Tirar a barriga da miseria

Pois bem. Faz quase duas semanas que nao escrevo nada nesse espaco virtual of my life. Pois aqui me desculpo e me comprometo a escrever 3 topicos: 1 conto, 1 ponto e 1 citacao. Sao 3 coisas que passaram pela minha cabeca/ olhos durante essas semanas de folga e apreciacao que merecem ser relatados em tal blog. Pois aqui comeca...

1. Um conto

Adelaide Shurman, australiana, 32 anos, single. Manager I em grande multinacional da area financeira. Trabalha numa das areas mais chiques e bem marcadas de Sydney, Australia - Darling Harbour esta para a cidade assim como Champs-Elysees (?) esta para Paris, ou Park Avenue esta para NYC, ou Eire Square esta para Galway. Um dia, Adelaide (que nao se entranhe, o nome eh muito mais bonito em English than in Portuguese e - nao - ela nao eh uma ana paraguaia) foi convidada para uma festa do departamento. Coisa pequena, 70 pax tops. So a area de Marketing & Supply. Fine. Era uma sexta a noite, veio de vestidinho reluzente preto por baixo de um terninho. Easy. Fina. Decidida.

Seu chefe tinha reservado uma exclusive area of this fabulous Japanese Restaurant que - thank God - nao apoiava de jeito nenhum a pratica de caca as baleias. Pois chegou deslumbrante a essa "mini sala de estar" com sofas de veludo, um DJ, mil cocktails. Um, dois, tres, quatro... e a galera ia chegando. Ate o meio da noite, eles nao tinham nem tocada as entrees e Adelaide ja estava no quinto Cosmo a la Tokyo quase subindo pelas paredes. Se nao me engano, beijei o Jack de Logistica e mostrei meu bumbum para o Thomas de Analise de Mercados.

Uuuuuuuuuu. The best night ever. Adelaide foi carregada para um taxi, segurando sua bolsa e um souvenir debaixo do terninho. Era um ovo dourado do tamanho de um ovo de Pascoa de 1 kg importado diretamente de Nagoya. Adelaide was stealing. Oh, well, this egg is so cool... egg... cool... Jack... egg.... cool... show me yours... egg... hum... Jack.

Resultado: Sabado de manha Adelaide acorda com a maior ressaca em anos abracada a um ovo gigante dourado com isncricoes em japones. Fine. Who da hell gave me this egg? Was Adelaide a galinha dos ovos de ouro? Retomando os acontecimentos com uma amiga de departamento over the phone a few hours later, ela se lembrou.

E na segunda-feira postou o grande massive egg pelo correio, ashamed of what she's done. The note would read:

To whom it may concern.

Last Friday I went over my limit, and by mistake kept your golden egg.

I apologize for the inconvenience and assure it will never happen again.

From a loyal costumer,

AS

Eu realmente acho que existem momentos na vida que a gente pode fazer coisas erradas. Pegar algo que nao eh nosso, falar coisas que nao pensamos, ofender quem amamos. Mas nunca eh tarde or too much to apologize. And let people know how you feel. Palmas para nossa querida Adelaide.

PS. Adaptacao de historia real :-)

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2. Um ponto

Estava lendo uma secao de criticas de vinho do jornal e a "Bargain of the week eh um Charddonay X por $ 9,00 and the critics says: " A remarkably good, cheap dry white with focus, delicacy and life..."

Ok. Sommeliers estudam os vinhos e tals, passeiam da Australia ao Chile, Bordeaux, Espanha e Italia. Fine. But, how da hell a bloody wine that costs 9 bucks has focus? Life? I mean... I don't even have those myself and I've been here for what? 26 years!

Shit. Pull the other one.

Nao entendo como vinhos podem ser tao auto-suficientes e felizes com foco em suas vidas de winery to bottles to glasses to tummies. E eu aqui sem foco algum! What's up, people?

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3. Uma citacao

A citacao eh na verdade um elogio aos Brasileiros, no meio do nada, em um livro lindo que li ha pouco. "... She was so dynamic, so Brazilian...". Pequeno mas essencial.

That's all, Folks!

Me

A arte de evitar a tristeza

Acho que foi assim que comecou a minha conversa com Ju, minha irma, essa manha. Ela disse que nao conhece a tal arte de evitar o sofrimento, mas que sabe a arte de nao falar sobre ele. O que, de certa forma, eh evitar o sofrimento. Mas nem precisamos falar. So sentir o fodastico arrepio na espinha e o medo de tudo de dor que possamos passar. Queremos conforto.

O homem sempre quis conforto, desde as epocas da Caverna de Platao. Senao ele teria ficado la dentro, vejamos... ate hoje. O homem quer se aventurar em arriscadas empreitadas nessa vida, mas sempre que possivel, toma medidas de precaucao para o "fall back" plan.

Para morrer basta estar vivo, eles dizem. O homem precavido faz mil seguros de vida e saude. O homem quer correr os 120 km/h no seu carro, mas nao quer perder o bem. Seguro de carro. O homem quer encher a cara e zuar no sabado, mas nao quer enfrentar os efeitos colaterais no domingo. Ate remedio especializado em ressaca a gente inventou. Cortar os efeitos.

O homem quer comer "All you can eat" buffets, mas nao quer passar pelo desconforto estomacal. ENO. tsssssssssssssssssss. A gente quer viajar e conhecer o mundo, mas nao quer deixar nada que ama para tras. Os pais, o cachorrinho, o namorado gringo. Mas ainda nao inventaram remedio para isso. Eh uma dor que a gente tem que vir: a incansavel e martelavel dor de ter que sempre deixar algo para tras.

A insustentavel leveza do ser, aquela coisa de in orther to be happy, we have to be sad. E doi pra caralho.

Nao so de dores se faz minha vida. Fui ontem na cartomante mais chinfrim do Hemisferio Sul. Devia ter bebido aquele dinheiro. (don't you worry, I drank it anyways). Dizia no folheto que nao poderiam falar de morte ou jogos. Assim que eu sentei, ela mandou eu jogar na loto ate eu ganhar. Ok. Fingi que nao ouvi. Stephen rindo. Depois falou de morte. Ok. Depois mandou o Stephen vir para o Brasil. Viu pessoas felizes com meu retorno para o Brasil. Bom, at least...

E nada com nada. Uma carona loura olhando para mim. So gostei que ela falou que meu numero 8 eh o numero do infinito e muito raro nas pessoas (meu nome e meu nascimento). Lisonjeada. Tenho muita sorte, ela disse.

Incrivel como eu so ouco o que quero ouvir.

It's been always like that.

Amo.

Mais.

Mais.

Mais.

The power of Decision

I have this very difficult habit of never be alone.

That's perhaps why I did a Public Relations degree, or why I have worked with Social Responsibility - connecting people in the same cause. Or even Internal Communications, speaking to someone. You never "communicate" alone. My bartender job, my waitress job, my hostess/ assistant job. They all involve people. Hospitality is about people. People plus people equals not to be alone.

Fine. So I decided to come to Australia, happily in the company of Fla Daryns, a great mate. I decided to move into my first own apartment, where my name appeared in the lease. My first important signature, my own space, my passport to become an aussie temporary resident. All accompanied by people. Nina, Annie, Jib. Being honest, those two last ones are thai girls whose name I could not dare to speak. We simply call them Annie and Jib and whatever funny-named letter reaches my mailbox:

- Hi, gals! You've got mail.

(Nina, a brazilian gorgeous Charlotte friend o'mine, would say: "It must be one of them")

Anyways. Always, always with people. The thought of wondering about in a mall by myself mortifies me most of the time. I feel vulnerable, alone, annoyed. So I made a commitment to myself not to let the "Loneliness" hit me in the face.

- Get out, I said. Get out of my life. I can go to the beach alone.

The beach alone. I love tanning, I love swimming, I love being brown. And browner. But I can't seem to find fun down the beach by myself. I can go and enjoy it for maybe an hour, but I need people. It is much more fun when Steven comes with me. Even though I hardly wanna talk, I just wanna sit and be. It feels really lonely Veri by Veri. Veri likes people around.

Fine.

So everyday is a fight "me against me" to convince me to go to the beach. Half me (Veri) wants to be browner and sexier. Half me (Diana) is fine in the couch, talking to Carrie Bradshaw. I feel so guilty when I don't go to the beach due to loneliness that sometimes I feel relieved when I wake up and it's cloudy.

- Wow. I don't have to chose, there's no choice. I can't go to the beach.

What kind o' person preferes having a choice made for them rather than chose: " No, I don't feel like being alone down the beach today, I won't go in". I've heard myself saying this so many times by now that I feel sorry for me at times. Too many choices leads you to depression, I was told once. Your short memory can store up to 6 names and if you try to go beyond that, you get into a state of panick and - bum! - collapse.

I totally agree. Sometimes in shoe stores I find so many choices that I end up leaving with nothing. And sad. But going or not going to the beach is just a matter of 2 names. Beach or couch? (However, I do love when the weather decided for me).

Sick of making decisions.

And just for the record I have about 30 pairs of shoes here. And I am limiting myself to bring 15.

Yeah. I might sell them. Or give to the Salvo.

bacio!

ps. I have 30 pairs of shoes and inist in using the same over and over and over again...

And there it is...

And here I am leaving behind the greatest love of my life, the person that I love the most, that I have loved the most so far in this short life o' mine.

And here I am pretending nothing has happened and that we are not one soul and that we are not the best people together.

And here I am going back to same old life in bloody Sao Paulo, a place where hope has not come yet and where people work to survive, not to live.

And here I am being a single gal at 27 years old, denying a good family and a good happy ending, going back to where I have been born "once".

And here I am regreting every single step I have taken and I am to take, regreting every single sorrow I have created.

And here I am being weak again and not facing whatever I have been hoping for in this life and in the past one.

And here I am closing the big open door God has opened for me to face a great reality and a better and brighter future.

And here I am half drunk, half fully awake, totally regreting the fact that there are 3 gals dancing the song in the pub, whereas I went for pizza.

And all the times I have been neglecting my heart and my will and my lungs. And all the fat I have eaten. And all the exercises I have not done. And the Yoga classes I never did, the mass I missed this morning.

And here I am feeling sorry for not being born rich and prettier, or skinnier. And here I am regreting the marriage I did not take, the kid I did not have, the beer I did not finish.

And here I am, thinking maybe I should never go back to old Brazil, where corruption is all we have got and public schools sucks. I have no power against it, no forces to it.

All the pain and the blood, all the scars and the guns. All the poor people and the lost souls. All the bad side of my own country come to me in a flash, and in my heart stay. All the mother with no power to keep on going. Maybe I should have been born another Veri, another dollar.

Health, a man that loves me and who I love as I have never loved anybody else. Nobody else I say to myself. Cause surely I've had many flirts in this 27 years, full of stop-overs. Anybody like him. With that voice, that heart, that soul that fit mine. He fit me. I fit him.

And here I am feeling sorry for myself going back to you, Brazil, whom so many times have rejected me. Whom so many times have closed the door behind. All I asked for was love. I have never been robbed or raped or mugged. All I asked for was love.

And here I am after being 4 years studying in the best college of South America. Where da fuck is South America? Havaianas, Carnaval, Soccer, Fuck you Ronaldinho. I don't even like them. I don't give a shit about soccer. All I asked for was love.

And here I am totally drunk and hopeless, expecting to get over all it soon, as soon as possible. Going back to a place that I lost my hope on. My hope in. My hope for. That's me in the corner, like Baby. Nobody leaves Babe in the corner. Everybody leaves Veri in the corner.

And here I am with all my brazilian sex appeal complaining about trivial things, while others struggle for life. Sick people, God help them. People being robbered in fucking Brazil, God bless them. God bless all of us. Except the fuck cops. And the fuck corrupt people.

And here I am, as usual, ruinning my own life. Leaving him, my treasure behind, as for I could be a married woman with kids and happiness now. But no. I have to take the hard path. The fucked hurtful one.

And here I am wondering what to do. Searching help from friends trough Msn, trough telephone, trough palm reading. I am all wrong. I just want to do the right thing. When I came to Oz, in 2006, I asked God for Light. A small little light of salvation and hope. He gave me the whole incredible big ocean on my feet. I still remember the very first time I saw the South Pacific. And I felt the ocean breeze on my face. And I steped into the ocean. It was God.

And here I am noticing that he also gave me him. A tall, gorgeous, sensitive and tough man who can make me laugh anytime in the day. Who hold my hand amytime in the day. Who talks to me just to make clear I am his. And I am his. And he is mine. A man who accepted meeting my parents all of a sudden in a dinner. Who brought wine, a new shirt and his heart. A man who dressed up for us.

And here I am thanking you God for all you have done, for him, this man whom I have no words about. Who protects me and is so proud of me that even makes me shake. A man who understands my needs, who is sometimes too jealous or too good or too caring. A man who gave me his soul and I, as always, am throwing away.

And here I am realizing how grateful I am for this man. And his blue eyes, his shy smile, his big arms around me. His white belly, his freckles, his jokes, his smell. Why do I ever asked for him if now, in this very hard part of my very existence, I can not keep him?

And here I am wondering why da fuck I don't keep him with me, by my side, tightly close as if we were one? We are one. We are better as it is. As we are. Together forever.

How do I dare leaving all that behind? Why did I ask for it if I could not keep it? Hey, God, are you wondering that too?

(If yes, send me the answer asap)

Thanks!