Single Awareness Day

     Para a versão em Português, clique aqui.
 
    One of the most irritating comercial celebrations must be Valentine’s Day. The “Single Awareness Day” pun fits well the situation, in which we are forced to cope with Love being in the air everywhere we go. This year, living in the UK, I had to experience Valentines Day twice in 8 months, between the brazilian 12th of June and today, the 14th of February. I believe that the short amount of time and the fact that I actually had a boyfriend last year have made me quite thoughtful.
     
     Thinking about everything that I’ve ever been through, from the distance of experience, has made me realise how I’ve already allowed my needs to guide me to poor life choices. Relationships with bad endings weren’t necessarily bad relationships, and every experience is an excellent opportunity for us to learn a lot about ourselves and others – but, maybe a little bit more thinking and pondering would have kept people from going forward in situations that were clearly made to step back. However, we are easily deceived by our eyes, and some situations just seem so ideal that we are not conscious enough to see the fragile base on which the love we believe to be building stands.
     
     It’s this same need that saddens the lonely hearts on Valentine’s Day. It’s hard not to catch yourself staring blankly at your bedroom window after scrolling through your Facebook and Instagram feeds, questioning whether Mr. and Mrs. Right will ever come to you. And that’s one serious issue, because a lot of very nice people are getting hurt in exchange of cheap gifts and late night “I love you” texts. And not only the young ones, I’m afraid.
     
     I’ve already heard so many speaking about the perks of being single and how important it is to enjoy this time of our lives, but most of them still don’t quite get the point of it. I believe that human beings were created to be in groups, to live in pairs, but, at the end, we are individuals, above everything else. No one else is allowed inside your head, but yourself and God. And if you never learn how to turn yourself inside out, and know yourself, and love yourself, you can’t possibly expect to do the same for others. Our collective coexistence is perfected in ourselves, more than in the midst of everyone, because good relationships are based in treating others the way we would like to be treated.
     
     And what would you like, anyway?
     
    

When words fail

     It’s hard for me not to think about the time I’ve been abroad whenever I try to write down my feelings and ideas, because that’s basically the most important thing going on in my life. 81 days now. Trying to explain how fast it’s going is pointless and hurtful, because I’ve caught myself thinking of how I could just stay here and never return to the mess that my homeland has become a lot more times than I wish I had.
     
     Anyone in this same position of not only leaving home, but moving to a whole different country, will definitely waste a lot of time complaining about all the comfortable things one has lost when deciding to go on this life-changing jouney. Luckily, I’m not anyone to complain on how I miss my car and my warm weather without speaking first of all these new things I’ve figured out about myself. That’s why I think that most of us eventually end up with some huge text posted online. Internet has made it easier for anyone to catch up with our latest experience. That’s phenomenal. We just love to tell the world how we are.
     
     I ocasionally end up talking a little bit about my experiences here on my snapchat, not just because it’s a fantastic social network (yes, it is) because of how quick you share things and they disappear forever shortly after, but also because I know that there’s a lot of people who care about me and that expect me to tell them what’s going on with my life on a daily basis (hi, mom), and snapchat just makes it a lot easier, closer, more human. I could actually be doing this on snapchat, recording my words and the weird yet funny faces that I effortlessly do.
     
     But this is a reflection about writing. And writing demands words to be typed, read, felt together. God bless those who made it possible for blind people to read with their own hands. The inner feeling we get with our eyes is surprisingly comparable.
     
     I’ve tried to understand what writing actually means to me a bunch of times. I believe that I may have finally and inadvertently assembled a rather satisfactory answer to that question, while renewing this blog’s layout. “Escrever é meu mapa pessoal do tesouro de ser feliz” (“Writing is my personal map of the treasure of being happy”), and I am the land to be explored.
     
     The truth behind that may be the key to this wonderful self-awareness I have developed over the past years. As complicated as I may be, as uncontrollable, unstable and emotional as I may get, I would have never been able to acknowledge that through any other way than literature. I may have abandone my tales and poems for a while, but I still see myself in each one of the characters I created, and I ocasionally think of them and wonder how their lives would be now if they were alive somewhere else than inside my head. But, still, I can’t help but write all the time.
     
     I haven’t been exposing myself lately in a desperate attempt to protect my own heart from my own stupidity, but I must say that I am most certainly tired of covering my feelings up. I have too many, and they just don’t fit inside this body of mine (even with all the weight I’ve gained since moving out). I live in a constant overflow of feelings. Even if my words never reach the paper, never get typed, I write all the time inside of my head, as if my gray matter demanded imaginary words written on its surface. My passion for the Arts and the Sciences may be high, but I am a writer, after all. I may be writing at you right now, actually, on the lines of this beautiful colorful iris of yours that I’ve been staring at for so long.
     
     A picture may be worth a thousand words, but I only know of music speaking whenever words fail. But that’s something for a different moment. For now, words are enough for me.