What Now?

 

I could be a couch potato. Wordy people usually are. Not Seabell, though. The driven force keeping Seabell sweating has a face: my Equatorian-Italian tae bo instructor. She is the main reason I am not glued to some comfy chair. Her care, energy and joyful personality are captivating and an important plus to fight my laziness. And I know this energetic chemistry doesn’t only reach me but the entire tae class.

 

It’s a completely different story with dance. I dance because I have this will, this deep inclination to dance. I don’t feel the same way towards kicking and punching. I just do it because: 1) Teacher is super. 2) It feels okay – after! 3) My body is getting used to that energy rush.

 

Teacher will be absent on holidays for almost three months. Paul is menacing to put me walking for hours and hours (help!?). Meanwhile, I just feel like my other tae colleagues: a little anxious and disoriented regarding my next steps towards burning energy.

 

Happy wonderful holidays, teacher!

Some Cocktail!

 

This is a post mixing one of my past tae bo classes with the present weather conditions. Mixing tae bo, weather, past and present, in a letter, can be an explosive cocktail. Let’s see about this one:

 

Dear Weather
I know that we, humankind, don’t usually behave. But let’s get it straight from the beginning: you are not a good example too! Are you!?!?

 

I think you have decided to forget a simple rule: September is windy and instable, while October should be mild and very nice. This is mid October and it doesn’t look like that. Well?

 

Besides, last week, my tae bo teacher started an early morning class by saying: “Let’s show lots of energy and good vibes, because there’s an hint of sun after too many days of lousy grey and wind!”

 

So she thinks she is a sort of rain sorcerer and we, her apprentices.

 

Have mercy!
Seabell

Love & Religion

 

Maybe I shouldn’t talk about her. Love is like a religion she has. It stays there as long as she believes. For that matter, she is a very religious person. If she believes there is a single sparkle of love from the other side, she builds a religion from there. If she believes, she keeps giving back. For her, it’s all about believing or not.

 

She suspected he was so sick that his sickness was above any feelings he could have. And when she had to face the truth of his sickness it was if a religion ended. Something was so very wrong that a reading of all had to be done! It was a disaster, a hecatomb! The kind of accidents that change history…

 

If only people causing that kind of problems could witness how awful they look and sound to other people’s eyes and ears! If you really love someone, you naturally respect his or her mother, father and even distant relatives. The contrary is a revealing sign. Because she closed herself inside this premise, she can’t see a way out.

 

So then, sometimes the end of a religion it’s not about other people but about feelings. It’s all so simple: feelings are there or not. If they aren’t there, how can a religion survive?

 

She has done all she could to keep her faith alive. For days and days she stopped believing in existence itself, because it was so difficult to stop believing. It was like dying. Yes, she had to die before she found herself again.

 

Now she is a disbeliever. She doesn’t believe anymore. She knows a religion existed sometime. She knows he exists somewhere. But his existence has become nonsense, like a dead religion. Something she cannot explain but she knows now it’s not real. Not real love, not real religion… If love existed, it’s now a dead religion.

Beware of… 2

 

A week ago we went to a restaurant advertising the intention of becoming one of the 50 best in the world. In Maputo? Who wouldn’t be tempted curious? I just have to say: that restaurant is a lot more distant from becoming one of the best 50 restaurants than I am from being one of the best 50 writers in the world… And here I have to underline that I am not pretentious or keep that goal on my agenda. Even so, I am sure that my efforts would be more successful. I hate when they disguise fast food restaurants as something else!

 

Tired as I was from standing the previous day for more than 4 hours during a ceremony, last Sunday I just wanted to stay home. Paul presented a few reasons to go out and I found them to be well founded.

 

“Okay, but let it be Coqueiro!” I said, remembering our fast food fiasco.

 

Paul wasn’t too keen. Last time we went to Coqueiro we witnessed a very sad picture: the owner of the restaurant menacing to kill his drunken chef if he discovered he had been drinking and because of that lunch wasn’t ready. Very sad, indeed!

 

Anyway, we went to Coqueiro to discover that the restaurant has a new owner. He is Portuguese and he is introducing traditional portuguese food to the menu. We are glad the new owner kept the zambezian touch and the druken chef! Though something has been lost with the change, we had a nice meal with very inviting prices: coconut chicken and prawn curry.

 

When we were walking back to the car, Paul sadly commented:

 

“This is happening because Mozambicans don’t have access to money. They can’t grow, the problems start to accumulate and they give up. What is particularly upsetting is to witness how even such small businesses, like this one is, are impossible for them to keep!”

 

Yep, sometimes the world seems to be owned by people with access to bank money. But then look what the world has become because of it…

Love Is Within

 

Your love for her
Is right as a breeze
Is yours and within

 

You don’t have to drown it

or let take it away from thee

 

You just have to breathe

to walk
to eat
to be

 

Without her smile

her touch
her words

 

It hurts

How (I know how) it’s going to hurt!
Until it fades away

 

Even if it stays

                                  endlessly

                                                                       And then

                                                                        One given day
                                                                          That same love turns into strength
                                                                          To pursue chimeras and dreams

 

                                                                            Despite of her and because of you.

 

 

               To Niki P

                      S

Another Long Story

 

I like to tell stories. Where other people only gather more or less vivid memories, I look back and I see stories to tell. It’s up to any occasional reader to decide if they are true or not, knowing that sometimes real and fantastic are only one.

 

This story is about my eyes. I could tell a few stories about my eyes. This is one of them. I was young when I discovered that I would need glasses. It was a big disappointment for my mother, because she was very proud of her own acute eyesight. Maybe because the situation was very instable (sometimes I was fine and sometimes I couldn’t see properly), I never wore glasses until I was eighteen. That was a terrible experience, because I kept losing or breaking them. and most of the time they looked terrible, fixed with tape or any other rubbery thing in hand. They gave me headaches and giddiness. No wonder the countless times I left them behind in some unknown place or sat right on the spot were they lay.

 

I swore I would use my first wage to buy contact lenses. When I finished my first year of law-school, I stayed in a very hot Lisbon looking for a job with that aim in sight. I worked during two months substituting the daughter of the owner of a big car business. It was pretty hard, but only with my monthly allowance I would never had realized my dream.

 

I wore those first hard contact lenses for so many years that they became part of me. At some point I started to feel uncomfortable with them. That’s when I met my current eye doctor. Our first contact didn’t run smoothly. He accused me of wearing medieval lenses. He accused me of deforming my cornea. He accused me of having so many scratches on the lenses that he wondered how I could see at all. He accused me of looking into this world through huge deposits of protein. Still, I had to agree with him. I was wrong, but I loved so much the first thing I had bought with my own money that I couldn’t separate from it. I still can’t, because I still have my first contact lenses. As it is evident, I refused my doctor’s proposal of sending them to some museum…

 

He advised me to change to the gas permeable lenses I’ve been wearing for almost five years, during which I had a couple of routine appointments, mostly to confirm if I was feeling okay or to change the cleaning solution. As he had recommended, last week it was check time again. It went like this:

 

After reading my new results on the first two machines, the doctor referred to non-specified improvements. Then he invited me to look at the back of my eyeball. Reluctantly, I accepted the invitation. I was expecting a ewww thing, but I had this huge surprise of loving what I saw. Who would tell! It’s just beautiful!

 

We entered the second room were Paul was waiting. This time, doctor emphasized how spot clean my gas lenses are. I had learned my lesson! Then, the huge surprise: he suggested a new change from gas permeable to soft contact lenses. I was surprised, because I remember him telling that I couldn’t wear soft because of my excessive curvature.

 

“I don’t know what happened in the last two years. I am so surprised as you are. Your eyes are so nice. They are big and flat. You can wear soft easily.”

 

“Well, what do you mean?” I asked. I could see Paul surprise too.

 

“The last time I’ve examined you, you still had problems. I couldn’t see how your eyes really are. They are amazingly flat…”

 

“But flat is not nice, I think…” I interrupted. In my mind I had expressions like: flat feet, flat chest, flat personality…

 

“Not with eyes. For us, doctors, flat eyes are something beautiful to see. Think of a soft ball. If you press it, the surface becomes flatter and wider. Just for you to see, the average person has 7, while your measure is above 8” he explained.

 

Quite suddenly, I realized that flat can also be good: flat stomach!!!

 

I still don’t know very well what that 7-8 measurement is. I had no idea of having nice eyes. Maybe for doctors’ standards they are. I had no idea of having big flat eyes either. But the thought of looking through number eight eyes is awesome!

 

Paul assisted to all this a little astonished and a little amused. Later we both confessed that the thought of fairy tales involving wolves occurred to both of us. I still don’t perceive myself with big eyes. I accept that I have big eyes that don’t look like big. Maybe.

 

Paul had an appointment too. As he wears glasses, most of his time was spent discussing new frames and lenses. Paul only wears contact when snorkling or diving, things we haven’t be doing for a while. 

 

Once outside, Paul turned to Seabell and exclaimed:

 

“So you have fat eyes!”

 

Thinking Paul had misunderstood what was said, I explained to him:

 

“Flat, Paul, not fat!”

 

He has been repeating the “fat eyes” remark over and over again. I think he is just kidding.

 

This story marks a new chapter of my eyes history. I really hope something positive comes from the soft lenses I’ll be wearing soon. For now, the flat eyes only means that I cannot wear the average soft lenses. Doctor is going to ask the right people to design ones for me. When I was trying to cheer me up into changing (I don’t like some changes at all!) with the possibility of playing with color, eye doc qualified that as nonsense.

“Why change when your color is so nice?” he criticized.

“Women like changes…” I remembered. (Wasn’t I just telling that I only don’t like some changes?)

Looking back now, I think my eye doctor was a bit too flat… tering!

Two Weeks Ago

 

I had a strong reason to sit in the front row of the flamenco show recently organized in one of the theaters of this town. It was precisely two weeks ago.

 

There I’ve found the answer I was looking for. It was more a confirmation of something I already suspected. There are a few aspects of flamenco that I don’t appreciate that much, but in general I like it a lot.

 

Four days after the show, three main elements of the group participated in our class, sharing a little of their vast experience with us. It was a big event for our small group, especially the teacher. Since then things have been slow in terms of dancing. It’s usually like this: after all the excitement, comes a much needed rest.

 

I’m glad I had a quiet week to think about my decision of dancing flamenco. My yes comes with the knowledge that only with lots of work I can reach a satisfactory level.

 

It took me almost one year to become a tae bo performer: sometimes good, sometimes too tired to be exceptional… I think I’ll need the same period to have results. Meanwhile, I’ll give my best so that I can become a flamenco dancer.

Morning Highlights-8

 

A lot has changed since I started writing in here, but a lot is still the same. For instance, Paul’s morning highlights are still going on. I am capable of recognizing if something important is happening somewhere in the world just by the way he opens the curtains to let the sun in and the laziness out.

 

Last Thursday I knew something had happened. In the nick of time between the curtain noise and Paul’s words, I was thinking of crashes. Economy crash? Flight crash?

 

Though a crash, it was a very personal one: the end of a celebrity marriage. Yes, I am lucky I don’t have to waist my time reading that kind of magazines! Paul gave me all the details: she wanted to adopt another child and he wasn’t happy with the idea. According to my morning informer, some newspapers were already talking of racism as the cause of the divorce. A bit simplistic, isn’t it?

 

What I can say is that adopting seems to be so trendy! I only hope it doesn’t happen like when people started to have alligators at home - no offense to the adopted here…

 

Some time ago, before adopting was a trendy thing to do, I thought about adopting. Though Paul has been the best father in the whole world, my idea only served to discover that he is better off without children around. Adopting, as any parenting thing, needs ideally the involvement of two. At the time I accused him of being prepotent, to what he replied he had already an adopted child: me! 

 

I remember I wasn’t sad because of it. If we can’t want the same, better stay as we are. Anyway, my urge was more altruistic than motherly. It’s very hard to witness the situation of some children without feeling compelled to do something about it. Somehow I’ve been helping the children of people working for us. I never travel without buying clothes or shoes for the little ones. Four years ago we sponsored the Children’s Day party in a school and I’ve been thinking of some other large good move soon. It’s easy to find ways of helping people in need, especially when we think in education terms. In the end, adopting is more about you than about the children in need…

Beware of…

 

Last Sunday we went out thinking of a very light seafood meal, but I don’t know why on earth we ended up in a typical Portuguese restaurant. As a result, instead of clams and prawns, we had:

 

1) Salted cod salad with chickpeas, onions, peppers, olives, boiled eggs and olive oil.

 

2) Veggies and meat bouillon, the famous “Cozido à Portuguesa”.

 

3) Almond cake for dessert.

 

We left the restaurant almost crawling, feeling like 10kg heavier. We had to walk seven Miradouros right away, before we felt like ourselves again. Talk about heavy food!

Short Morning

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Short morning

Late light has come
Tap-dancing around my feet
Sidelong traces of cars
Still mattress discreet

Divided between new and old
I shiver under African cold