Here I am, in my room in SfU, Vancouver, Canada. It is a nice place, I cannot deny that.
I am listening to a CD a nice girl downstairs lent me. It sounds great.
Life if perfect....., or is it?
I arrived in this continent about a week ago. I attended Orientation and had my first class yesterday. I say to everyone at home it has been going perfect but it is not. Maybe it will get better, but this week was not that great.
University here is not exactly what I imagined and I woke up today with the thought that I might have made a mistake...
It is the yelling, the over-exicitment, the "high-school" movie like situations, the obsession with sex and alchool, the conversations I simply cannot get...
I have met some really nice people, but it is so hard to connect with them. I feel like a stranger, a sort of misplaced element. Just like when I was back in Portugal.
And so, as I sitt in my bed, alone in my room, I look out the window. From here I can see around 20 other rooms, in a very voyeuristc way, I must say. I look at all of them and I wonder: will I ever belong here?
This was never a big question, because I never belonged anywhere before my Norwegian chapter. But suddenly, I want to belong, to feel good where I live, comfortable and happy. I want to be able to wake up with a smile and feel therw would be no other place to be than where I am.
I went to my French class yesterday. The teacher was wonderful, a friendly lady from Vietnam with a true passion for her profession. I understood all she said. The students, on the other hand, were sooo hard to get (American acent...). But more than pronunciation, I really felt very odd. I was probably the youngest there, one of the few first years. I was the only international. Well, I know this does not sound like a reason to worry. Probably in another week it will be much better. Meanwhile, the sounf of European French makes me feel good and comforts my soul.
And yet, I spend my mornings in my room, looking out and wondering how cold it is. When I get out for lunch I get lost in the crowd and wonder silently to my room. This routine is broken by the fortunate encounters and meetings with some great people.
And yet, I am unsatisfied. Am I too impacient? Am I so hard to please?
Maybe.
quarta-feira, 3 de setembro de 2008
sexta-feira, 22 de agosto de 2008
Accross the Ocean.... the unkown land
Finally I got some time to post something... Last couple of days have been hectic, chaotic, etc (continue with adjectives nearing to panic decription). The thing is: after coming back from Madrid, from a peaceful, art-filled weekend in Madrid, I had to get moving! I was leaving in 1 week! Leaving, as in, packing up all my things in a suitcase and not knowing exactly when I would be back to see my family again.
Yes, I have been doing some posts where I let my alter-egos go on (the surfers one) or analyse books and movies, or just write non-sense ( or what doens't seem non-sense at the time but afterwards does). Now, I am quite serious: this is what is happening to me.
I packed all my clothes yesterday. I needed my Mom to help me, and my sister. I thought I would panic a bit about that: overweight and all unfortunate events related to suitcases. That was untill I saw, on the Internet, this:
________________
THINGS TO BRING ( SFU Residence)
What you will need:
A telephone • - even if you plan to use your cell phone you will
need a phone to access security and, in many residences, to
buzz people into your building.
Linens and pillows • (your mattress is provided.)
_________________
A telephone.
As a background to this, let me just say that this week I found out about American plugs (yes, I am Europocentric, not by choice, by circunstance) and how they were connected to a voltage. That means, have to buy everything new there, except for my laptop and camera. Ok, Fine with that. A telephone? I come from a country where we don't even buy telephones! you buy t with phone company subscription! A telephone? Ok, I guess I will have to find that.
your mattress is provided
Thank you, at least... And a pillow, no? Oh, well, they are taking us shopping for essentials in the first day - hopefully I won't need to sleep on my coat.
Now for the rest...
_________
Thing you may want to bring:
(...)
Cleaning supplies • ?
Clothes hangers •???
(...)
Desk lamp •?????????????????
(...)
Laundry detergent •?????????? (As if paying for the laundry machines was not enough!)
(...)
_______________________
These are just a few examples of my astonishment. I know this is pherhaps a regular Univeristy thing. But the fact is: it wasn't like this in Norway. Residence at the college was designed for people getting there from huge distances with very little stuff with them. THIS is designed for people who are dropped and helped by their own parents in big american cars. I can do it on my own, but still... I can't carry all this things! And knowing I don't have a whole house packed in my suitcase, makes me feel unsure about my first times there.
I am not exactly scared. I think I might even be OK with the classes. I am just realising that, besides having to cross the Ocean and get to the right places on time, I will have to get myself together and live all alone in a very strange place, for a while, untill I learn my way around. No roomies, no House Mentor, no Clothing Store, no Uncle Tom's Cabin, no Cleaning Day or changing bed linen. Now it sounds like I am scared. but it is just me realising how well taken care of we were in that college. How easy and nice it was.
Well, on a positive note. That is the challenge. Key word in fact. I will be doing this on my own ,and enjoying it I bet. It is the kind of trip that puts butterflies in my stomach (yes, like the ones you get when you are in love). I have everything planed, what can go wrong? Not much, really. With all the intense socialising plan they have for the first week... the "living alone" thing won't be that lonely.
I'm young and alive - watch out American Continent, here I go!
Yes, I have been doing some posts where I let my alter-egos go on (the surfers one) or analyse books and movies, or just write non-sense ( or what doens't seem non-sense at the time but afterwards does). Now, I am quite serious: this is what is happening to me.
I packed all my clothes yesterday. I needed my Mom to help me, and my sister. I thought I would panic a bit about that: overweight and all unfortunate events related to suitcases. That was untill I saw, on the Internet, this:
________________
THINGS TO BRING ( SFU Residence)
What you will need:
A telephone • - even if you plan to use your cell phone you will
need a phone to access security and, in many residences, to
buzz people into your building.
Linens and pillows • (your mattress is provided.)
_________________
A telephone.
As a background to this, let me just say that this week I found out about American plugs (yes, I am Europocentric, not by choice, by circunstance) and how they were connected to a voltage. That means, have to buy everything new there, except for my laptop and camera. Ok, Fine with that. A telephone? I come from a country where we don't even buy telephones! you buy t with phone company subscription! A telephone? Ok, I guess I will have to find that.
your mattress is provided
Thank you, at least... And a pillow, no? Oh, well, they are taking us shopping for essentials in the first day - hopefully I won't need to sleep on my coat.
Now for the rest...
_________
Thing you may want to bring:
(...)
Cleaning supplies • ?
Clothes hangers •???
(...)
Desk lamp •?????????????????
(...)
Laundry detergent •?????????? (As if paying for the laundry machines was not enough!)
(...)
_______________________
These are just a few examples of my astonishment. I know this is pherhaps a regular Univeristy thing. But the fact is: it wasn't like this in Norway. Residence at the college was designed for people getting there from huge distances with very little stuff with them. THIS is designed for people who are dropped and helped by their own parents in big american cars. I can do it on my own, but still... I can't carry all this things! And knowing I don't have a whole house packed in my suitcase, makes me feel unsure about my first times there.
I am not exactly scared. I think I might even be OK with the classes. I am just realising that, besides having to cross the Ocean and get to the right places on time, I will have to get myself together and live all alone in a very strange place, for a while, untill I learn my way around. No roomies, no House Mentor, no Clothing Store, no Uncle Tom's Cabin, no Cleaning Day or changing bed linen. Now it sounds like I am scared. but it is just me realising how well taken care of we were in that college. How easy and nice it was.
Well, on a positive note. That is the challenge. Key word in fact. I will be doing this on my own ,and enjoying it I bet. It is the kind of trip that puts butterflies in my stomach (yes, like the ones you get when you are in love). I have everything planed, what can go wrong? Not much, really. With all the intense socialising plan they have for the first week... the "living alone" thing won't be that lonely.
I'm young and alive - watch out American Continent, here I go!
quinta-feira, 14 de agosto de 2008
Surfer boys - A Romantic Manifesto
To the soundtrack of "Virgin Suicides" by Air
Last week I went to Spain.
One night, we decided to camp near a town called Ferrol, in a camping site by the coast. It was next to a beach, very remote. On the side of the camping where my parents choose to stay there were a few tents, it was closer ot the beach. And,while I helped with our own tent and sleeping bags, I saw them. Some 4 or 5 Spanish surfers, about my own age. They came in their wet suits with long curly hair and laughing of some joke. On the right, there was a French family, in a van with painted flowers. And they had three sons and they all came back from surfing, with long blonde hair and blue eyes. One of them passed by my tent and said "Hola", with a French accent.
For no reason at all, I felt disturbed. Well, there must be a reason, I just don't know what it is. What is this about surfers? I have listened to too many Jean and Dean records? What do they evoque that I want so badly?
It could be the freedom, the adventure. But, I have that. I got to a point where I am satisfied with the uncertainty of my future, I am free in that way. What is it then?
I can't really tell, but I would say it has something to do with their boyish face and the curly hair. It was not about the surf, it was about a sense of purity in the air, whenever they were around. A feeling that any look we could exchange could be nothing but true and clumbsy.
This summer I felt tired of all I ever lived in relationships. Of being pragmatic, of being cheated on, of pity-love, of unsaid love, of not talking, not being romantic, of wanting always to be with someone else, of being content with left-overs. I don't know how I got this way, but I did. I know many people did, and I see it everyday. What happen to us? We, that cried so truly in the cinema, we, who promised to count the stars once we had someone to help out, we, who wanted to hold on to a leather jacket cruising across America?
I call for a reclaim. We, who have the right to a proper highschool love, like the ones the movies promised. We, who will not give up on that summer night walk. We want it and we will fight for it, simply because it is worth it. Let us never again get fooled, never again compromise. From now on, true romance, like we wished for. No white weedings, but true, genuine romance. And in that case, it won't matter if you have spot on your face or you feel that the shoes don't match.
Because, there is one thing I know, there is one thing that is true.
Last week I went to Spain.
One night, we decided to camp near a town called Ferrol, in a camping site by the coast. It was next to a beach, very remote. On the side of the camping where my parents choose to stay there were a few tents, it was closer ot the beach. And,while I helped with our own tent and sleeping bags, I saw them. Some 4 or 5 Spanish surfers, about my own age. They came in their wet suits with long curly hair and laughing of some joke. On the right, there was a French family, in a van with painted flowers. And they had three sons and they all came back from surfing, with long blonde hair and blue eyes. One of them passed by my tent and said "Hola", with a French accent.
For no reason at all, I felt disturbed. Well, there must be a reason, I just don't know what it is. What is this about surfers? I have listened to too many Jean and Dean records? What do they evoque that I want so badly?
It could be the freedom, the adventure. But, I have that. I got to a point where I am satisfied with the uncertainty of my future, I am free in that way. What is it then?
I can't really tell, but I would say it has something to do with their boyish face and the curly hair. It was not about the surf, it was about a sense of purity in the air, whenever they were around. A feeling that any look we could exchange could be nothing but true and clumbsy.
This summer I felt tired of all I ever lived in relationships. Of being pragmatic, of being cheated on, of pity-love, of unsaid love, of not talking, not being romantic, of wanting always to be with someone else, of being content with left-overs. I don't know how I got this way, but I did. I know many people did, and I see it everyday. What happen to us? We, that cried so truly in the cinema, we, who promised to count the stars once we had someone to help out, we, who wanted to hold on to a leather jacket cruising across America?
I call for a reclaim. We, who have the right to a proper highschool love, like the ones the movies promised. We, who will not give up on that summer night walk. We want it and we will fight for it, simply because it is worth it. Let us never again get fooled, never again compromise. From now on, true romance, like we wished for. No white weedings, but true, genuine romance. And in that case, it won't matter if you have spot on your face or you feel that the shoes don't match.
Because, there is one thing I know, there is one thing that is true.
quarta-feira, 30 de julho de 2008
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.
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.
terça-feira, 29 de julho de 2008
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.
sexta-feira, 25 de julho de 2008
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.
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.
quarta-feira, 23 de julho de 2008
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!"
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!"
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