The first time I saw snow

I had written a huge post about Politics and my frustration about it. Long and deep. And I read it and I deleted it, two seconds ago. Because I am tired of complaining. What I want to say is not that, not just complaints. I want to talk about little miracles of life. Like the ones from yesterday.

Yesterday, I saw the old pictures of the picture box I have in my house. I saw pictures of me as a baby, as an infant and as a child. I saw pictures of my parents and of their friends. And I wondered: isn't anythig more magic than discovering what went on before you remember?

My parents had this very interesting life before, many friends and many dinners at our place. I saw this picture where they are walking with some friends in some kind of vast field, somewhere South, it seemed, They have funny clothes, all of them, and they look very different. Those were in a dusty envelope in the bottom of the box. There was one picture of my great-great-great grandparents. I think it is the only one from them. Then, there was a little pack of postacards. I opened it and saw my name.

Someone wrote me postcards and letters rom 90 to 93, from all over Europe. Belgium, Warsaw, Budapest, Berlin... All for me, when I was a baby. They were from a friend of my parents, a really nice one, she lives South in a farm she rebuild. My favourite was from Warsaw. It was a picture she had taken from her window. It showed a big concrete Soviet looking neighbourhood covered with snow. On the back she said:

"My building is like the other ones you see in front. There is snow on the ground. See the snow Filipa, isn't it beautiful?"

I thought my first snowy sight was 2 years ago in Norway. Now I know. The first time I saw snow was in Warsaw in 1992.

Trás-os -Montes : a weekend up the country

So,
After last week's laziness, problems and so on, what else to do but to be going up the country, as old Canned Heat would say?

I did. I went to vist my grandma and rest of relatives up north, near Spain, 3 hours away from here (that is a very long time in Portuguese trips, by the way). It is a land of celtic traditions, dry, sometimes looking like some Western-spaghetti setting. It is the most beautiful landscape ever, the poorest region as well. Some houses are still made of stone and the little villages seem to be caught up in the too fast pace of progress, in a paradox of modern time. In the 60's and 70's many went to France, Switzerland and now everyone has some relatives there (like me). They come back sometimes and build the few very rich châteaux you see absurdly among the small houses on the dirt roads. After that, the youth went away to be the first to study in the big cities. Now, they are ghost villages, almost, where little old ladies sit outside and look at the few cars that pass by each day, as if they had never seen one. People grew up with no light or water and they tell you stories of when all the babies in the village died because of a rough winter. People treat freezers with reverence and are extremely proud of having one person in the family with a University degree. Knowing how to read and write well, 50 years ago, was a great rare thing.

For me, all this is such a distant reality. It leaves me out of place, feeling strange and uneasy. I cannot talk about myself as I do normally. I don't know how to do it really. I guess this is the big Portuguese generation gap. Our grandparents did not go to school and now we go on to do university. Rock music did not reach this place, nor did any sexual revolution. It was a medieval society 40 years ago, with landlords and servants, with no connection to the outside world but the travelling salesman. Now, they have a small heliport.

It is somehow fascinating to have my origins in this place. At the same time, I fell it is not my place at all. 3 days living there makes me depressed, bored or simply feeling restless: you see no one, you have no internet, you are not taken into consideration (young women talking in adult converstaion? nope..). Life is so different... I guess that is the thing: where you are from is not always where you belong.

The Loss of Inocence

Yesterday I went to meet my Mormon friends.
They are the two missionaries I met by chance, two nice talkative interesting girls. We have been meeting regularly for a month and we have talked about many things. Many times about Philosophy and other about their travelling memories, and mine. they have showed me a bit of what they do in their church. I though: regular and normal. Nice, wasn't it?

Well, yesterday they wanted to talk to me about Christ and the Holy Ghost, an Baptism. They started saying so many good things about it.. . They even got me to pray with them. Now, for those of you who know me, this is terribly uncommon, me being a quite convinct atheist. But, what are gonna do? I got excited, it was meant to get me that way!

Of course I got back to normal in a couple of hours. I started re-examining my feelings, my believes and understood the manipulation. I got angry.

SERIOUSLY?! I am a friendly, rational Philosophy student, sure of myself and with a great spirit of tolerance, not a fool and certainly not a person to be brain washed. I thought, let's make some friends, learn about other religions, exchange some arguments and ... BAMM! I get a "Why no to baptise?" conversation. Seriously, the world is a shameless place, even in the holy aspects of it.

After a small release of anger I am going back to adoring my own divinities, by my own rules 8I have a very strong porblem with obeying hierachies), with absolutely no guilt in me. I don't need to be purified, 'cause life is to be lived with stained shirts.

Now I am going up North to my grandmother's and I wonder : when will being who I am safe? Why do we have to loose faith in there being genuinely nice people coming along in your life? I used to believe, no in a God, but always in people, in dialogue and co-existence.What happened to dialogue and co-existence? Is this what people have become? Is this what people are?

Filipa, a desilusionned one

P.S. no offense to any religious people reading this: I still think being religious is very admirable and genuinely interesting
PPS. in the last post: "love in my room in Vancouver" is actually "live in". Just a correction.

On Bohemia and an inner Paradox

After going to Czech Republic for a week and having another week and some days of pure writing laziness I decided not to give up. I am resuming the whole writing : blogs, diaries, essays and shopping lists, cooking recipes, all included.

The setting:
My place, wearing pijamas, listening to one of my favourites, " Good Day" by the Dresden Dolls.

I have been doing very well the last couple of days. But this morning I just got the blues, I guess. Waking up and feeling incredibly cold, even though it is some 34ºC or more... what can one do about it....

A lot of religious stuff has been on my mind. I am planning to write some small thing about God and romantic love. I will post it if I ever make it to the end.

Meetings

I guess I have to tell about when I came back from Markéta's place. guess what? I managed to miss the plane. No, I was not stuck in the airport, I just came a day late! So, I am in Prague airport, missed my flight by one day. Managed to get home in the same day by spending all the money I could have used in my little solitary july trip around Spain - which is not happening. Then, after all this misery, I get into the plane and I meet, no more no less, than this guy who was Vasco's best friend. He remembered me from last summer when was down there for, actually, his birthday party! Interestingly, he said my necklace was the same but I was much taller and a bit different. Well, we travelled together and talked all afternoon, had a beer in Frankfurth. It was great, he is studying Medicine in Prague and loads of very inetresting ideas about many things.

While talking, for reasons which are not of much importance now, I told myself something I had realised long time ago. I really need to go and love in that room in Vancouver, to decorate it with all my stuff, to lay down in bed and have the room covered with papers, to invite poeple in and out and feell that is exclusively my responsability. In short, I don't think I could live with my parents again. The holidays are ok, but not more than that. I love them and love being with them, they take me seriously and are supportive and we have the best talks. But I guess I just need a bit of adventure, a bit of space. I tasted it at UWC and now I want more. It is not that strange a thing to feel completely alive.

The Paradox

Another thing has been on my mind since I visited some of my parent's friends this weekend. I was a bit upset when going home, 'cause as usual, nobody inquired about me, nor seemed to care about me studying in Vancouver or the Norway. It is the usual stuff, really, I am used to it and ask for no more. But, even though I understand there are no good reasons for them to care or to listen to me or to even take me serious in conversations when I try to say something important, I somehow have difficulty in accepting it. It is difficult to be a person you are not - to be the invisible little child, silent. And this becomes a bigger identity problem in this way: I don't want to be a pseudo-intellectual ellite, I want to get along with the people I grew up around, simple as they may be. However, when I am around them, I die a little inside and I dislike them. i want to love my country, my people, but they are not mine nor I am theirs. One of the great paradoxes of life. Living is finding ways to cope, I guess.

Bohemia

On a more positive tone, Czech Republic was a great week. Truly great. Markéta was the most adorable and fantastic person as usual and we had loads of fun going around her region. Once we were in her city and these Czech guys with a camera, about our age, came up to us to interview us. First question was : do you think that Elvis Presley, the king of Rock'n'roll is dead? You can imagine it was quite hilarious... Anyhow, beautiful country, nice people and verrry good food! We went to thsi Jazz club in Praha which was really nice, with great musicians and a very good-looking guy on the piano. Loads of stupid American tourists though spoiling the whole picture. Just need to be ignored while you appreciate the Cathedral.

Books

Wel, I am almost in love with Kerouac. I am reading "on the Road" and I just wished I had read it earlier. It is beautiful, poetic and makes me travel at night to beautiful sunny plains in America, hitch hiking in some stranger's car and talking about what really matters. When I get old I will buy myself a little trailer and live driving around the whole North America, with rose coloured sunglasses and long white monlight shaded hair.

Films

I have seen a lot of them lately. I have become a regular at the local film club, so you can imagine. I saw "Lady in the Water" and loved it, one of those movies that makes you cry with excitment in my opinion. Then yesterday I had the Tv on and it was 12:30 p.m. A portuguese movie started, called "Evil". I saw 20 minutes and went away - typical Portuguese bad stuff. It is a movie that does not make sense, even though it has a very clear social and intellectual intention. So, what happens is that you think that it is you who can't get it... well, you got to be living in Portugal to understand this... anyhow, Portuguese cinema is a decaying institution with no past glories.




"- If you don't want to be a laywer... what do you want to do?
- ....I want to dance!"