Vacation and New Kitty in the Block

Is hope a feeling? Hell, yeah.  Is burden a thing? Double hell, yeah. Since vacation started (there is no accurate date when it started), I had a mix and match of both: hope the feeling, and  burden the thing. I was hoping to travel during these days off of work, but I knew all along that it was not happening. I wouldn't be able to afford traveling this time. Did I suffer any burden from this? Yes, I did, especially due to the hot local weather which burns from inside. I wish I were at least by the beach. 

So I had to figure out ways to fill up so much spare time. I spent hours and hours watching movies, Netflix series, listening to punk bands, reading Russian poetry, going over past memorabilia, attempting on writing my own poetry, and taking care of cats' health, and looking after people that I cherish. I had the chance to dive into the deepest of my being, nearly reaching the core of my soul. I almost touched the most divine of my good angel and the crust of my devilish one.

There is nothing better than being there for those we care for. There were chats, fights, and the birth of a plan on moving out of the country. That is freaking me out still. And then, there was more talking. Conversations got from shallow, or random, to profound and sassy.

It didn't take too long until we got into an agreement: let us not talk about this immigration thing for a while. It was just a matter of understanding, and saying "sorry" to each other, and giving the real meaning to the word sorry. That old feeling of forgiviness is supreme. I forgave and I was definitely forgiven (at least I want to believe so). After a couple of feuds and animosities, the idea of moving out is still in the air. Let's see what 2024 brings to the table.

When we bring about deviant personal stories to journals, the "false" good deeds for instance, it is like exorcising the worst demons. Those damned dark beasts are hurled straight off of our throats. We spit bad energy and the best in us is kept. The purest feelings stay growing roots and blooming flowers of a possible bright future.

I am afraid, though. I am a chicken. I am as fragile as fireflies. They have been rare in my place these days. I saw one in my apartament a couple or three weeks ago. I was sleeping on the  couch and I needed to go to the bathroom. I thought I was hallucinating or just dreaming but it was real. The firefly was in my home, flickering and following me. To me, I was experiencing the touch of hope.

And on the next day, my cat, which nearly passed away, started showing signs of recovery and I became light-headed. My other cat which had eyesight infection got over that on a matter of days. Not even vets were required.

I cooked, baked, watched bad and not so bad "TV", drank wine as if it were water, went to see a beautiful dance performance, went on a terrible dinner experience away from town; I organized my belongings, and I ended up running across memorabilia that I'd thought it was no longer here. I cried, I laughed, I tore useles pieces of paper, glasses were shattered accidently (amazingly not by me), and all these simple things made me realize we are nothing without our profound connections. We are the people and things we collect.

Never have I ever thought of having such an amazing vacation without leaving my place. Not even during the lockdown I could have built or held such deep conversations. 

  

Am I looking forward to getting back to my job tomorrow? No way, José. Do I have another choice? I sure don't. Thusly I will keep pretending that life is better under this pressure, bullshitness (I am sure this is not even a word) and hipocrisy than just looking at my walls while thinking that hope and burden cannot walk hand-in-hand.

I can't wait to have another adventurous and cheap vacation like this past one. BTW, today we are bringing the no longer eye-sicked cat home. She is brandnew to our family. Jody is her name. She POPPed up at our school from out of thin air. 

Nobody has claimed her so far. Thus, we shall consider her ours. Jody K. Foster needs to join our crazy flatmates in 2024 and we hope to see Jody bringing some sanity to this madhouse. New kitties in the house are never a burden.

I just hope our home is the place where Jody is meant to live. "Welcome, marbled fur kitty!"

Almost New Year

This is the time of the year that if you haven`t committed suicide yet, you are for sure planning to accomplish it by Christmas. I reckon this holiday season as being too dramatic. We consider and reconsider all the shit we went through, plus the shit we were responsible for. It is pretty intense. The thoughts rush in the crazy traffic of our brains and it is hard to fine them.

We live 365 days in a year to figure out that the next 365 days are not gonna make a dot of difference. I am so fucking tired of the sameness. Gotta jump off a cliff and make a difference in my neighborhood. I am sounding creepy and you are probably right. I ain't gonna try any end-of-the-year project, even though I have considered plenty of them. I am not that selfish nor narcisist for that matter. I still think that others are more important that my creepy being. 

My burden is to carry this unselfish perspective of life. Is "unselfish" a real word? I doubt it. Who cares? Who is gonna read this blog post anyway.  I have gotta rely on my poetry that I had left it aside for too long. 

Pure sadness

Events are drafts

Because life is a game

In which levels are ladders 

To reach the impossible 

Finally vacation has arrived

 It is 2023, December, and I am still at work. Not only do I need to grade a few test (as always happen at this time of the year) but I am also teaching. Teaching at this time of the year, for me, used to be unusual before the pandemic. Nowadays, since March 2020, it has been quite routine like as people can learn from home, at any time they wish to. I am not against this format of studies. In fact, I believe this is the way that it has to be due to the excitement (in a good and bad way) that digital interaction promotes and it does reflect in our inner selves. 

I am not an authority to criticize, nor even judge, this new mode of education. I am dived into it and therefore, I cannot predict whether is effective or not. I know I have encountered dozens of different results. Some students show a super high level of commitment and consequently, they present top grades, great speaking skills (I teach EFL, btw), fast reading comprehension, and superior ability to memorize rules, exceptions, and meanings of new vocabulary. Others, on the flip side, just want to buy a diploma. 

Perhaps, that has been this way even before the whole blended learning became a thing. I feel I am in a battlefield. And I don't fight for none of each side. I must get going and try to do my job at the best of my ability. Being a teacher is not an easy task. It has never been. It will never be. What is left to me is just accept that it is a job that it has to be done. 

And am I going to have the feel of vacation these days? Not for a second. 

August 10th, 2023

We had gone through almost 3 years of pandemic. My hair is not blue, orange, or pink anylonger. It became hard to find a hairdresser who would want to bleach and dye my hair. Those were obscure years. We were not allowed to work, unless it would be from home. How would a retail business be run from home? Crazy times that I wish it had never happened. I went back to therapy due to the confiniment. I got traumatized for being forced to wear masks in public. There are a few crooks that insist to wear mask still. For that, I have no words to comment on this behavior. My job was insanely affected by it. At first, teachers had to "build" their own classrooms at home, equiped with fast internet connection, webcam, and noob teachers (noob in terms of social media plataforms) were forced to lecture via videolessons and learn how to edit, upload, and follow the feedback of these so called "classes". I was not totally lost. I had been teaching online since 2007, neverthless those were different times. My husband played in a important role as he is quite keen on electronics and technology in general. He even started majoring programming which he gave up later on. I was not able to get by without him. Teachers joined forces and we were absolutely just one team. Parents got to know what we go through daily and things got even. I am not the kind of person who like to bring back bad memories, however those were times of profound challenges. Sadly, students who were going through their early school years got disadvantaged learning processes. It is almost impossible to teach how to read and write through a computer screen, especially at such early age. My hope is that we shall never go through such a thing ever again. I may have already mentioned on this blog that I've been working on a mermoir reporting what I recall about those years. Unfortunately, I don't seem to find free time to place effort on this project. I will do my best in making it happen. The only problem is the language barrier. I have started it writing in Portuguese (which is my mother tongue) but I feel so much more confident typing in English. This is a real dilemma of mine. It even sounds absurd yet it is as real as this post. Peace.

boy, you're a bully

Boy, you were a bully Through the grass and the river you chase You were cruel, you were so mean Laughing right in my face All the while you had my back, my best friend I can still feel that smile on my face 2007 was a good year, the best The back of the bar watching me dance in a dress Remember that night in Paris, all those candles you lit I could never forget You and all the alcohol Sleeping on the street, sleeping on a train Looking like a crook with a can to come back home With a twist of your tongue and a devilish smile on your face When you got sick You were through with fun and games Now that the times have all changed I can’t find you I can’t put you back into place Nothing could be done For this young, wild son Standing on the street in a hospital sheet On the run from the police That dumb girl on your arm And that look on your face And all those crazy things you said to me I can never forget Everything you have to go through With a smile on your face Everything we now know, with a smile on our face I, I can never forget by Chan Marshall

https://youtu.be/xBqAPQv4BY0

miss you

blink 182 karaoke

M.I.A. is never over

Blogging has been so overrated these days which shouldn`t. I used to write here daily back in the 2000`s. It is due to social media that we keep forgetting that blogging still exists. I love writing and Facebook or Instagram are not places for huge posts. I need to get the discipline back that I used to have. I would sit in front of PCs and my fingers would slide on the keyboard mostly in the mornings (just like now). I am not even used to tapping keyboards anymore. It is a weird feeling. It was my dad`s birthday the other day. And so I came up with the idea of writing him deep messages, instead of sending him a stupid meme, or a simple online card. Everytime I read the message I left him, I cry nonstoppingly. Then, all of a sudden, it came this urge to get back on writing as way of working out my brain. I grew up expressing myself better through written words rather than spoken ones. To make it worst, I don`t find comfortable words in my first language. If you have already taken some time to scroll down this blog, you know I am Brazilian and my native language is Portuguese. I don`t despise Portuguese, au contrair. I am quite proud of my mother tongue. I am simply not used to reading, nor writing in it. English flows smoothly. I am an English teacher and I`ve been teaching this language for so long... since I was 18 years old. I am 47 in case you would like to know. I want to get back to posting here. I cannot say that I will do it daily as I am a super busy professional. However, I do wish I could go back to this hobbie because it frees my mind and it does work better than therapy (which is kind of expensive for teachers` paycheck). Besides, there is a sort of secret envolved in the throwback-Tuesday-getting-back-on-blogging thing= I do want to start a memoir. I have tons of poems and I have alwaaaaays wanted to publish a poetry book, which is something that can happen as I do have gizzillions of written poems. My sin is that I am writing horder and I don`t have my poems decently stored in a specific folder, flashdrive, app, or in the clouds. They are still in random pieces of paper spread all over my life. The idea of a memoir sounds more organized and realistic. This possible memoir is not a promise as I do not believe in my own promises. Whereas, it is going to work more as commitment to my brain. I will start a memoir somehow. And this blog is gonna guide me towards this goal. I am so glad I made it here today. And I hope I do keep coming back to this spot, at least, every now and then. Nice to be back, xoxo

bixbie

LOVELY TRYING TO BE BACK

However, the blogger app sucks a great deal and I am not getting this new system at all.

Been back here more often

Love Bugs

Vegas Vibe

April 2021

March March March...

It has been days that I decided to post majestic cities of our planet on my personal Facebook profile for a simple reason:

My intention is to turn my timeline inspiring and to avoid political conflicts as Brazil is going through some serious economical, political, and moral crisis. 

The country is cracked open. It is parted: the ones that carry our official flag against the ones that carry red institutional flags of Labor Unions and the Labor Party. 

On every social media, be it Facebook, Youtube, Instagram, Snapchat, you name it, there has been unfriending, blocking, swearing, ideological attacks, and much disrespect and xenophobia from both sides. I wish this ended soon.

There are too many unemployeds in Brazil, besides major and small companies are shutting down. My language school was one of them. We closed down and moved away to another state in order to work with our family and search for dignity. 

Here, on Facebook, there is a war going on. There are loads of messages of hatred. I wish Mark Zuckerberg installed a button featuring peace between rightists and leftists. We can clearly see both sides are looking for the best for the country. However, both will never agree with the tools that are being used to reach this goal. 

I hope for better days and better souls. It is being cruel to be in Brazil because fighting for justice should not have two sides. We are on the same sinking boat grabbing the same floaters.

Uma breve autobiografia

Minha múltipla cidadania Nos meses de Abril e Março acontece o aniversário de muita gente que amo, daquela que me pariu e me amamentou até daqueles que me receberam como membra de suas famílias. O desmame foi meio que abrupto e inevitável. Saí de Venceslau aos 16. Fui exilada para a capital Paulista. Não me acostumei com os Paulistanos, literalmente. Voltei para o interior, paranaense. Morei quatro anos em terra de pés-vermelhos, de Japas, Polacos e Italianos. Experiência que posso descrever em poucas palavras: necessária. Depois de cinco anos distante, resolvi fugir do país. Aos 21 anos me vi com um diploma de jornalismo e um coração aberto para o American Dream. Saint Petersburg, Florida, conhecida como refúgio dos artistas Beats, a sede do maior acervo das obras do Salvador Dali, e dava para visitar constantemente e para mim, nada mais importava. Me formei em Artes Liberais, me tornei Americana na alma, mas as saudades do Brasil pintaram, fui aquela filha que reencontrou a mãe no aeroporto, abraçou, chorou, mas precisou se despedir e embarcar novamente. Rio Grande do Sul lá fui eu. Parar no extremo sul, no alto das montanhas da serra gaúcha, parecia frio demais para ser verdade. E foi. Lá vi neve e nevar. Caxias do Sul tem coisas semelhantes ao Paraná como o "clima instável e úmido, a desconfiança e frieza nas relações sociais, e a cosmopolização, também gerada pela imigração européia voltada ao trabalho e a promessas não cumpridas." Foram quase 16 anos de gauchismo e ironicamente aprendi a não tomar mais álcool (vinho), tornei-me vegana e me interessei por tocar bateria e atuação (até então só escrevia). O tempo passou, fui alfabetizada no gauchês, adquiri meu próprio apartamento, apresentei-me em palco para um público de 700 pessoas, larguei os cabelos normais, assumi tatuagens e comecei a lecionar alemão e português para gringos verdadeiros, comecei minha terceira graduação (psicologia), não terminei a faculdade, meu amor pela dança floreceu, sofri por decepções patrão/empregado risíveis, apanhei da vida, saí do Rio Grande sem o terceiro canudo e com uma dívida astronômica para ter encerrado minha empresa. Adotamos 4 gatos no sul e mais 2 aqui em Presidente Venceslau. Formei mais de 2000 alunos na língua inglesa e outros tantos em Espanhol, em Caxias do Sul, escrevi alguns poemas, crônicas e peça de teatro, revisei as letras de alguns álbuns, fiz e desfiz amigos, fiz inimigos, saí da zona de conforto por perder funcionarios, mas ganhei paz de espírito por não precisar mais de lidar com sindicatos, advogados trabalhistas e "zero" seleção de funcionários. Aprendi muito, viajei um monte, li pra caralho, encontrei a profissão da minha vida e por fim, até que enfim, cheguei à conclusão que o lugar que me criou de fato, foi a minha mente, após anos de terapia: é a nossa cabeça que nos cria. Vinte e Sete anos de vida mambembe, oscilando entre culturas, aprendi-me. Hoje não sinto nada além do sentimento de missão cumprida. Fui pop, punk, rebelde, mas nada fora de controle. Agora me aproximo geograficamente da minha terra de nascença, essa Venceslau tosquinha. Mas tenho passaporte e vistos bons: as visitas ao exterior serão assíduas. Talvez tenha a oportunidade de conhecer a Ásia e o Oriente Médio, os continentes que me faltam. Nesses meus 42 anos de vida, e 27 longe de casa, foram precisos para conhecer quem sou, e moldar quem EU quero me evoluir. Tenho sonhado com isso. Não por acaso que me identifico tanto com artes, IDIOMAS, astronomia, e neurociências. Não é coincidência que meu livro se chamará ''MindSet'. Essa casa também é minha. Não estou sendo ingrata com a madrasta Caxias, afinal ela me criou e me ensinou muito, claro que não foi uma pedagogia baseada em Psicopedagogos, eu aprendi à base da porrada. Foram 4 anos e meio de análise para aceitar que o Brasil é onde nasci. Acontece que eu nunca me senti em casa, desde pequena (ou criança) em lugar nenhum. Ainda sou exilada, "gringa", uma foragida, uma forasteira da minha alma. Ainda sou estrangeira. Ainda sou um clone de mim mesma. E ainda sonho em encontrar o passaporte que me informe sobre de onde vim; a minha verdadeira cidadania. Acho que chego lá... De uma "Venceslauense", Laila C. Batista

Halloween 2020 🎃 - part 2