposed to have the time of my life here, this was supposed to be the year of my life, but it seems that if I want it to be so, I have to be completely alone, and do it all by myself. Which makes no sense at all, since I’d need someone else to make this trip unforgettable. I’m a “sharing” person, a “people” person or something. But instead I find myself alone and the people who came here with me seem to care less if I am or not around. It’s crystal clear how much I annoy P, I guess we’re different enough to not be able to spend much time together. L lives in a world of her own, in which she’s the queen and the only one who matters. She forgets about me, often, and when she does remember, it seems that she’ll only do something for me if it doesn’t spoil her mighty plans for herself.

I’m not liked where I work. One boss thinks I’m unreliable, the other likes to yell at me. People I work with are always in a defensive position: “I did tell you about the meeting, you’re stupid enough to have thought you wouldn’t be part of it” or “I did that because it’s the right thing, if the consequences have fallen upon you, that’s only your fault”. I don’t get it. Why things are so complicated?

I’m not even going to start on my family. Instead of good wishes, I get complaints about everything. I’m travelling too much. I’m not working enough. I’m saving too much money. And then I’m spending too much money. My mother told me herself what an awful, horrible person I am. And I believe her. Because I’m surrounded by awful, horrible people, and everybody knows the apple doesn’t fall too far away from the tree.

I got robbed. Thank god I have a wonderful insurance company, and an amazing credit card company, because if it wasn’t for them, I’d have had so many more difficulties. But they cancelled my cards for me, sent me money, and my trip wasn’t lost. The day after, they called me to ask me if I was ok. My parents didn’t.

Although everything is fine now, I keep thinking about the money I lost. Everything happens for a reason. Why would I have to lose 600? The only good thing that came out of losing that much money was hearing my dad, on the phone, saying “forget about it now, try to have fun”. Was it worthy? Did I have to get robbed, and get lost and then desperate, for him to wish me a nice trip?

I do believe that almost everything can be purchased, and certainly everything has a price. “Have fun”; the two most expensive words I’ve ever bought.