Skip to main content

Things I remember

I remember I had somewhere to run to when I was in trouble. I remember you telling me I'd always have that place. I could always come to you. But you are gone and I have nowhere to go, you know? I remember things would be all right. I remember you used to say this to me. I remember 

I remember I loved to read on lazy Saturday afternoons and easy Sunday mornings. I remember lying in a hammock with a book, overlooking the lake. I remember we could not swim in it then, we could only look at it. Most of the times it was bathed by the sun and its waters sparkled silvery stars here and there. I remember there was never much rain. And when there was rain, it used to fall diagonally. You told me this was the only place on earth rain would fall diagonally. I am not sure about that anymore.

I remember I could be anything I dreamt. One day I would be everything I dreamt. I remember the only place I would feel safe was the only place I would feel fear. And the only place I would feel fear was at home. I remember there were many rooms and nowhere to hide. I remember fear had me running from my bedroom to the bathroom, locking the door, waiting for silence, running back again to the room, locking the door. I remember you telling me to stay in my room until you'd come back. I remember, years later, you told me you were trying to protect me. I remember I tried, one day, to add up the afternoons I spent hiding in my room, afraid.  One year of my life was wasted locked up in a room, in fear.

I remember you telling me there was always going to be an open door for me there. I remember I believed it. I remember that when I came back from the dead and you became a child again, no longer the owner of your own fate, my room was clustered with things belonging to other people, even the bed occupied. I remember feeling it did not matter if I was dead or alive. Dead seemed the best option. There would be more space. I remember I said nothing. I just stood there and stared at the books unread, the unwanted decoration and  all the out of fashion dresses, shirts,  that occupied my place in that room.

I remember that room had a view to the lake. It had a shelf by the window. It was used both as a desk and a bench. Sitting there, I would contemplate the stars at night, I would dream. In that big big house, that room was where I lived. Nothing could harm me there if the key was turned, if the door was locked.  But, there was no room for me anymore. There was no place to hide and feel safe. Someone had closed the door you promised to keep open. I sighed and left. I remember you made me promises you could not keep. And now,  there is no room, there is no door and there is no you

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I upset people (This may be the first of a series)

I feel I upset many people. Maybe it is something I do, but the feeling I get is that what upsets them is the way I live, the choices I make. People get upset with me when they hear I don't believe in God. If I tell them that I once did, but have lost my faith after I lost my first child, a premature baby, they fail to grasp the complexity of it. They look at me with irritating condescendent pityful eyes and they think I can be "fixed." To be fair, maybe I fail to help them understand that after what happened to me, God as I came to know it and most people of Christian beliefs do, is of no use to me.  God proved himself either nonexistent or useless to me when my first born died and when I almost followed him due to Eclampsia and Hellp Syndrome (Go ahead and google it! Unless you are doctor or had someone in the family who had this, you will never know it.) He did not save my baby and he did not spare me the excruciating suffering I had to endure. And if you think I...
4 comments
Read more

The child that did not stay

I remember expecting a child that never came, a child I never held in my arms. I remember expecting a child who would have his father's hair, his kind eyes.  He would be curious of the world and I would follow closely all the things he would see with enchanted eyes. Everything would be new for his new eyes. Those were the words of a song about someone else's child, a song I used to listen to while waiting for this child. I remember dreaming of his future, of his smiles. I remember my hopes for him. He did not want me, this child. He did not stay.  He was not interested in the playground in front of the building we live. He was not interested in having my hand holding his while he walked his first steps. He did not care about the flowers, leaves, little dry sticks that fall from the trees in our neighbourhood. He did not want to listen to the slightly out of tune lullabies I was going to sing or the stories I would read at bedtime. He did not even care for the milk, all th...
1 comment
Read more

No espelho

  Olhei hoje para o espelho e me vi mais serena, me enxerguei com mais leveza. Não que esteja de fato mais leve, eu acho. Ou será que estou? Tenho ainda infinitas incertezas e dúvidas aos milhares, mas a imagem que me olhou de volta do espelho, não me olha com tristeza, dor pânico.     A imagem que vejo nesse espelho é de     calma, no olhar certa paz, talvez de se entender humana, imperfeita e aceitar essa condição.     Aqui, deste lado que estou, me observando no espelho, sinto ainda o coração encolher como se uma mão o quisesse esmagar. Encolhe-se para sobreviver e expande-se em seguida. Ao encolher-se, a respiração dá uma pausa e uma bolha de cristal sobe em refluxo, pausando ali no meio da goela. Assim que pode, o coração retorna a seu pulsar, seu ir e vir. Permanecem ali as dúvidas, as exigências, as demandas, mas também os desejos de só ser, irresponsavelmente ser e atender a cada quimera. Porque a vida é curta! A vida é sopro!    E o ...
Post a Comment
Read more