Inner Babel / Babel Interior

Fall in the United States, Fall in the Midwest, my favorite season. When it is Fall there, it is Spring where I am., but Spring where I am is not at all what you would imagine. A dry season. So dry your skin looks gray, your lips crack and your nose bleeds.  It may even make you think of Fall (there) with the carpets of leaves covering sidewalks and parks. You can see them running together when the wind blows the earth beneath them. They run and fly, a few inches from the ground, in a wave of browns and ochers. Spring, here is no time for all flowers. I've said it before and it is true: Flowers here bloom at their will, at their own chosen times. Except for the Ipês. Ipê flowers bloom when all seems lost and dry. They bloom and they are a spectacle! I call them pompom flowers. First, come the pink. There was a tree right in front of the building we used to live. Then, come the yellow, my mother's favorite. Finally, trees are covered by white pompons, which remind me of cherry b...

Uma panela velhinha, o fundo equilibra-se instável na boca do fogo baixo. As alças foram repostas há vinte, trinta anos... A panela tem mais idade. As alças pretas combinam hoje com as diversas manchas negras de tempo e de uso. Hoje em meio ao isolamento social que ultrapassa os cem dias, eu fiz brigadeiro nessa panela.  A mesma receita que era dela: Uma lata de leite condensado, quatro colheres de chocolate, bem cheias, e duas colheres de manteiga ,tão cheias quanto as outras. Cada volta da colher me levou de novo à ela, a seu sorriso, a seu cantarolar e sua voz me sussurrou, mais uma vez, que o ponto é quando a gente vira a panela e a massa brilhante do doce movimenta-se una e uniforme, deixando aparecer a  que ficou no fundo. “Não raspe a panela! Deixe cair em um prato fundo apenas o que se solta dela.” O que fica, com seus furinhos aerados, é a raspa. É, talvez, como o passado do brigadeiro. A gente pode até degusta-la um pouquinho, voltar a ela, mas ela...

Those who learn the secret do not scream like you do, and if they do, they do not punish themselves forever, like you do. Those who learn the secret remember to breathe in and out slowly and find little things to do to try to make the place a little more colorful, light and beautiful.  Those who learn the secret treat others kindly. They do not buy all the toilet paper from the supermarket or the masks from the drugstore. They are kind and believe in kindness. They know someone will help them in a time of need. Also, if there is no more toilet paper in the world,  they know they can still shower. Those who learn the secret often cry for those who they cannot help, but find reasons to laugh even when in face of their own, so far small, misfortunes. They keep Quarantine diaries to keep them sane or bear witness if the apocalypse is inevitable.  Those who learn the secret understand we were never meant to be eternal, but we can still be meaningful. T...