Friday, October 9th, around 11pm

– “(…) but it won’t bring back Elena, or Ben, or erase what we’ve been through, or… what we’ve had to do to get here.

– Yeah… A lot of decisions I’d give anything to go back and change.

… but I can’t. None of us can. It’s like I told Foggy, all we can do is move forward… together.”

“together”. Or not. 

Let’s keep it all somewhere inside and remember it from time to time, even though for most of it we’ll try to forget — not because we actually regret it or want it to be gone (hell, no), but for our own sanity’s sake (and when I say “us”, “we” and “our”, naturally, I’m probably speaking for myself).

Just so we can move on as well as we can.

(…) Aos alunos, colegas e amigos fora do ambiente da universidade (inclusive – e, em muitos momentos, principalmente – os relacionados ao trabalho), pela compreensão, ombros, risadas, tempo e trocas diárias de experiências. Em particular a amiga do colégio, de nome “exótico” e personalidade admirável e forte, e ao amigo que surgiu aos 47 do segundo tempo, que, dentre muitas coisas, me mostrou uma nova maneira de entender o que é “ser reativa”.

Aos colegas e (mais ainda aos) amigos feitos durante os anos na universidade, pelas mãos estendidas nos momentos em que precisei, e por me ajudarem a construir e consolidar não somente conhecimento, mas também memórias importantes; obrigada por terem entrado na minha vida, e por terem me permitido entrar nas suas. (…) 

E, por fim, àqueles que considero como “minha família”, por, apesar das dificuldades e “dos pesares”, compreenderem, aceitarem e apoiarem minhas escolhas, e vibrarem, tanto quanto eu, com minhas vitórias – especialmente a “mulher da minha vida”, (…).

Extinction is the rule;

survival is the exception. (Carl Sagan)

It hasn’t been easy, but I’m getting there: it’s time to say goodbye, once and for all.

Daredevil (Netflix, 2015), Season 1, Episode 13

Today I solemnly swear to myself that I’ll try to forget.

Eventually I’ll post what was already written, but, from now on, I’ll try hard(er) not to write anything else “new” about it.

I simply can’t understand how it still hurts so fucking much, but I know I’m more than the pain I carry inside; even if it goes with me wherever I go, I know I’ve got happy memories and a lot of love and empathy within myself.

Despite the fact I’ll probably cry my eyes out tonight, I owe myself new chances.

You have already taken a lot. Can’t you please take my pain away as well?!


Some time between October 17th and 18th, Saturday or Sunday

Summer time has begun, and it took an hour of precious time with it. And I’ve spent the last 60 minutes (at least) thinking about ghosts from the past and about my “lost” blanket (since, in an unexpected weather change, it’s cold outside).

I’ve thought about him, her, them and you. And about me too.

When it is over, it will bring me one hour back — literally back.

One hour, which will be fully enjoyed in its own moment.

Even though the end of this thought seems weird, it somehow makes sense in my head.

Saudade , confusion and misplacement are royal bitches.

For her

Wednesday, October 14th, 8:26 am

“The weight of the things
that remained unspoken
built up so much
it crushed us every day…”

It broke my heart to see you cry. It did, it does and it will do every single time. It broke it in approximately one million little pieces.

I wish I could do more for you, and it actually makes me sad/mad/crazy and it gives me headaches and heartburns ‘cause I can’t.

I know I don’t say it enough — and I’m sorry, again, for that — , but I love you. I really, truly, deeply do.

Even though shit is basically the same with you so far away (there’s no reason to lie), I miss your presence. Some nasty feelings grow without you, and so does solitude, but the thoughts of you and of the life we have lived together make me smile. I’m really proud of you; we all are. You’ve got it in you — believe that.

It’s hard to pretend I’m strong — ‘cause I’m not. But I’ll do it for you, over and over again, until things are all right.

I miss you, and I love you dearly.

I’m more restless than the usual these past few days (and nights!), as you probably are as well, but I’m sure things will work out somehow; just trust time.

Take care, dear.

Os filhos de Anansi

“Toda pessoa que já existiu, existe ou existirá tem uma canção. Não é uma canção que alguém escreveu. Tem melodia própria, tem palavras próprias. Pouquíssimas pessoas chegam a cantar a própria canção. A maioria teme que sua voz não faça justiça a ela, ou que as palavras sejam tolas, honestas ou estranhas  demais. É por essa razão que as pessoas optam por, em vez disso, viver suas canções.”

Neil Gaiman, p. 157.

Eu já cantei, (ainda) canto e (tenho certeza de que) cantarei muitas canções vida afora. Porém não sei se em algum momento chegarei de fato a cantar a minha própria.

Ela tem tantos versos simples e estúpidos quanto versos belos e cheios de significado. O fator comum é sempre a complexidade das palavras que os compõem. Sem falar na melodia, que as vezes oscila dos mais tristes e lamuriosos sons, aos mais alegres e harmoniosos.

Já consigo escutar um pouco dela, de tempos em tempos. Mas as vezes temo que a minha voz não alcançará certas notas (ainda que ela não seja tããão ruim e desafinada assim).

Ora ou outra suspeito (lá do alto do meu ego, que as vezes é um gigante imponente, de dez metros de altura) que essa canção é grandiosa, e que deveria ecoar pelos quatro cantos desse mundo redondo.

Mas em outras vezes (quando o meu ego encolhe e quase desaparece, escondido num buraco de agulha) tenho certeza de que ela deveria ficar encerrada em uma caixinha de música, muda e inerte.

Talvez um dia eu a abra – conforme for conveniente. Mas e se ninguém gostar?! E se me fizerem (mais uma vez) me calar?!…

O que eu mais espero, no entanto e no final das contas, é que essa canção seja mesmo a minha.

The path of the righteous


Father – Confession? Latte?

Matt – Not today, Father.

Father – Probably for the best, already had four cups.
But you know there’s still a bit of caffeine in there they just can’t get out.
Some things are just too ingrained, I guess.

Matt – (…) A friend of mine says that if I don’t change the way I do things, the way I live my life, I will end up bloody and alone.

Father – You believe that?

Matt – I’m not afraid of dying.

Father – Lot of people aren’t, comes right down to it. It’s living that scares the holy crap out of ‘em.

Matt – You know what I do? Who I am?

Father – Sacrament of Penance, like I told you. Don’t have to worry about…

Matt –  It’s not what I’m asking.

Father – Yes, Matthew, I’m not an idiot. I have a pretty good idea who you are and what you do. How you do it… That’s something else entirely…

Matt – Accident when I was a kid. Used to think it was God’s will.

Father – “used to”?

Matt – Yeah, he made, each and every one of us, with a purpose, didn’t he? A reason for being.

Father – I believe so, yes.

Matt – Then why did he put the Devil in me? Why do I feel it in my heart and my soul, clawing to be let out, if that’s not all part of God’s plan?

Father – Maybe you’re being called to summon the better angels of your nature. Maybe that’s the struggle you’re feeling deep within you.

Matt – And how do you know the angels and the Devil inside me aren’t the same thing?

Father – I don’t, but nothing drives people to the church faster than the thought of the Devil snapping at their heels.

Maybe that was God’s plan all along.
Why he created him, allowed him to fall from grace, to become a symbol to be feared, warning to us all to tread the path of the righteous.


Daredevil (Netflix, 2015), Season 1, Episode 11