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Tem coisa que não se vê porque abriu os olhos.
Tem coisa que não se vê porque fechou os olhos.
…
Lá estava, pronta para fazer uma grande revelação…
Me ajeitando na cadeira (banquinho)…
Molhando a garganta…
E ele? Tsc tsc, passando pano no balcão!
…
- TeenhU UMa coísA pra tiE COnTAR! (Sim, quando estou nervosa eu dou umas desafinadas)
- [Tom abaianado] Diga aí.
… [Respirando fundo]
- Eu e a xxxxx não somos só amigas… O~*´
- Eu sei. ( 。_° ¤＼(─ _ ─)!
- (O_O;)! Hã??????????!!!
…
- Eu sempre soube. Todo mundo tem coisas que quer esconder temendo o julgamento dos outros mas, tudo faz parte da vida. Você pode se peneirar para os outros para tentar mostrar só o seu lado bom mas, você só consegue isso se a outra pessoa também decide fechar os olhos… Eu não fecho os olhos quando você se peneira pra mim.
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1 Segundo da minha cabeça: Como assim? | Todo esse tem_ | Ele vai expl_? | Fofo! [Sorriso] | E ago_? | [Alívio]
…
- Uou! Você é muito sábio pra ser um barman, sabia?
- [Risos] Eu leio Osho.
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Read the english version of this Post here:
Things one does not see (169)
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by Delirium
In his book “Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness”, William Styron said “In rereading, for the first time in years, sequences from my novels – passages where my heroines have lurched down the pathways towards doom – I was stunned to perceive how accurately I had created the landscape of depression in the minds of these young women….Thus depression, when it finally came to me, was in fact no stranger, not even a visitor unannounced; it had been tapping at my door for decades.” These words remind me of something Dean Koontz wrote in his novel “Brother Odd”. “By writing in an unrelievedly dark mode, he warns, the writer risks culturing darkness in his heart, becoming the very thing that he decries”.
If who one is and what becomes of one is manifested unconsciously in what we do this day, can we then use conscious effort to alter our path? And I wonder if this refers also to ones preferred genre of music or books or paintings. Do these preferences reflect the light or darkness within us?
But perhaps more than anything, I wonder if a person like the above mentioned could, or perhaps it is even “would” alter his path? In ancient Greece, Aristotle (or his pupil Theophrastus) asked “‘Why is it that all men who are outstanding in philosophy, poetry, or the arts are melancholic?”. In this century, the connection between exceptional creativity and mental illness is murkier. One can imagine that if the relationship is indeed true, then natural selection must have favoured its persistence given that this advantageous trait must benefit its owner. And if it does benefit its owner, then could, or would the person then be reluctant to move beyond this state?
By Mestengo
Facebook has made life both easy and difficult. I have spent quite some time today responding to each of the birthday greetings (70 and counting). My brother said to me, people just put up a single thank you response to all, but I said I went to a school that emphasised alot on proper manners and once in a while, I cannot help but feel that I need to be proper. And today is one such day, after all, gratitude cannot be outdated, can it?
Some time back, I decided birthdays are a good time to reflect on our lives and our personal growth. Are you what your 8 year-old self would want to be? Have you achieved what you want to? Have you treated this life well? Have you been a good spouse, friend, parent, child? Where are you going – do you seek an easy life or one of service and adventure? How have you made use of your gift (of knowledge, of intelligence, of an opportunity to be educated)? Those questions I ask myself, and as I pen my thoughts, sometimes I find it interesting that even to myself, one cannot find the strength to be truthful. Surely we can be honest with ourselves?
The past year has been a period of tremendous growth. I am closer to being able to hear my inner-most thoughts, some I have long dismissed as useless gut-feeling. This learning curve is hard, sometimes I try so hard my head hurts, this so-called gut-feeling is so under-utilised and suppressed that it cannot speak to me anymore, or perhaps I have forgotten it’s language nor understand it anymore. Occasionally I am troubled, I get anxious, I become lost in the thunderstorm in my mind, but like a log floating down the river, I know the next peaceful stretch will come, if I persevere through it.
When this day ends, one chapter closes and another begins. In the next chapter, noone knows what the story will be, but I believe that this is what makes the human species special, this is our specialty. We author our own stories. And I hope you will choose to make your story a good read.
by Mestengo
“Although a time to be merry, I imagine that the new year is also a time for reflection of one’s life – the good, the bad and the inconsequential. Where does one go from here? And how can one do better? To observe and to contemplate allows us to understand ourselves better, and in knowing ourselves, we may then begin on the journey to peace of mind”
[by Mestengo]
In the recent episode of Bones, a doctor Adit Gadh said that it is not death that we fear, we fear no one will notice our absence.
I am a writer. Only I write research papers, reports, grant application, the occasional letters to editor in the magazine or newspaper and sometimes, when it all becomes too much, I flush my brain here on mentalflush. I have always imagined that one day, I would create a fine piece of work, one worthy of a nobel prize, one that will make the world a better place. In someway, I have pondered hard on my legacy, what will the world remember of me when I am gone, if it will at all?
What is your legacy? And I do mean legacy beyond that of an offspring. There is a romanticized saying that “to the world you maybe just one person, but to one person you maybe the world”. But what if you are one of those people truly alone in this world, without family or friends? Does it bother you that perhaps, you are inconsequential?
Scurry, scurry, dump. Return nonchalantly. Repeat scurry, scurry, dump. I have been observing my neighbour lately. I must insist, I am merely observing and not spying. I am certainly adverse to the idea of spying on someone. That said, I cannot be responsible over my curiosity from taking a walk away from me every once in a while to see what is happening elsewhere. Curiosity is nomadic, I assure you. I have seen mine leave and return many times, even within this lifetime. Of course, you would not imagine I would remember if curiosity was mobile in my other lives, would you?
Now, where was I? Yes, it is most important to start from the beginning, where it all begun. How I came to notice my neighbour, whom I should aptly call Mrs Scurry-scurry-dump, can only be described as unintentional. I have taken refuge by the few plants on my balcony as my new work place. As a wandering researcher, one constantly has to find inspiration, even when there are few to come by. Therefore, after I planted myself comfortably into my corner, I plunged into work. Perhaps it is because I have planted myself so comfortably that I have blended into the background, for it is then I hear the scurrying sound. How can one describe the sound from such a movement? If you have rats in your pipes, you would know. My rat have this habit of going for a run up the pipes every night, I suspect I do not hear it coming down because the best way to go down is of course, whooshing down the slime.
Anyway, back to my neighbour, what is she up to, I wondered? As I watched, Mrs Scurry-scurry-dump, oblivious of my scrutinising eyes, scurried down the road, dragging some pieces of her recently annihilated tree. As I blinked, the pieces vanished into thin air. Where did it go? Wait, no! Did she just throw it over the fence into the other house, a lonely, unoccupied house? No, I cannot imagine that. Now, you must realise, this scurrying act is no normal movement. It is extremely swift. It is extremely clean. Only a pair of good eyes would have caught its precise action. But this wretched pair of eyes had no such capability. But bad eyes often come with good nose, and this nose smells something is up to no-good. Although the nose hinted of something, the eyes caught nothing more, and curiosity went back into its cave. Work resumed.
After a few hours, the sound returned. Mrs Scurry-scurry-dump is back in action. This time, she moved in the opposite direction. Again, she was dragging pieces of her annihilated tree. Again, they disappeared with a blink of the eye. But this time, I have a fellow witness. Yes, indeed Mrs Scurry-scurry-dump had been careless. Another pair of eyes was watching her. And this pair of eye, coupled with a sharp tongue, confronted Mrs Scurry-scurry-dump. Caught in act! Mrs Scurry-scurry-dump, I hope you have learnt your lesson. Please keep your rubbish to yourself, or kindly pay the rubbish collector to dispose of it.
[By Mestengo]
Things I like about life…
…friendship
Can’t tell you home much friendship means to me… But I will try 
As I have lots of time (I’m on my way home), I’ll tell you a story of one friendship (no, I’m not driving). So, it all begun when one clumsy little girl from Lithuania came to a big, stunning country. She couldn’t speak the local language, had little ability to understand maps and… was a bit unfortunate. With these nice lineament she came to study in a country, named Portugal. As you know, misfortunes never come alone – so she missed the train from Lisbon (special thanks to the people that are working in the train station), spent few hours in the cold, windy night (o.k., o.k., it wasn’t so cold…), got fooled by a taxi driver and finally she came to the place (lots of things happened before she did that, but as I do not want to make a total misfortune of this little clumsy blond girl, I’ll remain silent ). So, she’s walking down the stony street admiring these quaint buildings, nice little roads and thinking: “Ką aš čia darau? Man prireikė…“ O.k., o.k. I’ll translate this mental flush: ”What am I doing here? It took me so much to come here… What if I won’t find the place I supposed to be? Would I be walking here all day like a tourist?.. Should have taken my camera, shorts and sneakers… God, oh, God, clumsy little girl!”. Suddenly she saw a beautiful garden full of palms. As she couldn’t go by this exotic flora (because the only palm she saw was the one in the supermarket. Plastic.), she went to admire the view. And then, my friends, she saw him! (Okay, this is not a love story, no kinky or other thoughts). He was looking somewhere into the distance, looking a bit sad or so she thought. “I hope he can speak English” – first thought that came to her mind. “I should ask him for directions. If he doesn’t speak English – I’m going home! Tomorrow… after tomorrow… in six months…”
- Excuse me, do you speak English? (“Tell me no and I’ll kick your a…)
- Yes, I do.
- (!!!!!!!!!!!!! Okay, blonde, does he know where you should go?) I’m looking for Direção – something… I’ an Erasmus student. Do you know the way?
Not only did he know, he walked her there, told everything she should know, waited until she got her documents ready, showed some places where one could eat and so on. All this time they were talking and talking and talking. This girl (lets call her Pixie , for the reason that one person knows ) was so happy to meet someone she could talk to, someone that could speak Portuguese and tell her everything she needs to know. As the time went by, they became good friends. She was missing her boyfriend, he was thinking about a girlfriend that was far away. So, they had something in common. Spending time together, shearing thoughts, jokes and teaching each other dirty jokes in their languages, was the best time spend together. It’s nice to remember all the jokes, conversations we’ve had. I sometimes sit and think about those plain speaking over dinner, laughing, you teaching me Portuguese, making me that sweet from sugary milk and so on. Dear friend, the time that I have spend in Portugal wouldn’t have been as much fun and worth it if YOU wouldn’t be there. I still remember that early morning when you walked me to the train station. Who could ever walk a person 4 o’clock in the morning??? A true friend. Friend, that have been looking over me all this time, forcing me to sing karaoke, teaching me “bad word’s about my mother” and how to play poker 
Okay, that’s a joke, but you’ve left a big mark in my heart, my mind and my soul. And I will never forget you. Thank you for all the good memories I have from my short stay J And as for you, my dear readership, I’d like to say (I know it’ll sound sentimental, cause it is, but) – value the moments that you spend together with your friends, as you may never know when one will decide to leave the hometown, country or whatsoever.
Good luck,
Pixie.
Colectânea: Orientações de um amigo espiritual
A consciência é quem você se sente. Você se sente o corpo, se sente o pássaro, a árvore e, dentro do corpo, você se sente os olhos? os cabelos? depende onde está a sua consciência.
A consciência varia caminhando pelos vários corpos energéticos e onde ela está é onde você se sente e se empenha.
A consciência é fortalecida pelo conhecimento humano puro. Se ela está no emocional o resto está escuro e sombrio e você se perde nos rancores e traumas. Se ela está no intelecto você se aprisiona nos raciocínios de causa-consequência. Você auto-alimenta compulsivamente o lugar em você onde está sua consciência. Para ser você mesmo, a consciência deve estar no centro. Isto significa transformar o conhecimento adquirido em vazio, em nada, não pensar, não se emocionar, nada. Aí você está no centro, iluminando todos seus aspectos e o seu centro, que deve ser onde Você está. Depois de estar no centro, Você vai saber o que fazer.
Você pode esvaziar esses aspectos evitando o raciocínio lógico e os julgamentos. Quem pratica o mal sofre o mal e quem pratica o bem sofre o bem. Quem pratica a lógica se aliena da realidade e cai no vazio da insatisfação ao final da vida. Pense bem: é melhor não pensar tanto.
Flávia PCarreiro
22 de Outubro de 2010
“From woman to woman.”
We had already been introduced but I had never noticed him… I worked at a nightclub when he approached me… “Are you the… friend of… ?”
…
I had returned from Europe recently and was devastated by the recent end of my relationship with her… The last thing that occurred to my mind at that moment in life was to venture into another relationship… My focus was to finish college and start career soon.
…
We get to know each other better and he proved to be an impressive man… A finding… Of those not found in any corner… But I was reluctant! Even knowing that he was without doubt the most interesting man I ever met.
…
What is the matter with us? We grew up with the Cinderella’s Syndrome, believing in a prince who comes to our rescue on a white horse… But when the prince appears, we ask him to return another time because the moment was inopportune. ¬¬
So I am thinking… Are we waiting for the right person or the right time? Not enough lucky to find someone with whom we can live “happily ever after”? We still want to say that one only will be the right person if he appears in our lives when it is convenient to us? 0.o
The chances of finding the right person is already small, how much more luck we need for her to come on time? It’s like trying to hit the lottery twice in a row!
What happens more often is that we only recognize someone as the “right person” if we do not need to leave our “comfort zone” to embark on a relationship. I mean, we’re a bunch of hypocrites! :-X We say we are waiting for the right person but in fact what we are waiting is for the right time.
The sad thing about this is that we wasted our chance with the prince, and when the “right time” finally arrives, we are forced by circumstances to opt for the wrong person at the right time.
…
In the end, (thank goodness!) my prince was someone enlightened enough to show me that in fairy tales, to the princess reach the “happily ever after”, she needs to get on the horse and escape with the prince. ;-D
by Delirium
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A versão em português deste Post pode ser lida aqui:
A Pessoa certa ou a Hora certa (208)
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Last night I was walking with my dad. Everybody had been surprised at his reaction a few days ago when my sister called to announce she was getting married. He actually seemed happy! And we, the rest of the family, were expecting a complete different reaction. Last night we went out to walk the dogs. It was the two of us so I just asked him what his real opinion was, because none of us in the close family could really believe he was just OK with the news.
My mom had an opinion (you know how moms are when their first child gets married… she is just endlessly happy). My brother has an opinion, probably a similar opinion to the one I have (let’s just say we are quite skeptical)… but my dad… My sister is (between her and myself) his “little girl” and his “little girl” is getting married. He must have an opinion! (I thought). His answer was: I don’t have an opinion; I don’t want to have an opinion. If you make yourself an opinion of something or somebody you are implying a comparison. You need a standard; a control, something to compare with, and I don’t want to do this. I could compare his values to my values and if they are different I probably will have a bad opinion of him, but that is not right because everyone is different. Furthermore, what is important is that regardless of my opinion if the marriage works well, and she is happy, everything will be good. But what if I have a good opinion about him and the marriage at the end turns wrong? That will not only hurt her, but also me because I care about her. If I wouldn’t care that much I wouldn’t have problems on having an opinion about him.”
I am a person who believes in first impressions, hence I almost always have an opinion and if asked I’ll tell them without hesitation. However yesterday for the first time I thought: is it really important to have an opinion on everything? Maybe not, but then I thought: I don’t really have an opinion on everything. Curiously enough I have opinions usually on things I care about (in a good or in a bad way). They were important enough for me to give them a thought… so how can you not have an opinion about things you care but have one on things you do not care? I believe the fact that I gave some thought to something means I should have an opinion about it. Should I not?
by Outlier
It is the time of the year again when freshies join the University. Today was perhaps the worst ever I have experienced, so much so I feel exhausted even though work was not too demanding. The crowd invades any permeable corner of the University, there was no sanctuary anywhere. They were loud, people were put through shameful acts, people were humiliated. I cannot imagine what goes through the minds of the people involved. Do you remember Milgram’s experiment on torture? It was after the Nazi’s Holocaust and there was the trial of whether the perpetrators of those horrific crimes were just following orders or did Hitler’s accomplices shared his intents? Milgram found surprisingly that many people would carry out torture on order. Suddenly I was staring at all around me what appeared to be case studies confirming that. Those people who made the others knell and do various acts that humiliate the victims, I wonder where are their conscience? And those so-called victims who subjected themselves to humiliation, are those classical examples of conformism? It suddenly felt very scary to me. I felt like I was peering into the darkest side of human nature. Would these same people, when put through Milgram’s experiment, behave as predicted? If yes, I am fearful. EO Wilson said human as a species lacked a goal beyond that of a biological one. If he is correct, is our species indeed doomed to fail?
Another surprising revelation was how male and female seemed to be segregated in those “games”. It seemed to go against the concept of equality that modern society, our foremothers worked so hard to achieve. I understand this tradition comes a long way, but I have heard that the “games” were not like what they were before. But this segregation was shocking to me. Are the students aware of what they were condoning? Do they realise what they are doing? This seemed to reinforce that men and women are not equal. Is this another step backwards for this society?
In the end, I find myself totally exhausted by all these experiences and trying to comprehend what I was seeing. A severe sensory overload. By 6pm, I was in bed. This species called Homo sapiens scares me, the idea of what they are capable of scares me. What do you think? I would like to hear that my interpretation is severely flawed.
[by Mestengo]
Michael Bader’s post on Psychology Today with the same title scored a bull’s-eye for me. For a moment, I was inclined to recreate Tom Cruise’s infamous sofa incident, for I was experiencing a moment of dopamine spike. I too have been criticised more than once for overgeneralising, all because I enjoy observing social behaviour and I enjoy discussing the patterns I see. Of course, you would argue for the case of individualism, but the word social itself implies group, and as such, social theories are based on broad phenomena. This makes sense, but in a world paranoid with racism, religious right and the blahs a long those lines, speak like that and one may face accusations for being a racist, committing blasphemy or lo and behold, societal outcast. And there you go again, the word society; defined by Oxford Dictionary as “the community of people living in a particular country or region and having shared customs, laws, and organizations”.
Patterns, patterns everywhere.
Pattern, patterns why I care,
Fools we are but dare,
Social groups are all to bare.
[by Mestengo]
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“…when it’s so cold and dark outside and i am too lazy to wake up in the morning and then he kisses me on my cheek, then my nose, gently whispers something sweet and i’m all ready to wake up. I think, i feel those buterlfies for all day.”
[by Janina]
Without any intention of getting involved in discussions about religion (for those who believe that human are not animals; I respect your position) I was wondering…
In biology, specifically in animals with sexual dimorphism*, when we talk about sexual selection we often (if not always) turn our attention to males and the “things” that make them attractive to females. Put it this way: who have the big ornamentations, or the brightest colors, or the best song repertoires (in many songbirds for example), etc. Right answer: males. They have to show-off in front of females, show that they carry the best genes, are the healthiest in the group and will be the best “papas” for this current breeding period. Females… we chose.
*males look clearly different than females
Ok, so far so good for animal kingdom. But then, humans are animals. I mean we belong to the animal kingdom, and we certainly have sexual dimorphism. So why is it that in humans, females are the ones using make-up, dressing up… blah blah blah? Are we, women showing-off for men?
I’m curious to know what you think about it.
[by Outlier]
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Read the english version of this Post here:
What is the stomach (202)
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Aracajú, 14 de Julho de 2010 (Sem tomo, capítulo, sexo ou cenoura)
Escutamos o tempo todo as pessoas falando sobre coração.
Eu concordo que não soa romântico dizer: “eu amo você com todas as minhas entranhas” ou “só tem lugar para você no meu estômago”…
Mas, a verdade da qual ninguém fala é que no peito não sentimos nada! Tudo vem do estômago!
…
A primeira dinastia:
A conheci da maneira mais casual possível… Olhei para ela e nevou dentro de mim… Então sorriu como se soubesse o que estava acontecendo… E com isso, naquele momento eu virara escrava das vontades do meu estômago.
Escravizada pelo meu próprio estômago! Simples assim e eu inventaria qualquer motivo esdrúxulo para estar na presença dela… Mais tarde ela viria a se tornar um dos amores da minha vida.
…
A segunda dinastia:
Com ele foi a mesma coisa mas ao invés de um sorriso foi uma fala…
“Eu não te conheço a metade do que eu gostaria. E gosto desse menos da metade de você a metade do que você merece. (Parafraseando Senhor dos Anéis que fofo! )
Mas, eu sei que eu poderia te fazer feliz se você estivesse disposta tentar.
Porque apesar de nossas afiadas diferenças, acredito que nós buscamos as mesmas coisas na vida.”
Questionei: ― E o que seria?
“Alguém em quem se possa confiar para compartilhar uma vida.”
Os homens erram muito… Mas, quando um resolve acertar, ele acerta!
Foram as palavras certas no momento certo, ditas pela pessoa certa. E, mais uma vez eu fui escravizada pelas vontades do meu estômago.
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E o que diabos é o estômago?! X-(
É uma criança mimada! Nunca fica satisfeita com o que tem e quando não damos o que quer ainda se acha no direito de nos deixar de mau humor ou deprimida! É muito poder nas mãos de “alguém” tão mal criado!
E como toda criança mimada, o estômago faz um monte (eufemismo) de besteiras (eufemismo) e depois sobra para a cabeça o trabalho de remendar os estragos. X-/
…
A fusão das duas dinastias?
Para acabar de completar, agora meu estômago tenta me impor suas vontades infantis de juntar as duas dinastias em uma coisa só… E se der errado? Quem arca com o prejuízo?… E se der certo? Escravidão ao quadrado?
…
Esse foi meu desabafo de hoje… Te vejo amanhã caderninho. 
[by Delirium]
As I read the Kite Runner for the second time, I find my nights, daydreams and siestas haunted by Afghanistan. It seems that everywhere I go, Afghanistan trails closely. At the bookstore in Lisbon Airport, the story of Aisha, an 18-year-old Afghan woman who was sentenced by the Taliban to have her nose and ears cut off for fleeing her abusive in-laws is on the cover of Time magazine; and I could not help but lay my hands on it and obsessively pour over it. While taking a stroll at night in Wiesbaden, I came up to an Afghan kebab shop and gave in to a kebab.
In fact, so absorbed I am that I have been wondering why did I not learn Arabic in school given that I have lived almost my entire life in a Muslim country. At the core of my obsession is actually curiosity. Curiosity of Muslim culture elsewhere, first lighted as a student back in school studying Islamic civilization and reignited as an adult in a world of religious conflict.
Perhaps more important is a deep longing, one lasting a lifetime, to really connect with another being. Coming from a multicultural country, religious tolerance has often been emphasized, yet few seemingly give thoughts to the reality that true acceptance can only be achieved with understanding of what differences are and how they arise. Look around you and what do you see? Do you see what I see? What lies in front of us may be the same sight, but how we perceive can be hugely disparate.
Therein lays trouble. Someone said, “strong opinions should be weakly held”. I believe this is equivalent to the middle path called for by Buddhism. If people of the world could do so, our disagreements will not be fewer, but our need to be correct will lessen and so will bloodshed. This view will no doubt be seen by many as overly simplistic. And you will find that the person who argues the most, undoubtedly, is not the simplest person in the room. And just may be, this disagreeable person, happens to also be the person with the most grouses about an unfair life.
Colectânea: Orientações de um amigo espiritual
Por: Flávia PCarreiro
Naquele momento ela se perdia nos pensamentos do próprio corpo e alimenta seus condicionamentos angustiantes como todos os mortais. Seus sentidos estavam activos mas ela não usava. Estava perdendo o tempo da vida no tempo. O que poderia ser feito por ela? Ela estava ali, mas não o governava!
Nada a separava, mas ela se mantinha assim, isolada de nós. E chorava. Por que chorava? Por que se isolava?
Porque sentia o esforço muito grande, que a correnteza a arrastava… Mas era tudo ilusão! Não havia correnteza alguma! Ela estava presente!
Por que tanto esforço? Para quê?
Ela via! Mas não despertava.
(16nov2007)
Conselho
O começo é mesmo como um grande vazio que pode ser preenchido com qualquer coisa; mas não é sábio preenche-lo com o passado.
(08jun2008)
Everyday things that I like about life…
…when I finally get out of a room filled with close air after whole night spent there, and I feel the gentle morning breeze on my skin. It as if I am drinking the fresh air with my lungs and feel the air current filling up my whole body.
[by Janina]
As I sat in the plane, crossing borders again for the first time in almost a year, my thoughts drift; sometimes coming to a clearing like the sun that comes after the clouds parted, others like a sweeping thunderstorm. I am grateful for this journey of discovery, of diversity within homogeneity, of homogeneity within heterogeneity.
Where I come from, racial jokes equate to acceptance of differences, and laughter shared; but to the unfamiliar, it seems uncouth and racist. But living in Portugal has shown me that diversity is alive and well even in a generally homogenous society. That said, I cannot help but believe that human, like all animals, flock together with those most similar to them. And this often means we are divided based on racial groups.
My question is, if cultures often survive because of such a separation, would an emphasise of a “global” culture dilute and ultimately, spell the doom of diversity we talk so much about? Imagine going to Mexico to find the Tarahumara running on Nike “Just do it” instead of huaraches, or eating sushi in Japan with Coca-cola instead of sake.
We often talk about tolerance, but to truly embrace diversity, perhaps acceptance is the best gift one can give to another. And when we are ready for it, we can say “Saude” or “Kampei” or “Salud” or “Cheers”, or whatever it is, and truly enjoy the benefit of it.
[by Mestengo]
23rd January 2010, Saturday night. As usual, I went for a 5km run. A friend called for dinner, the hermit in me said “No”, but its nemesis said “Yes”. After dinner, I dragged this friend to something I wanted to do for a while – find the soup kitchen at Baixa. Maybe it was too late, but whatever the reason, we did not find it. We ended up at a cafe, and it was there I met a young gentleman.
Later, he told me, you said something wise that day. “Not every war is worth fighting”. I did not see him again for a while and when we met again during the birthday of this dear friend, I sat there quietly and relished in the Battle of the Minds, two brilliant young minds clashing with such sensual ferocity.
Occasionally, despite the interesting issue discussed, my thoughts drift away to when I was younger and people told me I was often argumentative. Sometimes, I believe age has mellowed that person and wisdom has seeped into the bones. After all, I have journeyed through all the three ways Confucius said there were which we may learn wisdom. First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest.
And when my mind came back to the present moment, there I was. I was amused that no matter how many times I drifted off, when I came back, they were still at it. Coming from a relatively calm and quiet culture, the noises of the Western world have often left me exhausted. A day with friends may lead to sensory overload and leaves me hungry for many days of solitude. After 2 years of living in Europe, I imagined myself getting a little acclimatised and less traumatised. But in a few weeks, I will be transported to another world once again. I am already feeling a little nostalgic, a feeling rather unfamiliar. And occasionally I am assailed by a kaleidoscope of feelings I do not even know how to describe. I was told it has to do with the fact that I was brought up a cerebral creature. For me the heart is just a set of cardiac muscles, love is a notion created by chemical stimuli and feelings are just thought processes. But thanks the gift of friendship, I have learnt that I may not be so right after all. And this young gentleman, has gone a long way to teaching an old dog some new tricks. This writing is not just empty ramblings, its author wishes to thank the people who have brought much joy and fun to this journey called life. Thank you for peppering my life with everything sweet, salty and sour.
[by Mestengo]
Tomo: Amor é uma cenoura Eu gosto de cenoura Cenoura demais faz mal?
Capítulo: 03 — Escrito três meses depois de aceitá-la de volta e três meses depois de não contar para ele sobre ela…
E agora? No momento me encontro no vértice com o ângulo mais agudo desse triângulo… Sim, linguagem e matemática ficam do mesmo lado do cérebro.
…
Venho pensando que desapaixonar é impossível, acho que nos só colocamos alguma coisa maior entre nós e a outra pessoa. Algo como… rancor.
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Memória às vezes é realmente uma droga… Quem tem memória curta odeia muito menos, ama muito mais.
Eu que o diga! ;-D
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Já que coloquei “ménage” no título desse texto, vejo que já estou devendo uma explicação para o leitor masculino há três parágrafos… Para os rapazes que já entenderam o que está acontecendo com a trilha de migalhas que venho deixando pelo caminho, penso que a pergunta de um amigo meu representa muito bem o que está na cabeça de vocês agora…
“Esse cara é o homem mais feliz do mundo há três meses e ele não sabe disso???”
E não, ele não tem duas namoradas (ainda)… Acreditem, não é minha culpa. Em contraste com há alguns meses atrás, sou uma mulher plenamente realizada com um sorriso permanente no rosto (para a leitora: recomendo ;-D).
Mas, minha namorada e meu namorado não se conhecem bem e se tratam como estranhos. Além disso, ela não vê nada demais nele (ele a vê como a minha melhor amiga).
…
Como está implícito, cogitei tentar simplificar os relacionamentos e juntá-los. Preenchendo a falta de intimidade com um ménage.
Mas queridinhos, existem mais coisas na cabeça de uma mulher do que entre o céu e terra.
Não estou preocupada com ele, é claro que ele adoraria! (Duh!) Meu receio é com ela. Isso pode complicar tudo e estragar uma fase perfeita da minha vida. São muitos riscos, muitas pequenas coisas…
Na posição dela, ela se sentiria no dever de aceitar qualquer coisa que eu proponha, mesmo que ela não goste. Se eu jogar essa carta seria – no mínimo – uma sacanagem (em ambos os sentidos ;-D).
O meu constante dilema tornou-se título desse texto.
…
Aqui, no Mental Flush, eu sou “Delirium” e ninguém da minha vida pessoal sabe que publico páginas do meu diário on-line.
Quem sabe? Talvez algum comentário me ajude a tomar essa decisão ;-D (talvez eu disse!).
[by Delirium]
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Read the english version of this Post here:
Threesome straight in the veins (141)
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