memory and the important things

It was a Thursday, maybe. Or maybe it was a Wednesday.
It was a nice evening, and I had been at university the whole day, drowning in the huge amount of classes I was taking. Ot perhaps I had just been home, cooking, or wasting some time on the internet. No, I think I was studying, or drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette. Or maybe I was just looking outside the balcony, absorbed in the chilly air of the beginning of December. Or late November.

But that's not quite important.

We would meet at 6pm, by the bridge. Of course I was late, I was always late. Maybe 10 minutes late, but I felt so embarrassed that it could as well have been a whole hour. I didn't know you so well, as you didn't know me very well either. But we had a date -- which was not a "date" date, it was just two persons going out to listen to some potentially nice music in a city where we both felt a bit distant to our daily musical tastes. It was just everything alien. But that was also the important part. That was what made us be there together at that moment. That was exactly what made our tastes and our needs to go to a bar and listen to just any music so important to the extent that we would actually go there together, even though we didn't know each other.

And then, well, it was a little bit past 6pm. I got off the train station in a hurry, because I knew I was late and that you would be there, waiting. And we didn't know each other well, and I was always late, and, then, I thought I would say "sorry" and pretend I was not embarrassed for being late, because that would be very lame. I rushed and there were so many people packing those narrow sidewalks that the very short distance between the station and the spot where you would be waiting became huge.

But, again, that's also not so important.

You must remember well. There was the station, and then a big crossing, with traffic lights. There was a strange fluorescent-white-light-lit book store by the corner. Usually, lots of people would be there waiting to cross. Specially if it was past 6pm, when the youngsters are going out to have fun, get drunk, sing at the karaoke, or indulge in some bad "all you can eat" sort of restaurant. (I would also do that, not getting drunk or singing at the karaoke though).
So, it was that crossing.
There was a bridge, with a narrow sidewalk. There would a Starbucks right after the bridge. And there you would be waiting. Or maybe you would be waiting on the next crossing, before the entrance of the arcade. No, you were waiting by the bridge, in front of the Starbucks.

Still, that's of little relevance here.

The point is that, while I walked, or maybe while I crossed the bridge -- or the traffic lights --; while I approached you, still from far away, I saw you were standing there. You were wearing that grey dress, which, by now, you find too worn out and would probably not wear in such an occasion, were it to take place today. You were there, standing straight, looking ahead, as if drifting in your thoughts. You had your backpack on the floor, in between your legs, and you were leaning against the wall. Maybe you were not leaning against nothing, just standing in the middle of the sidewalk. I'm not so sure. But as I approached you, you slowly turned your head to my direction, waved discreetly that quick-paced wave you sometimes do, and smiled. You caused an intense friendly, loving, almost nestling, feeling in me. That was very strange for me, to feel that way while I was so worried about hurrying without running, while I pretended I was not too embarrassed, but at the same time feeling sorry I was late. That was a very off-rationality sort of thing taking over, undermining my all too rational planned reactions. That was very unexpected, and it made me confused for the one minute (or maybe less, or a bit more) that I took to actually get to you and say "hello, sorry I'm late!". That was pleasantly and fulfillingly good. And, at that moment, I started loving you. Even though I didn't realize, at that moment I foresaw - in a glimpse - that I was, in a way, seeing a very unforeseeable future, right in front of me. And that made me very happy, just the way I am now.

é tanta memória.

É bom redescobrir o lado de dentro das coisas. Ele está cheio de letras, palavras e sons.

Tarde de segunda-feira. No ar molhado de chuva sob o céu cinzento - é fim de verão onde o verão nunca acaba - o sol amarela as coisas, que me cercam até me engolir.

O mundo, grande feito um planeta inteiro, transborda da minha memória enquanto deixo escapulir os minutos entre as letras do meu teclado.

Abro um guarda-chuva e me deixo banhar pelo sol que esquenta o meu quarto.

the fog and the heavy humid air of a summer day in Hong Kong

or in Kyoto

soaking up my bones

till they melt

i walk down my street, dreaming tropical sceneries

far away from my footsteps

O mundo é tão grande e tudo é tão distante. E as saudades penetram em qualquer póro que fica aberto, exposto ao ar. O tempo nos ensina de algum modo estranho, torto, a ocupar muitos espaços.

Vou deixando pra trás tantas coisas, umas atrás das outras. Transfiro meu corpo de um lado ao outro, achando que deixei algo que deve ser recuperado. Mas, às vezes, a evidência do fracasso é estarrecedora.

Saudades saudades saudades. Aquilo que permanece.

Voltando ao Rio

A cidade muda de tamanho, expande seus espaços e respira mais profundo. Ela não pulsa (isso é uma mentira), mas descansa em plácida e absorta contemplação. Seu ruído noturno alcança clareza de melodia calma, que se mescla com os barulhos dos carros passando. Ela se elogia, tímida, convicta do seu lugar. Minha casa me dá uma alegria tranquila, felicidade de todo dia, dessa maneira mesmo, nunca se reconhecendo completa, olhando fixo nas brechas.
A cidade, casa, essa lacuna imensa e noturna, que se refestela da ausência e finge completude a cada pôr do sol; essa que me faz sentir pequeno e que me deixa grande, cheio de satisfação.

Cheguei.

Aqui o sol é forte, os espaços são amplos, as pessoas ruidosas e tudo é bastante pronunciado. Encosta-se e derrama-se: os limites estão bem do lado de fora. Aqui tenho amigos, passado longo, afetos profundos e confortáveis como uma poltrona funda, café na varanda, bate-papo sem fim.

Cheguei em casa. Foram menos que dois anos, mais do que um ano, uma distância fenomenal e um tempo que pareceu longuíssimo. Ausência e presença intensas, que ganharam outros contornos a partir disso tudo. Agora, já não acredito mais nessa fixidez toda.

Percebi que, inevitavelmente, fui forçado a viver com saudade. Que presença vai sempre requerer a ausência. Sempre. Sempre. Sempre.

"Voltamos", mas não se sabe ainda muito bem para onde.

Caminhando em passados futuros: como conceber aquilo que aos poucos se torna reminiscencia? Ao menos, permanece, evadindo aos poucos e tornando-se substancia.

Nunca mais vou. Mas, como isso eh o elementar, a ideia eh tornar presente o passado sempre que se possa. (Que, de fato, seja sempre)

Piso, entao, em eternos presentes. Ha que se exercitar, ao ponto de se esquecer.