Freedom is the greatest gift
I was on a business trip and I took Flavio with me. He was a little boy, 4 years old.
I stopped on my friend’s Jeffrey Katz apartment on my way to flying to my assignment, but he wash’ there. I went to see him, he was on a park, sitting on the grass having a picnic. I talked to him a little and I remembered another time in the past when we had a picnic there. I told him goodbye and I kissed him. I told him that I would visit him again, but now I had to go to work. On my way back to the apartment to pick up Flavio I was informed that his father had passed away.
I didn’t know what to do, if I would go to my assignment and then tell Flavio afterwards or if I would tell him and take him to the funeral. I didn’t know how to tell him. I packed everything and then told him what had happened. It was very hard to tell a little boy that his father had died. He was inconsolable. I took him back to Brazil and I called his father’s girlfriend to ask her about the funeral arrangements and where should I take my son. Flavio and I were crying a lot. I was sad to realize how important his father was for him and how I had failed to noticed that while he was still alive.
I woke up with the end of the radio documentary on BBC about gtmo detainees: Freedom is the greatest gift.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p01sg4cm
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Passing time
She took the pillbox and saw the day of the week: Friday. With i sigh she took her pills and reminded herself that it was one less day to live, one week closer to the end, so this was a good thing after all.
Sometimes she was not even sure if it was really Friday or if it really mattered which day it was. She just needed the pills organized by days and she needed to remember to take them daily, only once.
It looks simple to have just one thing to remember, but the issue was not to remember just one thing, the issue was in fact what that one thing reminded her everyday. Her fragility, her losses, her chronic condition, the social disapproval for her dependency.
She would wonder why she developed a chronic depression. She would compare it to diabetes type II or a heart condition, that one is not born with, but once it has developed, one cannot get cured anymore. Maybe her brain was an elastic band that was stretched way too many for way too many times and now is incapable of going back to its original position. Then she would say to herself: "what the heck is that? Here I am using sweet adeline's imagery to explain my condition... And I always despised the visualization exercises, they never did anything for me..."
Such was life in this infinite valley of constant sorrow. You count off the days on your pillbox.
Sometimes she was not even sure if it was really Friday or if it really mattered which day it was. She just needed the pills organized by days and she needed to remember to take them daily, only once.
It looks simple to have just one thing to remember, but the issue was not to remember just one thing, the issue was in fact what that one thing reminded her everyday. Her fragility, her losses, her chronic condition, the social disapproval for her dependency.
She would wonder why she developed a chronic depression. She would compare it to diabetes type II or a heart condition, that one is not born with, but once it has developed, one cannot get cured anymore. Maybe her brain was an elastic band that was stretched way too many for way too many times and now is incapable of going back to its original position. Then she would say to herself: "what the heck is that? Here I am using sweet adeline's imagery to explain my condition... And I always despised the visualization exercises, they never did anything for me..."
Such was life in this infinite valley of constant sorrow. You count off the days on your pillbox.
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