In Brazil there is always someone checking someone else's butt. Those were her thoughts while she waited for the light to turn green and a black robust woman passed by a mullato middle aged guy at the corner. She observed them. The man looked up for a second, watching an inexistent bird in the sky. As soon as she was two steps away from him he looked down to the left and checked her butt out. It was a discreet look, she thought. Some of them almost get their necks broken just to chek out some butt. "A national obsession!" She heard someone honking a horn, the light was green. "Man, if I put my butt on the window, they might even stop the nonsense!". "Run me over!", she screamed instead. She pressed the pedal and moved on.
Schopenhauer says to live is to climb a mountain and when you see what is waiting for you on the other side of the mountain too early in life, you can never climb it the same way. I saw what was on the other side and decided I was simply not climbing that mountain anymore, unless pushed the way up. You wouldn’t realize that just by looking at me then. You wouldn’t see that I had quit. I would wake up, take showers, eat (actually there would be a lot of eating), go to work, do whatever obligation I was supposed to. I would even go out with friends or family. But if you looked really closer, you would realize I was only automatically responding to demands, except for the food. Food became my only source of pleasure. How was all the rest performed? At work, if there were tasks and deadlines, I’d do them, using no more than the basic skills required. As to my social life, it rested on the plans of others. They would say when and where to go. They would pick me up and bring me ho...
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