AFTER SO MANY YEARS
I didn´t expect it to happen. Why not? Of course it might happen. We could have met at a bus stop or at a party, a birthday party, for example, as I don´t go to parties anymore. I could have seen him on the street, or browsing at the window of a shop, looking for a book or a video.
He was suddenly there. In my living room. He had come with other people, people who were busy in their conversation, laughing from their own jokes, so far from my life. We didn´t say much, as we had nothing to say or do. We were like statues of a past time, strange characters of a story that had stopped without a proper end. I asked about his daughter and he was surprised that I still remembered her name. Foolish things that didn´t mean a thing, mere words to disguise the weird feeling of looking at his eyes and being seen by them.
We probably thought of how stupid we were, or how coward. We didn´t say much, as I said, but we looked at each other and, in the middle of all the fuss that was going on around us, we tried to forgive each other for everything we didn´t live.
Friday, November 10, 2006
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
SPEAKING TO NO ONE
SPEAKING TO NO ONE
The first time I saw him I found it difficult to hide my laughing; it turned into a nervous laughing, because I knew I was being even more ridiculous than the man beside me. We used to take the bus at the bus terminal near where I lived, so the following times I was careful enough not to sit near him. He wore suit and tie like a normal person going to his office downtown, clean and shaved, but he spoke aloud all the time, as if an invisible listener could attentively listen to him. I was a bit afraid of him, as we´re never comfortable with things we can´t explain.
The first time I saw a man speaking aloud while walking on the street, by himself, I turned my head and watched, curious at what might be happening. Soon after a second one did the same and I could see he was using a cell phone. For a minute I remembered the strange person who made speeches on the bus. Mobile phones can make people look a bit odd, at least for me.
This time the man was not carrying a cell phone. He just walked from one side to the other, gesturing and speaking as an actor rehearsing for a play. I was sitting at a table and watched him during his continuous trip. He spoke and spoke, his arms helping him demonstrate his claims and this friend of yours just staring and thinking about the percentage of insane people who don´t live in clinics … At last I saw the tiny black thing in his ear, but it took me quite some time to understand (…) the impossibility of seeing things as we used to see in the past. I guess there´ll be a moment in the future when we won´t be able to laugh at anything or anybody.
The first time I saw him I found it difficult to hide my laughing; it turned into a nervous laughing, because I knew I was being even more ridiculous than the man beside me. We used to take the bus at the bus terminal near where I lived, so the following times I was careful enough not to sit near him. He wore suit and tie like a normal person going to his office downtown, clean and shaved, but he spoke aloud all the time, as if an invisible listener could attentively listen to him. I was a bit afraid of him, as we´re never comfortable with things we can´t explain.
The first time I saw a man speaking aloud while walking on the street, by himself, I turned my head and watched, curious at what might be happening. Soon after a second one did the same and I could see he was using a cell phone. For a minute I remembered the strange person who made speeches on the bus. Mobile phones can make people look a bit odd, at least for me.
This time the man was not carrying a cell phone. He just walked from one side to the other, gesturing and speaking as an actor rehearsing for a play. I was sitting at a table and watched him during his continuous trip. He spoke and spoke, his arms helping him demonstrate his claims and this friend of yours just staring and thinking about the percentage of insane people who don´t live in clinics … At last I saw the tiny black thing in his ear, but it took me quite some time to understand (…) the impossibility of seeing things as we used to see in the past. I guess there´ll be a moment in the future when we won´t be able to laugh at anything or anybody.
Saturday, April 08, 2006
WHO?
It was not just because of the pictures I saw in an old family álbum. I do think about changes very often; the album was only a good reason for keeping these thoughts in my mind for hours. Whose were those smiling faces, showing in so many different ways, as if living several stories? I knew it was me, I could recognize those existing moments, just as an actress can remember unforgetable roles. But where was I, as I feel myself now? Not in those faces and smiles. Now wait a minute: I still smile a lot; I´m not a sad person, if that´s maybe what you might have understood, but, I simply cannot see myself in those pictures. What I see in fact is a parade of times gone by, with their typical characters and clothes.
Some of them remind me of the post-war, for the ample skirts, others have the scent of the golden years and many others bring up the memories of Mary Quant and Dior. Holy Goodness, how many lives will I still have to live? How much will I still have to learn (and forget) in my time? How many faces will I have to show a world that demands so many changes … I remember when I learned to use a computer, how much joy and relief to think that I could do it like everybody else! Now I hear the news about technology that will enable us to have so many things and I feel afraid.
Being old is no problem for me. Old age is lighter, more childish and less responsible. What scares me is the fear of being outdated and having to go on, just like an insane actor who keeps on looking for a character that doesn´t exist …
Some of them remind me of the post-war, for the ample skirts, others have the scent of the golden years and many others bring up the memories of Mary Quant and Dior. Holy Goodness, how many lives will I still have to live? How much will I still have to learn (and forget) in my time? How many faces will I have to show a world that demands so many changes … I remember when I learned to use a computer, how much joy and relief to think that I could do it like everybody else! Now I hear the news about technology that will enable us to have so many things and I feel afraid.
Being old is no problem for me. Old age is lighter, more childish and less responsible. What scares me is the fear of being outdated and having to go on, just like an insane actor who keeps on looking for a character that doesn´t exist …
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
WHY?
WHY?
The hot sun enhanced the shining golden bodies, the sea water was like a balsam that softened the heat stored in the skin and the sky, ah, the sky was so blue that it kept your eyes spellbound and made the beach a moment of collective joy. I didn´t have to look around to see the scenery and the people. I just thought to myself how the beach had become a noisy, hectic place, a meeting point for talkative and, most of the time, drunken friends. Looking at the sea in front of her and, towards the horizon, the greatness of the sky and the mountains that outlined the bay with their sense of eternity, I considered the apparent inadequacy. So what? This is Copacabana, I thought, and this is the moment we´re living in now...
Most of the noise comes from the vendors, I thought. Iced tea, soft drinks, sandwiches, everything was being sold with bluster and repetition, as if people would not notice them. The yelling and the continuous walking of the vendors is part of the daily seaside routine. They sell everything : pizza, icecream, grilled cheese and clothes - there´s a kind of local fashion that you can only find on the beach. Only there can you find those fluttering articles of exotic colors that arouse your senses, not to mention the jewelry, delicate works of art displayed on the hands of beautiful girls. I sometimes allow myself to say that there were more salespeople than buyers.
Looking to my left in search of a girl who sold "pasteis", (I love to eat the ones they sell on the beach) I saw something that was not at all ordinary - a woman who sold (believe it or not!) "parakeets". No, they were not real ones, nobody would want to imagine the cruelty of subjecting such delicate little birds to the horror of the hot January sun. They were little things made God knows how, of various colors and in great number. The woman used the frame of an umbrella as a carrier – with the cover taken off, her own head popped up among the colorful parakeets. It was not so near, but a cardboard sign could be read that said : 1 real.
I couldn´t help thinking about the 1 real parakeets. Only a domestic production line could explain the low price. I imagined the humble house, away from the urban center and the whole family engaged in the manufacture of the parakeets. They had a base of very thin wire which was probably the task of a grandfather, for whom that was certainly easy to do. The body of the little bird was made of styrofoam, I guessed, and would have been made with the skills of a dressmaker, used to cutting and moulding so many other things. The painting required delicate , gifted hands – every family has a young girl with a taste for arts. The children would be in charge of taking away the waste generated by the speedy production.
Why did they think of selling the parakeets on the beach? I decided the enterprise was absurd and fruitless. People buy icecream, sandwiches,suntan oil or similar things; they can buy handbags or clothes, but they don´t buy parakeets, not even for 1 real. I imagined, realistically, the poor woman going back home with all those little birds. Just then I saw the creature detatch one of them from the others and hand it to a woman. Why, didn´t she manage to sell one? Why did that person make such a bizarre acquisition? I then followed the steps of the parakeet saleswoman, moving to a spot closer by and I verified, rather stunned, that the saleswoman was very busy selling parakeets to several other women buyers who, in most cases, even came back for more than one. This was too much. I got up from my comfortable chair and went closer to have a good look at the little birds. They were simple, yes, but beautiful all the same, so light and colorful. I noticed their tiny eyes, so small that I couldn´t imagine who in the family would have been able to stick them on with such delicacy. The woman sold them with authority. “ Take the yellow one,” she said. “It´s the most attractive color.” I reacted :” By no means. Blue is my favorite color,” and went for the 1 real coin.
I went back home holding the parakeet, uneasily, for I couldn´t place it in my bag. It would probably be crumpled amongst the other things and might lose its little eye. Getting home, I looked round several times before I found a place for the parakeet. The simple truth was that there was nowhere to hang it properly – the blue parakeet just joined some other objects that I simply didn´t have any space or purpose for.
Believe me, I often find myself thinking of why somebody buys a plastic parakeet when she doesn´t even have room for it. I had already read about the power of advertising, about the choice of brands, and the fact that we always select what is in our conscious mind. I didn´t understand it. No, I didn´t regret it – I could identify with the blue parakeet, so inadequate and lacking a place to be put. It was now part of my scenery. But what about all those women who bought yellow, green, blue and red parakeets, where are they putting their parakeets now? And why?
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The hot sun enhanced the shining golden bodies, the sea water was like a balsam that softened the heat stored in the skin and the sky, ah, the sky was so blue that it kept your eyes spellbound and made the beach a moment of collective joy. I didn´t have to look around to see the scenery and the people. I just thought to myself how the beach had become a noisy, hectic place, a meeting point for talkative and, most of the time, drunken friends. Looking at the sea in front of her and, towards the horizon, the greatness of the sky and the mountains that outlined the bay with their sense of eternity, I considered the apparent inadequacy. So what? This is Copacabana, I thought, and this is the moment we´re living in now...
Most of the noise comes from the vendors, I thought. Iced tea, soft drinks, sandwiches, everything was being sold with bluster and repetition, as if people would not notice them. The yelling and the continuous walking of the vendors is part of the daily seaside routine. They sell everything : pizza, icecream, grilled cheese and clothes - there´s a kind of local fashion that you can only find on the beach. Only there can you find those fluttering articles of exotic colors that arouse your senses, not to mention the jewelry, delicate works of art displayed on the hands of beautiful girls. I sometimes allow myself to say that there were more salespeople than buyers.
Looking to my left in search of a girl who sold "pasteis", (I love to eat the ones they sell on the beach) I saw something that was not at all ordinary - a woman who sold (believe it or not!) "parakeets". No, they were not real ones, nobody would want to imagine the cruelty of subjecting such delicate little birds to the horror of the hot January sun. They were little things made God knows how, of various colors and in great number. The woman used the frame of an umbrella as a carrier – with the cover taken off, her own head popped up among the colorful parakeets. It was not so near, but a cardboard sign could be read that said : 1 real.
I couldn´t help thinking about the 1 real parakeets. Only a domestic production line could explain the low price. I imagined the humble house, away from the urban center and the whole family engaged in the manufacture of the parakeets. They had a base of very thin wire which was probably the task of a grandfather, for whom that was certainly easy to do. The body of the little bird was made of styrofoam, I guessed, and would have been made with the skills of a dressmaker, used to cutting and moulding so many other things. The painting required delicate , gifted hands – every family has a young girl with a taste for arts. The children would be in charge of taking away the waste generated by the speedy production.
Why did they think of selling the parakeets on the beach? I decided the enterprise was absurd and fruitless. People buy icecream, sandwiches,suntan oil or similar things; they can buy handbags or clothes, but they don´t buy parakeets, not even for 1 real. I imagined, realistically, the poor woman going back home with all those little birds. Just then I saw the creature detatch one of them from the others and hand it to a woman. Why, didn´t she manage to sell one? Why did that person make such a bizarre acquisition? I then followed the steps of the parakeet saleswoman, moving to a spot closer by and I verified, rather stunned, that the saleswoman was very busy selling parakeets to several other women buyers who, in most cases, even came back for more than one. This was too much. I got up from my comfortable chair and went closer to have a good look at the little birds. They were simple, yes, but beautiful all the same, so light and colorful. I noticed their tiny eyes, so small that I couldn´t imagine who in the family would have been able to stick them on with such delicacy. The woman sold them with authority. “ Take the yellow one,” she said. “It´s the most attractive color.” I reacted :” By no means. Blue is my favorite color,” and went for the 1 real coin.
I went back home holding the parakeet, uneasily, for I couldn´t place it in my bag. It would probably be crumpled amongst the other things and might lose its little eye. Getting home, I looked round several times before I found a place for the parakeet. The simple truth was that there was nowhere to hang it properly – the blue parakeet just joined some other objects that I simply didn´t have any space or purpose for.
Believe me, I often find myself thinking of why somebody buys a plastic parakeet when she doesn´t even have room for it. I had already read about the power of advertising, about the choice of brands, and the fact that we always select what is in our conscious mind. I didn´t understand it. No, I didn´t regret it – I could identify with the blue parakeet, so inadequate and lacking a place to be put. It was now part of my scenery. But what about all those women who bought yellow, green, blue and red parakeets, where are they putting their parakeets now? And why?
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
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