As Our Parents

It was at the end of the afternoon, the clock said almost 5:30 pm. I was just sitting in the kitchen, drinking my coffee and looking through the window. Outside, the birds were playing with the garden’s bushes. For them it seemed like each new day was bringing a reason to celebrate. How wonderful it was to stay over there watching that show of the nature. 

On the table, the radio was talking softly as if it was trying not to disturb my thoughts. It worked for a while, until that known song, innocently, started to play, “In spit of we had done everything we did, we still are the same and we still live as our parents.” Oh God, I still remember the day when my mother played me this song. She was staring in her closet, looking for something, maybe a new pair of sandals or a new necklace – I’ll never understand my mother and her mess. Then she found that old CD, one she had almost forgotten. Excited, she put it in the CD player, started to sing, as loud as terrible, and to dance on the bed, as if she were 18 again. Whoa, I’ve never seen my mother as a girl, how she must have been pretty.

After this, I always think of my mom when I listen to this song. When it happens I can feel the smell of her perfume. I can see her playing with my hair and doing my make-up, and I can imagine her eyes shining as a girl who took care of her favorite doll. I also can hear her calling my whole name every time I left my things scattered throughout the house. She hardly knew that it was she who had taught me.

At that moment, there I was again, sitting in the kitchen, drinking my coffee, and looking through the window, exactly how we used to. It’s funny how life works, even if we try to do everything differently, we always will be as our parents.

MaVi

#asourparents #mom #mother #mãe #parents #mylove #teamo #keeponwriting #escrevaescrevaescreva #omundodemavi

#ela #omundodemavi

Complicity

 

Every night, it was the same. When the clock said time to go to bed, there were no arguments capable of removing this idea from Daddy’s mind. Time to go to bed was time to go to bed.

On my long way there, I had so many things to get done. Brushing my teeth and my hair; wearing my pajamas; making sure that my backpack would be organized for the next day; and grabbing Malu, my little cow, were just some of them. But, there was one thing for which I would never be responsible.

“Emily, look at this mess in your bed. How can someone sleep in here? ,” Daddy said it every single day, as though he wasn’t accustomed to it yet.

Still complaining, Daddy ordered me to lay down in my bed, so he could tidy it up. I obeyed and remained there, immobile. Then, Daddy stretched the edge of the sheet, covering my head, to fold it over the blanket later. For a little while, I disappeared. For a little while, I was invisible. No one, besides Daddy, could see me there. I was hidden under my sheet, and Daddy was the only one who could inform against me. He could be my traitor, but I had no doubts that, instead of it, he would be my accomplice and wouldn’t tell anyone that I was just right there.

One day, Meg, my older sister, came into my room when Daddy had just hid me. She was crying because she had, once again, lost her pacifier. I remember her pampered crying, just like a baby who is falling asleep, coming closer and closer. She would discover me. And, if she discovered me, no longer I would have my hideout. All of my body was petrified. One movement could have turned me in. However, Daddy was there to protect me. Therefore, he grabbed Meg in his arms and took her away from there, keeping safe our secret.

From that moment, our complicity had been signed, and our bond, deepened. And I? I had learned that, no matter how angry Daddy is at me, and even if I had led my bed a mess, he would always be willing to protect me.   

MaVi

#cumplicidade #complicity #protection #dad #pai #meuherói #keeponwriting #escrevaescrevaescreva #omundodemavi

#whodoyoureallywannabe? #omundodemavi

O Poeta

A única diferença entre o poeta e o não-poeta é que onde este enxerga o costumeiro, o usual e o ordinário, aquele enxerga tão somente, mas não apenas, o costumeiro, o usual e o ordinário dando origem à mesma história, numa nova versão.

A história sempre se repete; felizardos somos, pois, em ter quem a expresse de maneira tão naturalmente extraordinária.

#poeta #keeponwriting #escrevaescrevaescreva #omundodemavi

MaVi

#amor #teamo #omundodemavi

Amores Inventados - ÔNIBUS

Entrei no ônibus num dia pós noite mal dormida. O cabelo ainda molhado, a maquiagem feita às pressas e a cara de poucos amigos. Não me olhe com esse jeito de quem diz “bom dia”, velhinha dos infernos. Não fosse você quem sabe eu teria um lugar pra sentar.

             “Saldo indisponível”

            “Passa no crédito.”

            “Oi?”

            “Aceita débito?”

            “Você é idiota?”

            “Ahan, sou.”

            A catraca girou e meu cérebro quase foi jogado pela tangente. Queria vomitar meus próprios sentidos se possível. Meus olhos artificialmente abertos guiavam meus passos mecânicos até um mínimo espaço vazio no final do carro. Parei, em pé, ao lado da patricinha, tão majestosamente acomodada, que cheirava Dolce e Gabbana. Tão impecável! Deve tá enojada com a minha presença, Tadinha. Enfiei o fone nos ouvidos. Rock pesado pra ver se revivo. E imaginei o que aquela Barbie pensaria se ouvisse o que eu ouvia, enquanto o sertanejo da modinha rolava solto no seu iphone 5.

            Fiquei perdida no tempo, desejando a sorte que o azar daquele dia não traria. Dez, quinze, trinta minutos assistindo ao entra e sai das pessoas mais estranhas e bizarras. Cada uma com sua mania; cada qual com sua história; e eu, lutando pra me manter em pé.

            Eis que por alguns segundos eu despertei pra vida. Foi um curto instante, quando o toque desesperado de uma mão encontrou a minha junto ao apoio superior. Uma outra mão, vinda de um outro corpo que tentava, assim como o meu, se equilibrar. No meu virar de rosto eu não distingui os traços do seu rosto, mas vi os detalhes dos seus olhos que, como os meus, se mantinham fixamente abertos, e pude sentir o hálito de café que exalava da sua boca. Engoli em seco o gosto amargo do café que ainda revirava o meu próprio estômago.

            O ônibus parou novamente. Ele desceu. Eu quis chamá-lo, pedir que me olhasse de novo e só mais uma vez. Mas era tamanha a minha luta pra me manter ali em pé que eu mal tinha forças pra abrir a boca. Poderia ter sido um grande amor casual - eu pensei - mas, por culpa da minha preguiça de viver, foi só mais um na minha coleção de amores inventados. 

MaVi

#amoresinventados #omundodemavi