quarta-feira, 30 de março de 2011

Short Story : Amidst war

As I’ve spent a whole afternoon on the contemplation of what’s to come, the day is lost and nothing got done.  It´s time to pick up the baby from the day-care. I wonder if at least little Lilly had a good day- full with joy and play.

Her days at the daycare are a complete contrast to my everyday’s sufferings. She knows not that her father is missing- somewhere lost in the middle of a long lasting and unreasonable war. She misses him; I can feel it in her cries. But she is too little to understand the implications of his long disappearance.

After spending my day trying to hear from him, from his officers, from the government, from the news, I once again lose hope that I shall see him return to his daughter in one peace. Why did he have to go and prove himself and participate on this War. Did he realize that Wars are not for men and women but for monsters of power who only desire for more? No, he did not. He was never a man to rationalize his own actions. He would never question what was said from above. But sometimes we must, because just like us, those above are just people, with hopes and desires. And power do not make this desires be the right ones, it simply makes them victorious.

It was the desire of (some) men that created this gender inequality, racism, prejudice of class and all its other forms. It was desire of some men that made this war - this third war- that will not only take my daughter´s father but probably decimate us all.

As my mind once again turns to the War that has left me in my sudden empty and sorrow state, I reach my destination. My daughter finds my arms. Children laugh all around me. Parents mirror my thoughts, but they also mirror the smile they can see in their children’s eyes.

 They are not safe from War, as we are not, and they are too young to live without us. Yet, it still in my daughter’s eyes that I find my own redemption. It is through her giggles that I can imagine an ending to the dark sky that surrounds me.

domingo, 13 de março de 2011


All through life he had been a constant. Always present in my most inner thoughts. Why couldn’t I just forget all about him? Now, when I had finally lost him, when there would be no more chances of him knocking on my door with some chocking news or friendly advice, I still could not let go of him.

My love for him had been a secret obsession for many years. I was able to understand that even though he was gone I would still think of him. But I always believed finality could free me. It did not. Not even his death had been able to free me.

Constancy in love was supposed to be a good thing. Jane Austen thought it so, she wrote a whole book about it. But I disagree. If constancy in love had been a good thing, I wouldn’t still be morning a love that never happened, a love that only made me sad, a love that is not a love in the likes of “Persuasion” or any other Austen masterpiece.

Looking at the old photo album that set on the table for all guests to see I remembered brighter days, when hope was still high. I also remember the day hope was taken from me in the form of a beautiful and intelligent blond girl with sparkling eyes.

How did I not see it coming? I had always known everything about him, his deepest desires. It was no stretch that she would charm him.

I should have known better than to befriend her. His loss was much worse when I knew that she had also lost him. 
My tears had to be contained; she would not understand that my love ran deeper, that my pain was larger and longer lasting.

I could not wear the black clothing she had on so gracefully. All eyes followed her: the widow. Did she not even realize that her individuality had been lost and she was now reduced to a title - a relation to a man that wasn’t even there anymore?

At least I could keep my own self. I was not one in relation to another.

 Yes, I had loved him but I wished I had not. It had only brought me pain. It had only brought him pain. For I knew he knew, I could not keep my devotion off my eyes just as he could not keep indifference off his.

So amidst family and friends I still kept my secret. I still kept my heart quiet. I hoped perhaps now, that not even a single glimpse of hope could be had, I could move on.

How wrong had I been! It seems I am to be in eternal waiting, and not for happiness. I’d be content with the ability to forget, to move on, to go to bigger and better things. But his image is still locked in my heart and it seems constancy is both my error and my blessing.

terça-feira, 8 de março de 2011


Today, International Women´s Day, the video bellow appeared on the 8 pm portuguese news.
It reminded me that some people still believe that there is no more need for feminist studies, women rights,  etc. With such evidence as this video gives us, we can see that is not true!

I feel it must be shared.
Dame Judi Dench and Daniel Quaid(007) unite to show us that Women and Men are NOT treated as equals in our society!

domingo, 6 de março de 2011

A chance to observe

Unreal as it was, this was not uncommon in her life. The moment she realized she was once again in this position: trapped in a broken body, no movement in any of her members.

What sort of twisted accident had once again reduced her to this vegetative state? Flora watched as people walked by her, but she did not move. She was stuck in time and space, unable to move, unable to speak.

Since it was not the first time this occurred to her, she resolved to not be alarmed and started to observe the movements around her. Sight, hearing and thought were the only abilities she seemed to still contain and she wished to use them to her advantage. It was a chance to observe others as she knew others observed her. She would see the best in this situation. She would play “The Glad Game”.

To her left she could see young children. The park where her bizarre condition had appeared was frequented by many a parent with young children. She watched as two young girls dressed in matching yellow outfits shared smiles while circling the half grown jasmine tree. The flowers in full bloom and the giggles the girls could not keep inside were captivating in such a way that she wondered if she had ever felt as happy as this little girls seemed to be in that moment.

She could listen to a car in the distance, threatening the beautiful balance the silence had created around her. She disliked the disturbance, but her eyes followed the noise none the less.

Her sight was met with a young man driving a red sports car. He seemed to be showing off his youth and money. Many people seemed to pay him attention, but she did not believe it of any consequence since a much more interesting sight could be observed behind him.

Hummingbirds were following a young woman. She carried a beautifully handcrafted hummingbird feeder but the birds did not seem to understand that she was going to stop eventually, so they kept trying to reach it.

Some hummingbirds stood mid air, their wings none stop. Some hummingbirds flew with quick speed. Some rested for a while on the trees around them. But they did not rest. They followed her.

Once the young lady found the perfect spot for her little treasure, she placed the hummingbird feeder under the branches of an old willow tree. The birds seemed to rejoice in a beautiful dance in the air. They moved to all sides and suddenly stopped.

They took their turn in drinking the sugary water she had provided. The girl observed for a while and left. For a few minutes the life of those hummingbirds revolved around that expectation, and suddenly it was done and gone.

The beautiful moment was lost, no one but the girl who had experienced it and the static figure watching from a distance had noticed the dancing birds. But Flora had not missed the meaning of it all. Enjoy all moments of your life.

She had, upon this bizarre circumstance, observed two beautiful occurrences. She would not have noticed them on a regular day. Yet, her strange sickness had brought her here. And she was glad.

Like her first "episode", Flora could once again feel her hands. It was the first proof that the odd episode was coming to an end. She soon would be able to express in words her inability to move, and help would soon follow.

She was glad she had observed things around her. As a true “Pollyanna”, she had played “The Glad Game”. And she would continue to do so, she hoped, now that a long period of tests and hospital rest awaited her. 

----- <3 ---------- 

Great book "Pollyanna". It was my favorite book growing up : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pollyanna

Hello fellow Janeites (or non-Janeites),

So I’m finally writing this blog, which I’ve been meaning to do for some time.
This is the place I intend to post short stories, some Jane Austen ramblings and papers, maybe some poems, as well as some of my opinions on all things (whatever I feel up to).  

 I might write both in English and Portuguese (I might try some French and some Spanish, but I don’t promise anything).

Hope you all like my ramblings,
Please comment,